22. Winver
TWENTY-TWO
The feeling of fire burning throughout my back is persistent more than ever now. With each step I take, the more the fabric rubs up against it. Motley trails so close behind me, I can hear his fucking breathing.
“Can you not walk so close behind me? Hearing you breathe is pissing me off,” I sneer, making our way up to the second floor.
“I was just inside you and now you want to say I’m too close to you?” he shoots back.
I roll my eyes, leaving it at that. He got me there…
Coming up to the hidden door to their place, he grabs my wrist as he walks next to me, unlocking the door.
“You think I’m going to run away?” I scoff.
“Anything is possible, angel.”
Entering their home, Harley and Weston sit on the couch with their masks on and heads down at their phones. When they notice we’ve arrived, Harley shoots up, storming over to us.
“Seems like you both had a great fucking time. Added some new paint to the mask there, Motley?” he says sarcastically, but that doesn’t hide his anger. His breathing becomes louder as the nose openings from the mask give it a more dramatic tone.
“Is someone jealous?” I charge back.
“Jealous of what? That you just got used?” he scoffs.
“Look, she’s here now so get on with it,” Motley says, pushing me over to Harley. I hit his chest, now sandwiched in between them. What exactly are we getting on? If it’s another session of them using my body, I’m done. I told myself I’d give them it, but only for some fucking answers which I haven’t gotten yet.
“Weston,” Harley calls out.
“Yes?”
“Go get our angel taken care of and keep a close eye on her.” He moves away as Weston comes over, taking my hand and leading me out of the living room. I look over my shoulder, seeing Harley and Motley still standing by the door, watching me until I’ve disappeared completely.
Weston takes me to what I assume is his bedroom, guiding me into the bathroom. Maybe since it’s just me and him, I’ll finally be able to ask what I’ve been wanting and getting the answers I need.
“Please stay right here. I promise if you run out, you’ll just get caught and I can assure you they won’t go easy on you,” he says calmly. I watch as he starts a bath, adding some soap and Epsom salt in it as he feels the temperature of the water, making sure it’s not too hot.
“Okay, angel, let’s see that damage.”
For some reason, he doesn’t make me want to slit his throat like I want to with the other guys. His presence, at the moment, is nothing but soft and welcoming. I take off my shoes and clothes, wheezing out a breath from the movements and sting that comes with it. Weston’s mouth partially drops open as his eyes focus on the mirror behind me.
“Holy fuck…” I twist my body around, seeing how bad the damage is. It’s worse than I thought. Motley, you sick fuck. My back is beet red with blood still oozing out from some of the cuts. Vertical, horizontal, and diagonal lines mark every inch. There’s no rhyme or reason, just pure drive. “Oh my god,” I say with utter disbelief, not knowing it was that bad.
“Here, let’s get you in the shower first to rinse off,” Weston says, turning on the shower.
Stepping in, I let the water hit my chest first before slowly turning around. The water hitting my back takes my breath away. Taking a minute to let the pain wash down along with the dried and fresh blood before I move my body, I hunch my back, feeling the closed cuts starting to open. I grit my teeth together, grunting out. “Holy fuck, it hurts.”
Weston leans up on the counter, crossing his arms and looking down. “Just wash off then get in the bath. You need to let that Epsom salt soak in it.” Agreeing with him, I rinse off some more then head into the bath, putting my arms on either side and sinking in slowly. I cry out as soon as my body is emerged, feeling the salt invade my open wounds.
“Your friends are dicks,” I say cautiously, making sure I don’t include him with the insult so that he feels like I am comfortable around him.
“Believe me, I know,” he says, walking over to the tub. He gets on his knees and puts his arms on the edge.
“Why me, Weston?”
“I can’t explain it, angel.”
“Yes, you can,” I say, taking his hand which he allows me to hold. “They won’t ever know you said anything to me. I just need to know, Wes.”
His sapphire eyes look down at me, glossing over. I’m getting to him. I’m already starting to crack his shell.
“Just know we’re doing this because it’s our job,” he says, now taking my hand and squeezing it a little. Ugh…
What the actual fuck does that even mean?! What fucking job? Why am I even a part of this so-called job?
“Can you give me an idea of what this job is, Wes?” I crack my voice, wanting to make it seem like I’m hopeless and scared.
“It’s saving our lives…” he nearly whispers, harshly blinking when I see a tear escape his eye under his mask. By making my life hell, it’s saving theirs? Am I getting punk’d? Because if that’s the case, the cameras can come out now.
