Something Buried
Aviana
“I’m not going to tie you up again, Little Bird” he says, his voice almost soft. “Not unless you need it. But this is about you taking control now. Your fear isn’t in those restraints. It’s in your mind.”
I look at him, my heart pounding in my chest. For the first time since this twisted game started, I feel like I have a choice in the matter. A dangerous, terrifying choice.
I sit up, my heart pounding in my chest, the rawness of the moment sinking deep into my bones. “Are you letting me go, Nightshade?” The question slips out before I can stop it, and the sadness in my voice only makes it worse, like I’m finally admitting the terrible reality of what’s happening.
He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even acknowledge the pleading in my voice. He’s unfazed, his gaze cold, calculating. “Say it again.”
Confusion floods me, and I can’t help but hesitate. “Please let me go?” I ask, my voice cracking, trying to understand what he wants from me.
“No.” His voice is firm, like it holds a command, like it means something more than just words. “Say my name again.”
My chest tightens, my breath catching in my throat, but I force the words out, my voice barely a whisper. “Nightshade. Please, I beg you, let me go.”
Before I can process what’s happening, he moves. In one smooth motion, he scoops me up off the table, lifting me effortlessly, as if I weigh nothing at all. My breath catches, my body tensing instinctively, but I don’t resist.
He moves with surprising gentleness, placing me in a chair, his hands steady on my arms as he positions me face to face with him.
He doesn’t let go of me right away, his grip firm, his eyes never leaving mine. It’s like he’s waiting for me to make a move, to react. His eyes are hidden behind the dark lenses, yet I feel them—like I’ve known that gaze before. There’s something in it, something so deeply familiar that it makes my breath catch in my throat.
The feeling stirs something inside me, an ache deep in my chest, and I fight to push it down. I can’t. I won’t . I don’t want to remember what lies beneath that gaze, what history we share. The pull, the connection—it’s all too much, like the past trying to claw its way back into the present.
I fight the urge to reach up and rip off his mask. To see his face. To understand why his presence feels like a shadow I can’t shake, even after all this time. But I know better than to open that door again. I know better than to let the past flood back in, to revisit the pain.
No. I won’t go there. I refuse.
“No,” I whisper to myself, forcing the thought down. Don’t. You can’t. It’s not him.
But every fiber of my being tells me differently. There’s a connection there, buried deep, and it’s pulling me closer to the edge.
He steps back, his presence still heavy in the room, but the air between us shifts, creating just enough space for me to breathe. His eyes never leave mine as he straightens, his movements smooth, controlled.
His lips curl into that same cold smile. “You’re going to play one more game.”
I blink, confusion hitting me like a wave. “What?”
“Truth or dare,” he says, the words hanging in the air like a trap. “No more pleading, no more running . You’ll face what I want you to face.”
A chill runs through me at his words. He’s not asking. He’s demanding .
“I—” My voice catches, but I try to hold it together. “I don’t want to play. I don’t—”
My pulse races, and though every part of me wants to resist, I can feel the weight of his gaze pushing against me, making it impossible to argue. “Truth or dare?” he asks, his gaze unwavering, cold.
“Truth,” I whisper, my voice barely audible, a mix of resignation and rebellion threading through it. He doesn’t move, his eyes never leaving me.
“You’ve been letting your emotions, your fear, control you. You’ve been letting the past define who you are,” he continues, taking a slow step toward me. “I’m going to show you how to take that power back.”
He moves behind me, his fingers graze the back of my neck, sending a shiver down my spine.. “Every time I ask you a question, you’ll answer. No hesitation. No fear. You will stand in your own truth. You will learn how to control the panic, the shame, the helplessness. Do you understand?”
I nod, my heart racing, but this time it’s not from fear of him. It’s from the sudden weight of what he’s asking. I want to take control of my life again, to stop feeling like a victim. If there’s even a sliver of a chance to reclaim that, then I have to listen.
He steps in front of me now, his face unreadable beneath the mask, but I can still feel the weight of his gaze. “Good. Let’s begin. What scares you most, Little Bird?”
I swallow hard, my throat tight as I try to push the words past my lips. “The fear that I’ll never escape. That I’ll always be trapped in this… this cycle. That I’ll never be loved.” My voice cracks, the vulnerability leaking out before I can stop it. The words feel raw, like they’re exposing the deepest part of me, the part I’ve kept hidden for so long.
He nods, but there’s no pity in his eyes—only an understanding that feels almost too intimate. “Is that what you think?” His voice is low, steady, and just slightly mocking, as though he’s seen the fear I carry for so long that it no longer surprises him. “You think you’re unlovable, Little Bird?”
“You’ll never be free of the fear,” he murmurs, his voice low, almost tender in its cruelty. “Not while you still have something left to lose. But love?” He lets the word hang in the air between us, sharp and final. “You won’t find it in the way you think, Little Bird. Not from anyone else. No one else will care the way I do. No one else will be here to hold you together when everything else falls apart.”
He takes another step closer, his face just inches from mine, the mask a barrier between us but somehow still so personal. “And you’ll never need anyone else when you’ve already got me.”
The words are unexpected. They aren’t what I’ve been waiting for, but they hit harder than I expected. I look at him, trying to decipher the truth in his words. He’s not trying to break me right now. He’s showing me a way out, a way to control the chaos inside me.
“Truth or dare?” he asks again, this time with a calmness that feels almost…real.
“Dare,” I reply, surprising myself with the firmness in my voice.
He smiles—just slightly—but it’s enough to let me know I’ve passed some kind of test. “Close your eyes, Little Bird.” But I tilt my head and hesitate.
His fingers move to my chin, leaning my face slightly upward. “Close your eyes. Don’t fight it.”
There’s something in his tone—something that holds an unspoken command. But it’s not like before, this is different. It’s more… pleading . Like he’s praying that I will take this next step.
