Chapter 39
Collins
“YOU’RE NOT REAL.”
Riley gets to be the middle spoon tonight, and our shared body heat has me boiling alive.
The boys have been asleep for close to three hours now, and I don’t even feel tired.
It fucking sucks. I’ve had a lot of anxiety over the last several days—this all-consuming sense of impending doom blankets my body, and it’s nearly impossible to shake.
Creed and Riley do their best to keep me busy, but this is something that has latched onto me and sunk its claws in.
It’s nearly three in the morning, and I’m wide awake. Feeling like a shower will help kickstart feeling better, I carefully untangle myself from Riley’s arms. I grab a new shirt and a pair of clean panties from the closet before heading to the bathroom.
The moment the hot water hits my skin, I regret it.
I was already hot to begin with, and now I’m sweating harder.
I adjust the knobs so the water is lukewarm, then sit sideways on the bench at the back of the shower stall.
Closing my eyes, I let the rainfall shower head cascade over me as I take several slow, deep breaths.
Fuck it.
This isn’t working, and the fact that trying to relax is not working is only making me more anxious.
I run my hands up and over my legs and cringe when I feel just how prickly they are.
Bless the men still in our bed for not saying a damn thing about how badly I need to shave them.
But also, how dare they not tell me I was bordering on a woolly mammoth?
I find my razor on the shelf and lather my legs up one at a time. I’m careful to go over my scars and manage to get my left leg completely smooth before moving on to the right one.
The act of shaving my legs feels almost hypnotic, the slow, mindless movements nearly forcing the doomsday feeling from my mind.
I must have drifted too far into my mind because a few minutes later, I gasp when a sharp pain pricks my inner thigh. I’m yanked from a visionless daydream to reality when I look down to see a small cut with a steady stream of blood mixing with the water droplets that coat my skin.
My body locks up because as quickly as I was pulled back into the present, I’m ripped away again. Because the pain in my thigh mixed with the sight and scent of blood forces the room to shift around me.
Suddenly, I’m back in that cold, dark room.
Naked. Shivering and shaking in fear. The shower disappears, and the shackles are back around my wrists and ankles.
Breaths begin to saw in and out of my lungs because his laughter echoes down the hall, drawing closer.
The fear is replaced with dread because the chair that once held Riley is now empty.
It all feels too familiar, like a horror film playing on repeat.
Guy rounds the corner, his devilish face materializing before me, and I scramble to get away from him. The cold, hard ground is slick with blood, and I struggle to back away.
“G-get away from me,” I try to scream, but my voice cracks and it only comes out as a broken whisper.
His dark chuckle echoes off the walls around me, and a chill claws its way in, seeping bone-deep at the sound.
“Now, why would I do that?” he taunts, cocking his head to one side as he watches my feeble attempt to get away from him. “You’re my favorite, perfect little canvas. How could I possibly stay away when you bleed so pretty for me, little girl?”
He takes another step toward me, but I barely manage to find my footing. I’m still naked and slipping on the floor, but I’m able to put a few feet between us. Backing away, I bump into a table and reach blindly for something, anything I can use to defend myself.
Another step closer. “I’ll fucking scream,” I shout, my voice hoarse.
“Oh, I’m planning on it,” he says simply, drawing a straight razor from his pants pocket.
He’s in front of me before I even have time to think, swiping out at me, but I duck under his arm, slipping on the wet, sticky floor as I narrowly miss his blade.
“Get away from me,” I repeat, but that only pisses Guy off even more.
“Not possible, Collins,” he grits, tapping his temple. “I’ll never be far. Always up here, even when my corpse is rotting away from six feet under. I’ll still be here to have my fun with you.”
“Shut up,” I demand through clenched teeth, hoisting the heavy object in my hand.
“A lifetime of getting to feed off of your fear? Your screams?” He laughs, and the sound is pure evil.
“Stop—” I shout, backing up a step and tripping before catching myself.
“Every cut.” His eyes drop to my thigh. “Every scrape, every bruise…I’ll be there to fucking drink it in. Swallowing every last ounce of fear that seeps from your bones like it’s a fucking delicacy.”
I shake my head vehemently, the tears building and welling in my eyes spilling over, “This—y-you’re not real.”
“I’m not?” he mocks, twirling his blade between his fingers. “You sure about that?”
“It can’t be, it’s not—” I spin in a slow circle, taking in the room around me. Nothing seems familiar, and I can’t put a name on where I am. It’s not the room Riley and I were held in. It’s… “Riley.” I breathe his name.
“You mean the boy we just set ablaze and buried in the woods?”
“You’re lying—“
“Am I?”
I hear muffled sounds coming from somewhere in the distance, but I stand my ground. He lunges for me, and it knocks me into a wall. A sob rips from my lips as I stare at Guy’s blurring face. “You’re not real.”
“I am real.” His voice shifts, sounding unlike himself as hands hold me down.
“Fuck you!” I shove, and he stumbles back. Bending down, I grab the heavy object I’d found earlier and hurl it at him as hard as I can, just as a low-toned scream rips past my lips.
He ducks, and glass shatters all around me. The walls and doors begin to rattle violently as I dive down, cutting my legs and feet to grab the largest shard. Blood trails down my forearm from how hard I’m squeezing as I hold it out, keeping Guy at bay.
That doesn’t stop him, though. Because with a malevolent grin, he strikes.