Chapter 21
twenty-one
-Brynn-
I’m shaking so hard; I might start thinking I’m plugged into the machines again. I haven’t felt like this since I escaped the sanatorium. Not even when I’m having the nightmares, or when Elias used to talk about it.
I’m vulnerable and I fucking hate it. I hate being so exposed in front of the man I need to destroy.
In front of the man, I want to hate... but it seems impossible to.
I didn’t tell him the whole story, though.
I didn’t tell him about Elias, or how he was the only thing holding my sanity together while we were both in the sanatorium.
He was there because he developed self-harming tendencies after being abused for seven years—as a child, and then again in the sanatorium.
He used to dream of becoming a famous reporter, of building enough credibility to expose everything that was happening in Elmbrook.
My dream was a lot simpler.
End them all.
We couldn’t exactly go to the police after escaping that place. The local authorities might not believe us. We couldn’t risk anyone sending us back.
When we both escaped, we promised ourselves that we’d return. Make the ones who hurt us pay.
I’ve walked through fire more than once. Now, I need to wield it into a weapon, let it become the fuel that helps me succeed. Now, it’s all on me—even if, in this second, I don’t feel powerful enough to even breathe.
I still can’t believe I told Ares about my trauma, that I let him into the most intimate parts of my life. The most painful ones. And right now, I’d give anything to stop the pain.
Before it consumes me.
I need to stop the memories, and as absurd as it sounds, I’m clinging to any hope I can find—even Ares’s promise.
Because it feels like I’m slowly dying. And it’s only a matter of time until there’s nothing left of me to fight with.
The sensations are all too real, like I’m there again. The dim lights around me slowly begin to fade, and the shadow of the monster creeps in. The small pocketknife in his hand. The promise of pain in his eyes.
And I feel like I’m drowning, even if I’m on land.
I can’t let Ezekiel get to me. Not again. Deep down, I’m still the scared prisoner he used to have at his mercy. That’s why I never felt ready to go after him, not even after all these years.
He’s getting closer, heavy steps against the floor, mischief in his eyes, and the fucking urge to see me broken. To ruin me.
The fear is so potent I feel like I’m gagging. The tightening in my chest announces another panic attack, but this time with good reason. The inability to move, to scream, to do anything except lie there as a victim.
No, I can’t be the victim this time.
I start kicking and screaming, nails digging into his skin. Knees striking anything I can reach.
Ezekiel won’t hurt me this time. I won’t let him. But he’s strong. So much stronger than his fragile stature lets on, like an unmovable wall, keeping me hostage on the couch.
“Brynn,” he groans, his voice hoarse, like it doesn’t even belong to the face. It doesn’t stop me, though. I only fight him harder, kick him stronger. Until he says it again, even more demanding. “Brynn, fucking look at me.”
And this time, I recognize the voice.
It doesn’t belong to Ezekiel.
It belongs to Ares.
Confusion takes hold of me. Everything’s a blur now, and I’m fighting to see through it. But when it clears, what I see feels like another version of my nightmares.
Ares has turned on the light. His body is on top of mine, pinning me to the couch, asking me to breathe slowly.
But how am I supposed to breathe when the oxygen’s drained from my lungs?
Because this isn’t Ares with me, but a dark version of him.
Like a real-life monster coming to take whatever scraps of sanity I have left.
All his features are rougher now. His eyes, completely dark, the black iris, swallowing the white.
His lips are thicker and more curved. His sharp jawline, now almost squared, like he’s carved out of stone.
Everything about him is larger, like he grew a whole foot in one second, his body following the rhythm.
Everything’s more sculpted, impossibly defined now, veins pulsing with some twisted rage that sends chills down my spine.
“What the fuck are you?” I ask, trying to sound menacing, but my tone has lost the edge. I sound much more like a scared kitten than a warrior ready to face him. And how could I not when I’m starting to believe he’s something not even human.
Fuck. I’ve gone insane.
Maybe him seeing my scars triggered something, flipped a switch in my brain. Now the world feels like a mix of chaos and hallucinations, all driven by my sick imagination. I don’t know if I should be terrified or just start laughing.
Because this isn’t real. It can’t be real.
I’m just seeing things. Just like I saw Ezekiel a few seconds ago.
