42. Forty-Two Lakey
Forty-Two: Lakey
T he flickering shadows danced on the walls like broken puppets as I sat in the chair, listening to Sarah count down, my eyes squeezed shut. My heart was doing a fucking tap dance in my chest. What twisted shit was I about to uncover in the cobweb-filled attic of my mind?
"Take a deep breath, Lakey," Sarah's voice floated through the darkness. "Let yourself relax."
Easy for her to say. She wasn't the one about to go spelunking in the cave of repressed trauma. But I did as she said, inhaling slowly. The musty smell of dust and dirt filled my nostrils. God, they should do something better with this place. It could be so much better. Or at least use a fucking duster. I felt like sneezing.
"Now, I want you to visualize a peaceful place," Sarah continued, her words taking on a hypnotic rhythm. "Somewhere you feel safe and calm."
I almost laughed. Safe? Calm? Those concepts were as foreign to me as empathy. But I played along, conjuring up an image of Cam's arms around me, his heartbeat steady against my back. It was the closest thing to peace I'd ever known.
As Sarah's soothing voice droned on, I felt myself sinking deeper into the couch. The room around me began to blur and fade, like watercolors running together. My body felt heavy, my mind light. I was floating in a sea of nothing and everything.
"You're doing great, Lakey," Sarah's voice seemed to come from far away now. "I want you to go back. Back to your earliest memories..."
A shiver ran through me. This was it. The moment of truth. What fucked up horrors was I about to relive? Part of me was terrified, but another part — the dark, twisted part that reveled in chaos — was eager to see what lay beneath the surface of my fractured psyche.
As I drifted deeper into the recesses of my mind, one thought echoed: whatever I found there, Cam would be waiting for me on the other side. And that was enough to make me brave the storm.
In a flash, the warmth of Sarah's office vanished. I was hit with a blast of cold air that made my skin prickle. The soft armchair morphed into hard metal beneath me, and the gentle lamplight gave way to harsh fluorescents that burned my retinas even through closed eyelids. I was laying down, my arms restrained at my side, my feet tied down.
I opened my eyes, squinting against the glare. White. Everything was fucking white. Walls, floor, ceiling - all gleaming like fresh snow. The air reeked of disinfectant, burning my nostrils. In the distance, I could hear the low hum of machinery, a constant drone that set my teeth on edge. I know this place. It’s the place where they ran tests on me when I was little. Where I learned that fucked up mantra.
"What the hell?" I muttered, my voice sounding small and scared in the cavernous space. This wasn't a memory — it felt too real, too immediate. Like I'd been yanked out of time and dumped into this clinical nightmare. Like I was really here.
Movement caught my eye. I turned my head, heart racing, to see a group of men in crisp suits filing into the room. They moved with eerie synchronicity, each step measured and deliberate. Their faces were blank masks, devoid of any emotion as they regarded me with cold, calculating eyes.
One of them — a balding fucker with wire-rimmed glasses — pulled out a sleek tablet and began tapping away. The others followed suit, scribbling in notepads or murmuring into recording devices.
"Subject appears lucid," Baldy intoned, his voice as flat and lifeless as his expression. "Vitals stable. Proceeding with initial assessment."
I wanted to scream, to lash out, to demand answers. But my body felt leaden, unresponsive. All I could do was lie there, a bug pinned to a specimen tray, as these soulless bastards picked me apart with their eyes.
"What's happening?" I tried to ask, but the words came out slurred and garbled. Panic clawed at my chest. Where was Cam? He'd never let these fuckers near me. Unless... unless he couldn't protect me. Unless they’d killed him. The thought chilled me more than the frigid air of the lab. I tried to scream, to call out, but it was as if my lips were sewn shut. No sound came.
As the men in suits continued their clinical observations, I retreated into my mind. I imagined tearing them apart, ripping out their throats with my teeth, painting the pristine white walls with their blood. The violent fantasies comforted me, reminding me of who I really was.
The room shifted, changing into a stark, windowless chamber. A massive screen dominated one wall, flickering to life with grainy footage. My stomach churned as I recognized the small figures on the screen: children, no older than ten, huddled together like frightened rabbits.
A booming voice filled the room. "Watch closely, Patient X. This is what happens to the weak."
I couldn't look away as men in white coats descended on the children, wielding cattle prods and syringes. The kids' screams pierced through tinny speakers, but I felt... nothing. No horror, no fear, just a cold, detached curiosity.