And so, I do it. I close my eyes, though every part of me wants to look. To break free of the restraint, to challenge him. But I keep my eyes shut, focusing instead on the steady rhythm of my breath, the rise and fall of my chest.
I hear a rustling, then I feel it. His lips, soft and gentle, pressing against mine. The contact is tender at first, as though he’s testing the waters. I don’t pull away, though every instinct in me screams to resist.
The kiss… it feels so familiar, like a kiss I’ve had before. But no, it can’t be. Not anyone from my past. They’re long gone—buried in the ruins of memories I’ve tried to leave behind. I walked away from them. I left them in the past, where they belong.
Yet the sensation stirs something deep inside me, something hidden beneath the fear, beneath the pain. It’s a feeling I can’t place, but it’s there, pulling at the walls I’ve carefully built around myself. The familiarity claws at me, and for a moment, I almost let myself believe it’s him—one of them—but I shove the thought away. No . It can’t be.
He pulls away slightly, his breath warm on my face, and for a brief, suspended moment, everything feels still. His presence looms over me, close enough that I can feel his heart beat in sync with mine, but I’m not sure where the line between us begins and ends.
“You can trust me, Little Bird,” he says, his voice barely a whisper, but it wraps around me like a comforting blanket. “You’re starting to remember, even if you don’t want to. And when you’re ready… you’ll understand why.”
I swallow hard, trying to push back the emotions swirling inside of me. I don’t want to feel this —this pull, this recognition—but it’s there, growing stronger with every breath.
“Now open your eyes. I should get you back to your cabin, Little Bird,” Nightshade says, his voice calm but final, as if the moment has passed, as if this was all just another game.
Slowly opening my eyes, letting the haze clear, “Wait, what?” I start, my voice shaky. “My session with Cade— I missed it! He’s going to be worried.”
Nightshade stands there, watching me with a cold, almost detached expression. He doesn’t rush to reassure me, doesn’t try to calm the storm I feel building inside of me. Instead, he simply watches, his gaze intense and unwavering .
“You don’t need him tonight,” he says, his voice low, almost dismissive.
“I—what do you mean I don’t need him?” I ask, my voice trembling, trying to make sense of what he’s saying.
“You’ve learned something tonight, Little Bird,” he continues, his tone softer now, but still firm. “You’ve learned that you can control your fear, your emotions. Cade can’t teach you that. Only you can.”
“But I— I need him,” I protest weakly, the words feeling hollow even as they leave my lips. “I need to talk to him. I—he understands me.”
Nightshade steps forward, just enough to close the distance between us, and his presence is overwhelming. I feel the heat of his body, the tension in his posture.
“You don’t need him tonight, Little Bird,” he repeats, his voice like velvet, dark and possessive. “I’m here now. And you don’t need anyone else. Not when you’ve already taken the first step toward taking control of this. Of yourself.”
His words sink deep into me, a part of me resisting, but a larger part of me understanding, even if I don’t want to admit it.
“Let’s get you back to your cabin, Little Bird,” Nightshade says again, this time gentler, but still firm. “You’ve done enough for one night.”
I can’t see a thing as he opens the door to the cabin. “Nightshade…” My voice trembles as I try to find some semblance of control. “I can’t see anything. I don’t know where I am.”
Before I can react, before I even process what’s happening, his arm slides around me, pulling me against his chest with a strength that takes my breath away. His grip is firm, his body warm against mine, and despite the chill in the air, I find myself nestled into him in a way that feels both foreign and strangely… comforting.
“Nightshade!” I gasp, his closeness catching me off guard. “What are you doing? Put me down! ”
He doesn’t respond right away, his steps steady, his presence all-consuming. His body pressed against mine makes my heart beat faster, but there’s something about the way he holds me—like he’s the only thing keeping me together—that settles a strange calm inside me. I want to protest, to fight, but the words catch in my throat. Something in me, against all reason, doesn’t want to move away. I want to stay there, tucked in his arms, where it feels dangerous, yes, but also safe in a way I can’t fully understand.
“You need to trust me,” he says, his voice low, the command wrapped in something softer, something more… possessive.
I try to squirm, but my body betrays me, reacting to the warmth of his chest against mine, the solidness of his hold. Every breath I take, every movement, feels amplified in the quiet night, and I can’t escape the fact that his touch, despite everything, offers me a strange comfort.
I close my eyes, trying to steady my breath, fighting the confusing emotions that churn inside me. My mind screams to pull away, to escape, but part of me doesn’t want to leave the security of his arms. The mix of fear and… something else… leaves me conflicted, torn between what I should do and what I’m feeling.
When we reach the cabin, he doesn’t put me down right away. He pauses just outside, his gaze sharp, studying me, reading every expression I make. His chest rises and falls with his breathing, but there’s something about his eyes—an intensity, a quiet strength—that makes my heart skip a beat.
“Remember this moment,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, but the weight of his words lands heavy on my chest. “You can run from what’s happening here, but you won’t escape the truth of what you’ve started.”
I open my mouth to say something, anything, but the words don’t come. The panic inside me is too much, too overwhelming, to form any kind of protest. He lowers me gently to the ground, his hands lingering on my arms for a heartbeat longer than necessary .
“Go inside,” he orders, his voice commanding, leaving no room for defiance. “I’ll be watching.”
I don’t argue. I can’t. I turn toward the cabin, feeling his gaze on me even as I move toward the door. My heart is still racing, but there’s something else now—a pull, a deep unsettling awareness that this night has changed something inside me. Something irreversible.
As I step inside, the weight of his presence still lingers, and I can’t shake the feeling that I’m not leaving this untouched. That, no matter what happens, I’ve already crossed a line. And I don’t know if I want to turn back.