Chapter 27
OLLY
"What pretty skin you have, so soft and pale.
Fuck, I love the way you feel under my fingertips.
Two dirty whores for me to play with, and use any way I want," a male voice whispers to me with a deep rasp.
The sound shouldn't be as menacing as it is, but somehow I know that evil lurks underneath that tone.
The murkiness seems to breathe, an oppressive living entity that makes my skin crawl, and my heart want to tear out of my chest. It’s too close and heavy, as if it's attempting to crush and suffocate me. I can’t see or move, as if my limbs are weighed down, but I know this place, even if I can't comprehend how.
Sirens are ringing inside my head, demanding that I escape from the monster that has me trapped against my will.
"You know you wanted this when you came here.
Stupid, fucking dirty cunts, trying to entice men with your looks.
Cheap trailer trash whores. How does my cock feel inside of you, huh?
I bet it feels so good to a nasty slut like you," the voice moans, and I feel a sharp pain rolling through my abdomen, followed by the sensation of someone gripping my throat tightly, and cutting off my airway.
I sputter and choke, gasping for air that can't make it inside my lungs.
"No one would miss you if you died. No one cares about girls like you. "
The air hums, deep and low, like a subwoofer pressed against my ribs, its vibrations daunting and terrifying. My heart tries to match it, thrumming faster and faster, until it’s a fist pounding from the inside. RUN! GET OUT! My brain and heart demand, but my limbs refuse to obey me.
The sound of music reaches my ears, muffled through the walls, and fighting against the echo of my blood rushing within my veins, followed immediately by distorted laughter, and the sound of glass breaking somewhere far away. A party, my mind supplies. The party.
My stomach immediately plummets with panic.
No. Not here. Not again. The surface I'm lying on seems to tilt and shift under me, as heat pulses against my skin, too close, too familiar.
The scent of alcohol, sweat, urine, and cum fills my nostrils, overwhelming me and adding to my panic.
Shadows gather at the edges of my vision, causing further confusion on whether they're really there, or a figment of my imagination. They seem to grow taller, shifting and morphing into something frightening with sharp teeth. They move like smoke, but there’s weight to them, shapes that whisper my name, and promise torture and pain in their wake.
"Tight fucking pussy, so good. You know you want it, slut.
That's right, take my big cock," the shadow moans next to my ear, causing rancid bile to rise up the back of my throat.
My body moves, my breasts swaying, and my head lolling to the side, but not in my own control.
"Going to take your ass next, bitch, then I'll take your bestie’s.
I'll fill both you needy whores with my cum tonight. Give you what you came here for."
I try to speak, but my throat is thick, clogged with the taste of alcohol, something sour and dreadful.
Movement shifts, I can hear the distinct sound of skin slapping against skin, combined with throaty moans and pain-filled cries.
The room swims, light strobing and melting together, and faces flash and disappear, further disorienting my mind.
I see a man's silhouette, with broad shoulders and a rotten smile, through a ray of muted light that doesn't reach his eyes, before he's gone, and I'm meeting the vacant, mocha-colored eyes of my best friend next to me.
She stares right through me, her face so pale and still that she might as well be translucent, and I fear that she's already dead.
Her lips are wide in a scream, but no sound exits them.
The shadow man leaves my body after a deep, guttural grunt, where I feel wetness between my legs, and I'm mercifully still.
I watch as he grabs a violent fistful of Cheyanne's light blonde hair, yanking her head backward, and forcing the engorged mushroom tip of his wet cock past her lips.
Her eyes never blink, even as crystal tears slide down from the corners, and disappear into her hair.
"NO! DON'T FUCKING TOUCH HER!" I scream, but no sound registers, only the noise of harsh, accelerated breathing.
"Don't worry, pretty cunt, I'll come back and fill you up again soon, or maybe I'll let all my fraternity brothers have a turn with your holes. I wonder if you'll still be tight, if we all run a train on you bitches."
If I was frightened before, his words make it so much worse.
I watch with hatred as the shadowed monster wraps his large hand around Cheyanne's slender throat, and tightens his fingers until her pale skin turns a dark shade of red, and still she makes no move to save herself as he fucks her mouth savagely.
The small glimmer of light breaks through the shadows, highlighting an intricate golden ring, with a dark stone on his middle finger.
