Chapter 9 Collins
Collins
“WHAT CAN YOU FEEL?”
Fuck. Everything hurts.
Flames lick their way up my arms and legs, the unbearable heat searing my body as I’m consumed within its pain. I try to open my eyes, but odd flashes in an ever-changing room cause my lids to slam shut once more.
The fuck?
The fiery sensation in my limbs begins to pulse before shifting, the feeling transforming from one torturous sensation to another. The feeling of a thousand needle pricks starts to take over each of my extremities.
I try to lift my hands to shake out the feeling, but I’m met with resistance. I pull again. Same result. I do it again.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Nothing.
It takes me a moment to realize that the awful stinging, tingling sensation is from a return of proper blood flow to my hands.
Hands that are no longer stretched beyond normalcy, shackled far above my head. Still restrained, yet now they’re stuck by my sides.
What could Guy possibly have planned for me now?
Panic takes precedence as awareness slowly seeps back into my bones, chilling me to my marrow.
Taking a slow, deep breath, I try to calm myself, but it’s futile. There is no calm here. How much longer will I last before my body has nothing left to give?
But I can’t lay here anymore, I can’t take being a fucking pin cushion and cutting board for that sick, sadistic man anymore. I have to try to escape these restraints, get to Riley and get the fuck out of here before it’s too late.
Then, a memory hits me.
A soft, fading voice singing to me.
Sickening laughter.
A gun.
A scream.
BANG!
…
Oh, god.
Riley.
The trigger of the memory has my heart pounding as I force my eyes open once more, needing to see him. Everything is blurry, a haze settling over my vision as I scan the dark room for his body in the corner, but I come up short when I find that he isn’t there.
He isn’t there.
He should’ve never been here, but he was, and now he isn’t.
There is a chair in the corner of the room, but he’s not in it.
There isn’t even a trace of evidence that he was ever here with me in the first place.
Clean, shiny floors, pristine walls and furniture; everything is too clean.
No rope cutting into the armrests where he was tied up.
No dried blood from the injuries he should never have received.
No blood splattered up the wall. All evidence of his time here has been erased.
Oh no.
I fight my restraints harder, trying to call out his name, but no sound escapes.
I’d destroyed my vocal cords because I’d believed the lie that Guy would set him free if I gave him what he wanted.
Now Riley isn’t here, and I have no clue if he’s alive or not.
I pull and fight against my restraints, and I swear I can hear physical alarm bells sounding off.
I must finally be losing my goddamned mind.
I can’t focus on that when I’m facing the possibility that Riley was taken from me, for good this time. I can’t lose him. He can’t be gone.
No, no, no, no…
H…he can’t be–
“See me, Stardust.” A rough voice cuts through the terror and dread now consuming me. The voice is soothing, like a balm to my charred soul. But it’s distant; it sounds as if it’s underwater as the words filter through to my ears. “I’m here, baby. I’m here.”
Who? Who’s here?
Strong, warm hands gently grip each side of my face, thumbs stroking my cheekbones so delicately that it momentarily stuns me. Guy is never this gentle. His touch is only ever intended to inflict pain.
I blink several times, trying to rationalize this sudden tenderness when two bright blue eyes framed by the darkest of lashes materialize and take shape before me.
Messy, inky black hair spills over the pale skin of a beautiful face that I have known and loved my whole life.
I suck in a breath, unbelieving of what I see before me, certain I must be hallucinating.
Please be real.
“Creed?” I try to say his name, but no sound comes out.
My lack of voice doesn’t stop a beautiful smile from tugging his lips.
“There you are, Stardust. I’ve got you,” he whispers, his eyes glistening as he cups my cheeks and rests his forehead against mine.
“Fuck, baby, I’ve got you. You’re safe, I swear it.
” He repeats the words to me over and over, almost as if he’s trying to convince himself as much as me.
The faint memory of a similar moment in time flashes in the back of my mind but quickly disappears.
I do my best to take a deep breath, to breathe him in.
His warm, familiar citrus scent wraps around me; it feels like coming home.
It feels like peace. I lift my hands to hold him but am met with resistance again.
My eyes flash down to where I’m tied up, and I start to panic as sorrow grips my heart.
This is the cruelest of jokes for my mind to conjure, because I realize that this could only be an episode or a dream, and Creed might not really be here.
