Chapter 33 Rowyn Hale
thirty-three
Rowyn Hale
Visitors
Rolling over in my bed, my eyelids feel heavy, so fucking heavy.
I didn’t even mean to fall asleep. I blink up at the ceiling, the faint glow of the campus lights bleed through the window as the trees sway in the wind.
Why do I feel so… numb as if I’m floating.
Is this a dream? My thoughts drift but I can’t think straight.
I swallow but my tongue feels thick and dry like a piece of cotton was stuck in my mouth.
What the fuck? I try to take a deep breath but I can't. It's as if my body and brain forgot how to. What the hell is happening?
Suddenly, I hear a sound—the softest faint click of my door.
I freeze and my heart tries to spike but it feels sluggish like everything else.
No, no, no. I need to move but I can’t, everything is just heavy.
I try to twitch my fingers against the sheet but it’s barely a tremor.
Footsteps get closer but they are slow as if whoever it is isn’t afraid to be here.
It’s intentional. My bed dips and my lungs seize as I try to gasp but it comes out broken.
Someone is sitting beside me and I want to scream, but no one will hear me.
I can’t move. I can’t speak. Who did this to me?
Then a warm rush of heat coats my skin as a hand slides into my hair gently playing with the strands.
He brings it up to his nose and inhales through the mask he’s wearing.
A growl leaves his throat, and I shiver.
My stomach twists and I want to pull away but I can’t fucking move.
Fingers thread through my long strands, tugging lightly, and they exhale.
“You should’ve listened!” he whispers through clenched teeth right above my ear, his lips brushing against my skin.
I know that voice. Panic claws at my ribs but it has nowhere to go.
It just sits here trapped, suffocating me from the inside out. I just want to scream.
The cold edge of metal grazes the side of my neck and my breathing hitches.
Is that scissors? Then the grinding sound of the first cut against my hair is soft, then another.
Strands of my hair slide across my cheek like a feather before it drifts down to my pillow.
He cuts more, not saying a word and tears fall down my face.
Stop! Please stop! Get out of my room! I want to shout but I can’t, so I lay here trapped in a body that won’t move with a mind that is screaming to be saved!
I just want to die. Someone help me! Please help me!
I’m so deep in my head wanting to scream for help that I don’t notice how angry his cuts are becoming.
My brain and my surroundings are not in tune with each other and everything feels delayed.
It’s maddening, but his grip on my hair tightens and he yanks my head to the side, forcing me to look at him, but all I see is a black mask, no signs of the person beneath it.
He tilts his head then lifts my head towards his face, his warm breath brushing over my skin—weed, whiskey and something awfully familiar but I can’t fucking think.
“Pretty little thing thought she could play dress up—play games. Little Flower knows better, but you—you are a knock off,” he murmurs as if he’s speaking to himself rather than to me.
Another slice, this time longer, and a chunk falls, and I know right then that my hair is truly fucked.
Suddenly, he releases me and my head falls back onto the pillow, then my arm litters with goosebumps as his fingers slowly drag down before he lifts my fingers, staring at them almost like he’s examining each one.
It’s creepy as fuck. “Now you’ll remember.
” And the sound of the scissors cutting echoes around the room.
I scream but nothing comes out. He takes his gloved thumb, pressing it against my bottom lip, pulling it down slightly.
I try to fight, try to move, try to scream.
Anything, but nothing comes. My body just lays still as my mind continues to scream.
Useless is what I am. Stupid. Dumb. Worthless.
But useless in this moment. The bed shifts and his thumb disappears along with his presence as footsteps fade and the soft click of the door shutting sends silence rushing back in.
But yet, I still can’t move. Tears continue to fall down the sides of my face onto my pillow.
I don’t know how long I lay here trapped.
It could’ve been minutes or hours. Time melted, then the sun begins to rise, but my eyes become heavier than before and everything goes black.