I force my gaze to keep rising, needing to see who the monster is, until I glimpse dark hair, high cheekbones, and soulless eyes, the color of burnt coffee, bitter and impossible to read.
There's not a speck of warmth in them, only the quiet patience of a predator who had already decided how this would end, how we will end, as if we have no value other than to be abused for his amusement.
Professor Rawdon.
The minute the name appears in my mind, his face morphs and changes, and now I see Cross's distinct features staring at me, while continuing to squeeze the life out of my best friend.
The two men blur together, until I'm not sure if what I'm looking at is human and real after all, or a product of my own deranged mind.
The ghosts of years ago mix with last night's monsters, circling and overwhelming me.
Their voices overlap, harsh and cruel, coming from everywhere all at once.
"See, violent little psycho, you were always meant to be mine. Neither of us will let a whore like you beat us. You're nothing, worthless, you have no power."
My chest heaves, and my pulse screams in my ears with terror, and the need to flee.
I attempt to pivot, my eyes the only part of me unfrozen, looking desperately for an exit that isn’t there.
The walls stretch and breathe with my rapidly increasing panic.
Beads of cold sweat trickle down my skin, leaving an itch in their wake.
Cheyanne makes a dreadful gasping noise, her eyes rolling into the back of her skull, as the mixtures of Rawdon, Cross, and shadows, laugh as they pull out of her mouth and cum all over her face, caking her in a mess.
My body begins to tremble as my own throat tightens. “Stop,” I whisper. “Please stop.” But the shadow only leans closer, and laughs as he murders my best friend ruthlessly, and sadistically, before my helpless eyes.
More shadows seem to fill the space, closing in and blocking my view of Cheyanne.
I can feel their anger, hate, and lust. Their breaths skate over my naked flesh, pebbled with goosebumps, and their heavy, musky, masculine scents fill my nose, until every drop of air entering my lungs is drenched with it.
The weight of the nightmare presses in, helping to convince me that I'm going to die now.
My body remembers, before my mind does, the pain of losing Cheyanne, of losing myself, and it shatters me until all I feel is burning despair in every molecule of my being.
Every muscle locks tight, and my lungs seize.
This is it, this is when I die too. I didn't make it out.
I've been trapped in this hell the whole time.
Nightmare! The thought penetrates through my spiraling panic, even as I feel something touching my most intimate parts.
I try to pull away, but my body still resists.
I can’t tell if I’m awake, asleep, or somewhere in between.
"Fuck, so tight and warm, shit. If I put my cock inside of her, I might just welcome death. "
My skin crawls with the sensation of various fingers sliding along my legs, arms, and gripping my breasts and pussy lips.
A finger circles my clit, rubbing back and forth before darting inside of my tight hole, thrusting once, twice, and then disappearing as if it were never there.
"No! No, please!" I beg, but it's useless; no one is listening.
My vision fractures, the darkness abating, that voice, I know it.
A flash of the library, and a cage, blares through my consciousness.
Damon’s wild hazel eyes burn with a feverish light, too bright and alive in complete contrast to the shadowed version of Rawdon.
The green in them shimmers like glass on the edge of shattering, while the gold flickers with something feral and unspeakably wrong.
You can clearly see the moment any sanity he possesses has slipped, the way a flame gutters before it consumes everything in its path, just like he's going to do to me.
Somehow, I manage to blink, and when my sight refocuses, the music is loud again, and someone is screaming and calling my name.
A door slams, rattling my teeth, and harsh hands reach for me.
My heart is once again clawing at my ribs, desperate to get out, as I fight to breathe, to move my limbs, to wake up and escape this fucking nightmare that is plaguing me, and wrapping me in a cyclone of desperation and madness.
The shadows twist, blinking in and out of nothingness, and into faces I almost know, bringing me further into awareness.
River’s smirk, Cross’s fury, and Damon’s whispering madness greet me, all blending into one monstrous reflection that leans down and says, “You can’t escape what you are, Olly.
You're already dead, you just don't know it yet.”
My mind is muddled and confused by too many sensations and scenes, and my senses can no longer tell which way is up.
What the fuck is happening to me? This is so much more than just a dream; there's a feeling of realness to it that is even more frightening, but why can't I move and fight what's happening to me?