"Good," the voice praised. "Emotion is weakness. Weakness is death."
The phrase burrowed into my brain, repeating on loop. I wanted to feel something, anything, for those poor bastards on the screen. But it was like trying to catch smoke with my bare hands.
"Emotion is weakness. Weakness is death," I mumbled, the words tasting like ash on my tongue.
"Again," the voice commanded.
"Emotion is weakness. Weakness is death," I repeated, louder this time.
The scene changed. I was perched on a cold metal table, my legs dangling uselessly. A doctor loomed over me, all bushy eyebrows and gleaming teeth. In his hand, a vial filled with swirling, white liquid. The label read "Patient Y." In his other hand was a syringe, something clear inside as he deployed the plunger a fraction, some of the liquid squirting out.
"What's that?" I asked.
The doctor's smile widened, predatory. "Nothing to worry about, dear. Just a little something to help you sleep. Happy 16th birthday, Lakey. When you wake up, you’ll have the best birthday present you could ask for."
As the needle slid into my arm, I thought of Cam. Would he be proud of how brave I was being? Or would he be disgusted by my weakness?
"Emotion is weakness," I whispered as darkness crept in. "Weakness is..."
The world faded to black before I could finish.
I jolted awake, disoriented and groggy. The doctor's meaty hand was patting my back, his touch making my skin crawl.
"Excellent news, Lakey," he chirped, sounding way too chipper for my liking. "The implantation was successful."
Implantation? What the fuck? My brain felt like it was stuffed with cotton balls, and I couldn't make sense of his words. I tried to ask what he meant, but my tongue felt thick and useless in my mouth.
"Don't worry about the details," he said, waving his hand dismissively. "You just focus on recovering."
I wanted to grab him by his stupid white coat and shake some answers out of him, but my body felt like lead. All I could do was blink stupidly as he scribbled something on a chart. Nothing hurt, so what the fuck did they do to me?
The sterile lab faded away, replaced by Sarah's soothing voice. "Lakey, I want you to slowly come back to the present. Take a deep breath and open your eyes when you're ready."
My eyelids fluttered open, and I found myself back in the dimly lit room. My heart was racing, and I felt a cold sweat trickling down my spine. What the hell had just happened? Those memories... they felt so real, so vivid. But they couldn't be, right?
I tried to shake off the disorientation, but my mind kept circling back to that word: implantation . A chill ran through me as I wondered what they'd put inside me. And why couldn't I remember any of it before now?
"Fuck," I muttered, rubbing my temples. My head was pounding, and I felt like I might puke. But I couldn't show weakness, not here, not now.
I plastered on a smile, hoping it didn't look as fake as it felt. "Well, that was a trip," I said, aiming for nonchalance but landing somewhere closer to unhinged. "Got any more party tricks up your sleeve, Sarah?"
Sarah's brow furrowed; her eyes filled with a concern that made me want to strangle her until her eyes popped out of her skull. I didn't need her pity. I didn't need anyone's fucking pity.
"Lakey, are you alright?" she asked, her voice soft and gentle. That fucking tone grated on my nerves. "That seemed like an intense experience. Would you like to talk about what you saw?"
I forced my smile wider, feeling it stretch my face unnaturally. "Oh, you know, just the usual childhood trauma. Nothing I can't handle." I waved my hand dismissively, as if swatting away her concern like an annoying fly. "I'm peachy keen, jellybean."
My eyes darted around the room, desperate for a distraction from Sarah's probing gaze. That's when I spotted my anchor. The sigh that escaped me was nothing short of relief.
He was lurking in the corner, looking like he'd just stepped out of a slasher flick. Blood splattered his clothes and smeared across his rugged face – probably from killing some animal with Kyle, I assumed. But fuck if he didn't look hot as hell.
Our eyes met, and I felt a surge of love. Cam gave me a slight nod, his dark eyes conveying what words couldn't. He got it. He always did. I wanted to run to him, to bury my face in his blood-soaked chest and forget about everything else. But I couldn't. Couldn’t show that prissy therapist how deeply that session had affected me. I had to keep it together, had to maintain this facade of normalcy.
"So," I chirped, turning back to Sarah with renewed false cheer, "same time next week? Or should we skip straight to the exorcism?"
“Lakey… you’re not alright. Let me help you.”
I stood up, my legs feeling like they were made of lead. Every movement was a goddamn chore, like I was wading through quicksand. My mind was a fucking mess, a tornado of fragmented memories and unanswered questions.