“But–”
“Shhh…” He holds up a finger to his lips. “You’ll know soon enough. I promise.”
They seem to make a lot of fucking promises that make zero sense. I let it be, moving my arms around under the murky, red water, watching the little waves I create.
“Turn around, let me clean you.”
Now facing the wall, I let Weston pour water down my hair and back. The pain is still there, but it’s gone down a little. All of a sudden, Weston’s hands are massaging over my scalp, shampooing my hair with an apple scent to it. I close my eyes with pleasure, feeling him work his fingers into my scalp in gentle, circular motions.
I let him finish washing my hair, never wanting him to stop massaging me. It makes the pain go away for the time being. “Stay right there.” I see him get up through his shadow, hearing him get something from one the drawers and turning on the sink. After a few moments, he comes back, placing a rag over my wounds. It stings for a little, feeling like little, tiny bubbles popping with needles.
“It’s water and hydrogen peroxide. I’ll bandage you up when you”re done.”
“Thanks…Wes?” I don’t understand why he’s being so nice. If he’s like this all the time, then why on earth is he part of all of this?
Rising up from the bath, he puts a towel over the front of my body then takes me to the bathroom counter. I watch him through the mirror, seeing him start to put gauze bandages over my wounds. We make eye contact through the reflection for a moment.
“Why the masks?”
“Harley doesn’t want us showing our identity.”
“So you and Motley just do whatever he says?”
“It’s more complicated than that.”
“How?”
He stops and looks at me, sighing. “It just is…”
“Oookayy…” Not really sure why or how it could be so complicated, but it’s fitting. This whole fucking thing is complicated for no reason.
Putting on the last bandage, he gives me a gentle pat on the shoulder. “Okay, we’re all done. I’ll change it next time, too. Until then, there’s some clothes on my bed for you to wear for the night.”
“The night?”
“I’ll let Harley explain that one,” he says, walking out of the bathroom and closing the door behind me.
I take a moment to look at myself, struggling to grasp all of this, but there isn’t much to grasp yet.
“Oh, Winver,” I mumble to myself, my head falling into my hands. Peering back up, I let out a scared gasp, noticing a woman staring back at me through the mirror. I turn around then look back at the mirror, seeing she’s still there. She looks…terrible. She has blood all over her arms, chest, and legs, holding herself as she weeps out little cries. Am I hallucinating?
“He-hello?” I ask.
“He needs to find the light,” she softly cries out.
“Wh-who needs t-to find the li-light?” I stutter, shocked and frightened as to what I’m seeing.
“He needs to let me go.” She hugs herself tightly.
“Who needs to let you go?” Her cries stop for a moment when suddenly she leaps towards the mirror causing me to cover my face with the towel. I slowly drop it, noticing she’s gone. Did I just see my first ghost or is the pain giving me hallucinations? I quickly exit the bathroom, going to change into the clothes Weston set out. Another pair of black sweats and a hoodie lay folded, surprisingly my size. There’s even a sports bra laying out, but I decided against it because of the cuts and bandages.
Weston never said what to do after I changed, so I make my own call as I peer off into the living room and kitchen, but I don’t see anybody. I go down the long hallway, five doors lining it on the same side. I come to a halt at the last door, hearing them converse in what sounds like a heated conversation. I grab the knob, slowly opening it to give me a little peek as to what’s going on.
“What’re you doing?” Motley says behind me. I jolt my body forward, making the door swing open, welcoming myself in a room I wish I never wanted to be nosey about. A life-size, cast iron, rectangular cage sits in the middle of the room, while a black leather chair sits directly in front of it. I turn around to see Motley standing in the doorway then back to Harley and Weston who stand on either side of the cage.
“What the fuck is going on?” I demand.
Harley walks over to me, reaching out to tuck my hair behind my ear, but I thrash my head away. He snaps his fingers, extending his arm out as Motley hands him a syringe. He holds it up next to his face, shooting up some of the clear liquid.
I step back but am met with Motley’s arms wrapping around me when suddenly Harley stabs the needle into my neck, quickly injecting whatever the liquid is. “Get the fuck off of me!” I yell out, kicking and thrashing my body. After a minute of struggling, my eyes start to become heavier and my muscles start to feel more relaxed. All of a sudden, my body completely goes limp in Motley’s hold, my eyes slowly falling shut when the last thing I hear are Harley’s chilling words.
“Welcome to your new home.”