I’m still tied up in that dark, dirty room, just waiting for Guy to come in and ruin me beyond repair.
Alarm bells blare again in the same rapid rhythm to match the harsh breaths that saw in and out of my lungs as tears stream down my face. The salt stings as it passes through the open cuts along my chapped lips.
“Hey, hey, hey,” Creed coos, pushing tangled strands of my hair from my face as I release a silent sob at just how real his touch feels. “Tell me what’s wrong, baby. Are you in pain? How can I make it better?”
His face wobbles and blurs through the tears flooding my eyes, and another silent wail rips from my chest at the same time I try to reach for him again, and the restraints halt my movements once more.
“This isn’t real.”
Creed’s brows furrow as he reads my lips, then his eyes widen a fraction as if in realization before softening. He carefully shifts his position to sit closer to me on the edge of the bed.
“This is real, Collins. I promise you.” His fingers slowly graze over the material against my wrists.
“These are on for your safety, Stardust. I’m so sorry, baby,” he explains.
“I’m not supposed to take them off, but I can’t fucking stand to see you tied up and struggling like this.
” The sound of velcro ripping breaks the silence of the room as cool air greets each of my wrists.
“Just promise me you won’t try to get up, okay? ”
My brain still feels foggy. I’m trying so hard to understand what he’s said and if any of this is actually happening, but I nod anyway.
Now unrestrained, I feel a little more at ease. I look at Creed and take him in. Really look him over. I have no idea what to believe anymore when it comes to reality and what my mind has conjured.
Though, I’m starting to believe what I’m seeing because Creed looks so tired with dark circles under his eyes, but God, he’s still so beautiful. I’ve missed him. His protection. His familiarity.
I pull my hands into my lap, rubbing at my sore wrists. Creed’s eyes track the movement before traveling up to my face to meet my weary gaze. “How do I know this is real and not all in my mind?”
He thinks for a moment before an idea must spark behind his eyes because shifts to face me on the bedside but makes no other move to touch me. He holds out each hand to me, palms facing up.
My brows curve downward.
“Feel me,” he offers so quietly, I almost don’t hear it.
A tear falls.
“You’re cruel.”
“What do you mean?”
Another tear.
“Because none of this is real. How could I possibly touch you?”
He’s quiet for a moment, his expression contemplative.
“Just try. What’s the worst that could happen, Stardust?
I need you to know that you’re safe. You’re free.
That I’ve got you and I am never letting you go again.
But the power is all yours to prove that.
” He dips his chin, nodding to his outstretched hands.
“Trust in your senses, baby. What do you see?”
I suck in a breath, wincing at the pain in my ribs. In the background, I can tell I’m no longer in that room, and all I can see is Creed before me. “You.”
His eyes light up with my single, whispered word. “What can you hear?”
Closing my eyes, I listen. I can hear my own heart pounding in my ears, the hum of the machines around me, but more than anything I hear him. “You.”
When I open my eyes, he nods with the faintest of smiles tugging at his lips. He takes a shuddering breath and wiggles his fingers before me. “And what can you feel?”
I look down at my own hands where they rest in my lap. My arms are covered in bruises and various bandages. My fingertips are still tingling when I flex them, feeling the rough material of my hospital gown. Steeling myself, I lift my hands.
Creed sits stock still—I don’t think he’s even breathing—as I reach for him. I do my best to ignore the way my wounds pull tight as I outstretch my arms toward Creed, desperate to touch him, to make sure this isn’t all in my head.
I fucking hope this is real.
The moment I feel the rough calluses of his warm hands against mine, the same hands that have touched my face countless times before, a soundless sob rips from my chest and the dam breaks.
I grip his hands tighter, clinging to my lifeline as I manage to whisper, “You, Creed.” I breathe. “It’s you.”
He’s real. This is real. He’s here.
Creed is quick to shift until he’s sitting right next to me in this tiny hospital bed. Careful to avoid my injuries, I’m engulfed by his strong arms, and he pulls until I’m wrapped up safely in his embrace.
Finally, here, I release it all. All the tears, all the pain, all of the fear I felt while trapped within the clutches of Guy’s abuse.
The hurt and helplessness I felt in having to endure listening to him hurt Riley day in and day out.
For Riley to take hit after hit, his life slowly stolen from him, until—
“Oh, God,” I gasp, unable to breathe.