"Thanks for the mind-fuck, Sarah," I said, trying to inject some levity into my voice. But it fell flat, even to my own ears. I sounded hollow, empty. Like someone had scooped out my insides and left me a shell of myself. “I’m going to go outside and get some air, that alright with you, Doc? Don’t worry I won’t go off the rails and shoot up the place.”
As I made my way to the door, I couldn't shake the image of that cold metal table, the doctor's words echoing in my head. "Implantation successful." What the fuck did that mean? And why did it make my skin crawl?
Cam fell into step beside me as we exited the room. His presence was a comfort, but also a reminder of the childhood we shared. Two broken pieces that somehow fit together in this jagged puzzle of life. No one but him would ever understand what the fuck we went through as kids.
We walked in silence, our footsteps syncing up naturally. I didn't need to look at him to know he was there, to feel the unspoken understanding between us. We were cut from the same cloth, Cam and I. Scarred, damaged, but somehow still standing.
I wanted to reach out, to grab his hand and anchor myself to something real. But I didn't. Couldn't. The memories from the session had left me raw, exposed. And I wasn't sure I was ready to let anyone, even Cam, see me like this. So, we walked, side by side, both of us lost in our thoughts. Each step felt like a battle, but with Cam beside me, I knew I could keep fighting. Even if I didn't know what the fuck I was fighting against.
The moment we stepped outside, the crisp evening air slapped me in the face like a wake-up call. I sucked in a deep breath, letting it fill my lungs and push out the stale, oppressive atmosphere of that suffocating room. The sky was a bruised purple, the sun barely clinging to the horizon. It felt like a goddamn metaphor for my life — caught between light and dark, never fully in either.
"Fuck," I muttered, running a hand through my hair. "That was... intense."
Cam grunted in agreement, his eyes scanning the area out of habit. “Yeah. I had quite the experience myself.”
As we walked towards the log bench around the fire pit, my mind was a fucking tornado of thoughts and emotions. Images flashed through my head: sterile labs, men in suits, that fucking doctor with his creepy smile. And that phrase, echoing like a broken record: "Emotion is weakness. Weakness is death."
I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms. "I need answers, Cam," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "What the hell did they do to us?"
He didn't respond right away, but I could feel the tension radiating off him. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and gravelly. "I don’t know, Lakes. I hate that it’s coming back. I want it to stop."
I nodded, a grim smile tugging at my lips. Fear coiled in my gut like a poisonous snake, but alongside it was a burning determination. Whatever clusterfuck of a past we had, I was going to unravel it.
"Yeah," I agreed, my eyes meeting Cam's. "But we need to know. We need to figure out what they did."
Cam's arm slid around my shoulders, pulling me close. The warmth of his body was a stark contrast to the chill that had settled in my bones. I leaned into him, breathing in his familiar scent, tinged with blood.
"Everything's falling apart," he murmured, his lips brushing against my hair. "But it's all coming together at the same time. I swear, Lakey, I won't let you suffer through this shit alone."
I looked up at him, feeling a tear slip down my cheek. My hand came up and touched it, bringing it down to eye level, I stared at it in shock. This feelings shit was so much worse than being on auto pilot. It fucking hurt. God, did it hurt. I wanted to go back to the simpler time, when we had coffee and bagels, and Cam fucked women so I could kill them. When we held the demons at bay just with the monotony of our fucked-up choices. But the memories, the fear, the confusion — it was all too much. "I need to know what happened to us, Cam," I whispered. “Something more is out there. Something big. It all started with us. I know it did.”
His dark eyes met mine, understanding and determination reflected in their depths. "I know," he said.
We stood there in silence, holding each other. It was fucked up, really. Two damaged, violent psychopaths finding comfort in each other's arms. But it worked. Don’t know why. It just did. I couldn’t get it out of my head, my mind just kept replaying that one memory. Implantation. I’d heard about that before, but that was in the context of birth control or…
I placed a hand on my stomach, a chill running through me. No, that couldn't be. Could it?
"We're going to dig deeper," I said, my voice steely with resolve. "Whatever darkness is waiting for us, whatever other insane shit they did — we're going to uncover it all."
Cam nodded, a dangerous glint in his eye. "And make them pay," he added.
I grinned, feeling that familiar thrill of anticipation. Oh yes, we would make them pay. And I had a feeling it was going to be one hell of a bloody ride.
“I love you, Cam.”
“I love you too, my wicked little nightmare.”