44. Shock - er
forty-four
Shock - er
Onyx: 2024
T hat moment in a dream that jolts you awake, and you lay there trying to remember what it was. Then reality strikes, and you realize it wasn’t a dream. It’s your shit show life.
“Touch me with that fucking stick —”
Electricity runs through my veins, shocking every one of my muscles along the way.
“Sorry, I missed what you said,” Amy says, hovering above me in the darkness.
My muscles relax, allowing me to breathe as the shock slowly fades from my system. Anger dances in my belly while my eyes work to adjust to the lack of light. Mildew penetrates my nose, leaving an awful taste in my mouth.
“Did I wake up sleeping beauty?” she coos childishly, squatting beside me.
“Where the hell are we?” I ask, noticing what I think are metal bars behind her.
The last thing I can remember is wanting to leave the coffee shop because I suddenly got tired.
She tilts her head, her blonde bun sagging heavily to the side. “Where I grew up. After I was given away,” she tells me, like I should know what she’s talking about.
Don’t poke lunatics in cages!
She fucked with the wrong bitch!
“Get me off this filthy floor and untie me,” I order, trying to hide the crazy stirring inside me from my voice.
“Or what?” she asks casually, standing, twirling the metal rod like a baton.
Footsteps sound from the left. “I don’t think she’s happy,” Mr. Brickman’s voice crawls from the shadows.
“The dark queen’s never happy,” Amy responds, and the name she uses to refer to me punches at my sanity.
“The fuck? What did you just call me?” I hiss, panic battling with the confusion in my throat, almost choking me.
Her evil laugh boomerangs off the cinder block walls surrounding us. “You’re the queen.”
“You don’t know shit about me.”
Again she laughs, pissing me off more. Clicking her tongue. “It’s better to be quiet if you don’t know something. If not, you end up sounding stupid,” she lectures, tapping the rod on my foot.
My toes curl as all my muscles contract at once. I groan loudly, rolling around on the concrete.
Copper lingers on my taste buds. “I’m going to shove that rod up your ass,” I slur, trying to regain control of my quivering body.
Mr. Brickman finally appears, hovering on the opposite side of me. He stares lovingly at the lunatic for a second before he speaks. “We should sit her on the bed,” he suggests hesitantly, and it seems as though he’s trying not to frustrate her.
“We should let the rats chew on her for a while.”
“Do you… Are you guys friends?” I ask him.
His signature wicked smile covers his lips. “I love her,” he answers simply.
“But you said you weren’t married?” I question, shimming around, testing the zip ties holding my wrists and ankles.
Both of them laugh together. “She’s my princess.”
Fuck me, don’t vomit.
I huff, swallowing the hateful words teetering on the edge of my tongue. “What is this place?” I ask her, hoping to distract them until I can figure out a way to get myself free.
“The Row. The place good girls can be as bad as they want. Unless you cut a girl's tongue out, and carve slut in her chest. Doc didn’t really approve of that. Although, I sliced his jugular and danced in his blood. So he doesn’t really matter.” She shrugs, completely void of any remorse.
It’s like she just told me the sky is blue.
My eye starts to twitch hearing her explanation. “Is this a prison?” I ask, glancing at the bars now that my eyes are growing used to the darkness.
They look at each other. “It’s an asylum,” Mr. B answers, and I notice her nod in agreement.
She really is a psycho.
Should crazy really be calling names?
Fuck off!
The sound of a phone vibrating breaks the silence. “What’s up, Ollie?” Mr. B answers, the light from the screen revealing the reality of the grotesque floor they’ve thrown me on.
It appears years of dirt covers every surface in this place. Red and brown stains litter the concrete around me. My belly turns when the thought I might be lying in someone’s dried blood occurs to me, and I shove it away as fast as I can. Chipped paint and decay cover the bars, while tiny piles of what I assume are bones fill the corners of the cell.
“She’s here. We were chatting before you rudely interrupted,” B jokes into the phone, pacing around the small space. He stops beside me and looks down, holding out his phone. “Tell him you’re alive.”
My brows scrunch at his request. “Fuck you.”
“See? That’s proof, right?” he counters, returning the phone to his ear.
“My arms are going numb,” I grit up at Amy, wiggling around to try and gain some circulation. “Can I sit up?”
She kicks me with her foot, rolling me to my belly. Then places her foot on my back, applying pressure. The rod hits my back just as the pressure disappears, making me jerk, losing all function for a minute.
“Mother fucker,” I slur at the concrete, rolling my forehead back and forth.
“Oops, thought a little shock might help,” she teases.
“Ollie wants to know if you’re still living the Barbie life?” Mr. B asks, bending over to see my face better.
“Huh?”
The question almost causes my brain to explode. Hendrix’s warning about trusting Nolan shines like a neon fucking sign.
“Hold on, Ollie. I think she just had an aneurysm.”
“You can stop calling that bastard by his fake name,” I rasp, rolling around in an attempt to get on my back again.
B laughs, shaking his head. “Don’t you do any research? Do you always trust what everyone says?” he questions, kneeling on one knee. “Oliver Nolan Brickman.” He takes his time pronouncing each name clearly for me.
“Bolton always said rich people were idiots,” Amy chimes in suddenly, reminding us of her presence.
“Lunatics and psychos are idiots,” I retort hatefully, unsure of which suits her better.
Mr. B turns his phone around after putting it on speaker. “Onyx, you should introduce yourself before you start calling people names,” Nolan’s voice fills the room.
Out of nowhere, I’m rolled to my back, and Amy straddles me, sitting on my thighs. “Remember me, baby sis?” she asks with a bright smile. “Amethyst Tulip Whithe.”
My eyes burn from the stretch as all the air is sucked from the space, making me gasp.
“She’s your older sister, Onyx,” Nolan informs me, smacking my sanity for a second time.
I’ll admit, she does resemble Mom. It’s her hair and eyes. Even the wicked look she’s giving me right now. However, nothing about her is familiar. No one’s ever mentioned her.
“How?” I force out.
“Well, Mommy and Daddy had sex —”
“Ewww,” I moan, bucking under her, ordering myself not to gag.
Blinking down at me. “You asked the question. I was just answering.” She shrugs, holding me down to keep me from bucking her off me.
“You’re fake. I would know if I had a sister. There would’ve been evidence. Pictures. Something,” I argue, struggling to stay in reality while chaotic, choppy thoughts pummel my brain.