I want to start laughing, maybe even make fun of how fucked everything turned out. But there’s something that’s stopping me. This feels too real, even if I know I’m just lost at this point.
So, I don’t say anything. I just stare at him, examine his features, stunned by what my own mind could come up with. Angry that I let myself get to this point.
He’s still, like a predator waiting for my next move, like he’s sniffing out the air to decide the right moment to bare his teeth.
“I have to go.” It’s more like I’m asking for permission than telling him what I’m about to do next.
But if I stay here, I’ll lose the last drop of sanity holding me together.
“No, you don’t,” he mutters, the sound of his voice matching his rough features.
There’s something bizarre about his tone, like it comes from a place outside this dimension. Like, he’s not Ares anymore, but a creature brought to life to snap me from my hallucinations. And drop me into a real-life nightmare.
“I’m not… I’m not feeling well,” I try to explain to him what’s going on with me without really saying it. Because how do you tell someone you’re seeing them as something that crawled out of the depths of hell?
But his hands keep me pinned, his voice losing the severity just slightly.
“Brynn, you’re not seeing things.” He pauses, waiting for me to realize that this is real.
“I know it’s the worst fucking moment to explain this, but I couldn’t control myself after hearing what happened.
” He breathes heavily, like the words cost him.
And I still can’t believe what I’m seeing.
“What the hell are you?” I ask, my voice quivering.
“Interesting choice of words. Because that’s exactly what I am. Something born from hell. The Devil’s offspring... or at least that’s what people call me.”
I look at him and I want to say he’s tripping, but something tells me he’s as real as it gets. And everything about him convinces me he’s telling the truth. He’s something out of this world, something unimaginable, and at the same time, undeniable.
“How... how is that even possible?” I ask, my voice still shaking, confused by what I just confessed and what he just revealed. Because Ezekiel’s image is still somewhere there in my mind—more present than ever—waiting for the right moment to surface again.
“I’ll explain later. I’m not sure you’re ready for the full story right now,” he stops, giving me a few moments to recover—not that anyone could recover from this. “I could’ve walked away. Come back later with some excuse. But I’m here because I can't see you like this.”
I swallow the knot in my throat. I know exactly what he’s talking about. If it weren’t for my physical appearance, he wouldn’t even recognize me. I’m a mess. Still shaking, like a leaf, still too troubled to properly process what’s happening.
“Let me help you. Let me replace the monster in your nightmares with the monster you own,” he breathes, his eyes running over my body, fingernails trailing across my scars.
Could he really help me?
Could he erase Ezekiel from my body and replace him with anything else?
It doesn’t even matter what at this point. I just want to be free of him. Free of the fear that runs my life from the shadows. Even if it’s just for a second. Even if we’re not meant to be. Because when the time comes, I won’t hesitate to destroy all my monsters.
I still want to tell him no. I can’t conceive anyone else having this kind of power over me, especially Ares.
But I can’t live with the fear either. It’s wearing me down, like I’m rotting from the inside out.
The pain, the memories—all too real, just like the tears sliding down my cheeks.
I don’t even know how I’m crying. I never cry.
It’s just too much, too fast.
I don’t even have faith Ares can succeed. But if there’s the slightest chance, the smallest opportunity to be free, then I have to take it. Even if I don’t understand what’s happening or how this is even possible.
But I’ve learned the hard way that men can be monsters.
So why can’t monsters be real?
I lift my eyes to look at him. I don’t want to say the words.
I don’t want to be weak again and give him power over me.
Though he already has it. But the darkness in his eyes deepens.
The tattoos on his body start shifting, morphing from monsters to crows, then to indescribable beings, like they’re summoning something evil from within.
Maybe it’s his way of fighting evil with evil.
I know it’s my way of surrendering.
With one swift move, he finds his way between my legs.
With another, he grabs the rim of the couch, dropping the backrest and turning it into a garden bed.
The lights are on and I’m ready to ask him to turn them off again.
But I also want to stop hiding. I want him to do whatever he has to, if it means curing me of Ezekiel.
He leans in, his breath uneven, like he’s having trouble staying focused. And I don’t blame him. His body is something massive now, and even though I have a million questions, I don’t have the time to ask them now.