Chapter 9 Selma
Selma
Despite the worry rolling in her stomach, Selma had slept soundly, her exhausted body overriding her anxiety. Apparently getting fucked into a stupor did wonders for your REM cycle.
She stared at the ceiling as last night’s endeavor replayed in her mind. The moment dreamless sleep fully released her from its grip, dread clawed its way back into her consciousness.
She’d never thought much about the concept of a soul, but it was pretty impossible to pretend Marathin had been speaking in metaphors when he’d mentioned giving hers to him. And signing a contract... Odds were he was being very literal—seeing how he was a demon and all.
But what other choice did she have? Tell him she’d changed her mind and get auctioned off to some other demon? Sure, she could take her chances at escaping then, but there was no guarantee she’d ever get an opportunity. Here, now, she knew she could create one.
It’d be ten days before Marathin could take her to his own domain, which meant it’d be ten days where he wouldn’t be able to fully control her movements.
Sure, Ravenswood House wasn’t a place where you came and went as you pleased, but she’d be willing to wager that her chances of escape were a lot better here than they ever would be in another demon’s grasp.
Which meant… She swallowed and closed her eyes, trying to push back the rush of panic. She would have to sign her soul over to the demon who’d captured her. Somehow, somewhere, there had to be a way of breaking the contract. She’d find it once she was safe.
Groaning from the pain shooting through every stiff muscle, Selma struggled to sit up—her next “checkup” with Marathin was booked for shortly after breakfast, and she needed to shower and somehow calm down before the nurse came with her meal.
She shoved the duvet aside, and with a wince swung her legs over the side of the bed. White streaks of dried semen had crusted on her inner thighs, and she had no doubt that the rest of her appearance would cause an even remotely caring member of staff to ask questions.
Selma shuddered at the thought, the demon’s words ringing clear in her memory. He would silence anyone who so much as thought to intervene, and she couldn’t bear the idea of some innocent person dying for her.
Carefully she shifted her weight to her feet and pushed off the bed. Her muscles protested violently, and she groaned at the effort she had to make to keep standing.
But the place that should have hurt the most—her violated core—seemed... perfectly fine. The muscles were tired, but there was no pain.
Gingerly she squeezed her pelvic muscles to test the waters further, but they reacted as they should, albeit slower than normal.
Huh.
Staggering, she made her way to the bathroom and managed to get out of the shirt and panties she’d slept in before stepping under the blessedly warm spray of the shower.
The relief was instant, and she moaned with pleasure as the hot water worked on her stiffened limbs and back, washing off the dried evidence of Marathin’s indiscretions in the process.
She stood there until a firm knock rapped against the bathroom door, and Nurse Marie entered with no further warning.
The friendly woman rounded on her, a minor frown on her face as she ensured that her patient was not in the process of self-harming in any way.
“How long have you been in there, child? Your skin is starting to prune up.”
Child. Selma estimated that they were about the same age, but being a patient at a mental institution tended to strip you of any authority. She turned off the spray and attempted a smile.
“Oh, too long, I’m sure. I always liked my hot showers. I’ll be out in a minute.”
The other woman stayed put, staring at her naked body. “How did you get those?”
Selma looked down, following the nurse’s gaze, and blanched. On each hip, nearly black, finger-shaped bruises from where Marathin had held her when he took her from behind marred her pale skin.
“Er…” She grabbed the towel from the hook next to the shower and wrapped it around herself. “I think I got them from... from the attack.”
Marie’s kind eyes narrowed. “No, you didn’t; you did not have them when you arrived here—they would have been noted in your chart. Where did you get them from, Selma? Has someone hurt you?”
“No!” It came out too quickly, and she could see the blooming concern spreading on the nurse’s face. Damn it. She needed her to stop the questions now, to make absolutely certain that she did not risk being silenced by the overzealous demon.
“Look, I...” She stepped out of the shower, keeping a firm grip on the towel. “I did it to myself. Before Dr. Hershey helped me. It’s been a way of coping. I know, it’s not smart, but I really think I’ll be able to deal with it better now.”
She knew she was babbling in her attempt at throwing the other woman off the scent, and it wasn’t that she was massively keen on adding “self-harm” to her extensive file, but anything was better than Marathin taking lethal steps to ensure his continued free rein as a procurer.
“Honey...” Marie bit her lip. “Those do not look like self-inflicted bruises. If someone hurt you, you need to tell me.”
“No one’s hurt me.” Selma attempted a bright smile. “Everyone’s been so kind here. I promise; it was my own stupidity, nothing else. I’ll ask Dr. Hershey if he thinks I need help with it, but I honestly doubt it. I think he... cured me. Isn’t that amazing?”
The long, doubtful look she received for her efforts made her cheeks tighten, spreading the smile painfully across her face.
Please, Marie. Please believe me.
The urge to dry up before her skin cooled from the amazing shower and her muscles seized again only increased her need for the nurse to drop the issue.
“Is breakfast ready? I’m starving.” Nothing like a healthy appetite to convey the image of an equally healthy patient.
Not that she was lying about that particular part—last night’s adventures had depleted her resources, and after the shower had loosened up her aching muscles, her body was now free to focus on the gnawing hunger in the pit of her stomach.
“Yes.” Marie sent her another lingering look.
“We are very understaffed this morning; most of the nurses, wardens, and doctors are at a meeting until after lunch, so I will leave you to eat while I finish up with the other patients. I’ll be back to bring you to your appointment with Dr. Hershey in half an hour.
After that, we will talk about those bruises some more. ”
“Really, there’s no need …” Selma paused at the pained expression crossing the nurse’s face.
“Look, I... I shouldn’t be saying this, but.
.. Honey, you’ve obviously been hurt, and only members of staff have had access to you.
In the past, we’ve had some... issues with some of the wardens.
I know you’re probably very scared, but I promise that I will go directly to the police.
You won’t have to see whoever did this again, and this time management won’t get the chance to sweep it under the rug. ”
Selma frowned. They‘d “had issues in the past”? She wondered if they’d really had wardens behave unacceptably toward other patients, or if Marathin had simply covered his tracks after performing his special brand of examinations on unsuspecting women.
Patients as trapped and frightened as she had been and still was.
And now this kind woman was planning to stand up to the injustice she thought came from the hospital management, not realizing that she wouldn’t just be risking her job in the process—she would be risking her life.
“No.” Selma tried her best to look strong and convincing as she stood wrapped in her towel on the cold, white tiles. “Don’t do that. There is no need, I promise.”
Marie’s lips pinched, the determination in her blue eyes unwavering. “Dry yourself off, Selma, and have your breakfast. I will be back shortly.”
Selma picked at her breakfast, her growling stomach demanding nourishment even though she was sick with fear—fear of Marathin, fear for Marie, and fear for her own future. She really, really didn’t need the added concern of a nosy nurse asking questions that could get her killed.
When Marie came to get her, she had finished off the plate, but her anxiety hadn’t eased in the slightest.
“Are you ready, honey?” Marie asked with an encouraging smile, and Selma managed to nod in return and get up.
This was it; her entire future depended on whether or not she could fool the demon into believing she wanted him.
Her thoughts kept looping around what he’d make her do to prove her loyalty once she’d signed his contract, along with the fact that if he killed Marie for asking questions, Selma would be responsible. Cold fear knotted in her stomach.
“You don’t look so well, Selma. Is something wrong?” The nurse’s smile dropped. “Is it the bruises? Do you want to talk about what happened?”
“Nothing happened,” she said, doing her best to wipe the worry from her features. “I’m just a little tired. Is Dr. Hershey ready to see me now?”
Marie replied with another suspicious look, but ended up nodding and leading her out the door. “We will talk more after your appointment. I’m not letting another girl…” She stopped herself, and with a strained smile, closed the door behind them.
They walked through the empty corridors in silence, the sound of their footsteps echoing through the old building.
Selma tried to calm herself, to remind herself that it hadn’t been all pain and suffering last night, but when Marie rapped her knuckles on the door to Marathin’s office, her heart leapt into her throat.
The door opened, revealing Marathin’s tall and darkly handsome figure. He smiled at the sight of them, stepping aside. “Selma, Marie. Do come in, both of you.”
Now what? Selma swallowed nervously. He couldn’t possibly know that the nurse was suspicious of the bruising he’d left—could he? Oh god, what was he going to do to the poor woman?