Page 12

Ten

“Shh,” a familiar voice whispers in my ear, slowly waking me up, though my eyes remain closed. The thought of opening them is a task I don’t have the energy for. My eyes and my entire body feel too weak to move or do anything but lay here.

“Just like that.” The voice sounds again. Soft, feminine… familiar.

Another string of words leaks from who I can only assume, judging from the subtle notes of cinnamon and pumpkin present in the air, is Araceli. I hear the murmuring of her voice, but I can’t focus on what else she’s saying. I’m too distracted by the relief I feel.

She’s okay.

We’re okay.

An unexpected surge of adrenaline ignites within my veins, and I fight the weakening current lingering over my skin by lifting one hand and then the other.

A slow, slurred motion takes my palms hostage, but I fight it, curling them.

Open, then shut.

Open, then shut.

Open then …

Unable to shut my hand fully, another hand slithers its way into mine. Fingers weaving their way into the vacant crevices between each of my fingers. Closing the gap with a hold that is anything but delicate. It’s possessive. Overpowering.

Even in my out of it state, there’s no mistaking the incessant, yet dull, beep of machinery grating at my ear drums every few seconds.

We’re at the hospital.

What I’m laying on is a hospital bed.

That heaviness weighing down my limbs isn’t solely from the web of wires hooked up to said beeping machines. It’s my body’s way of coming down from the high that the drugs—and Araceli—gave me at Heathen’s Cross.

Dread finds me, attaching to my every vertebrae. I’m thankful to be alive, but the shit storm that will await me—meaning my dad—is going to put to the test how worth it this was.

Another hushed whisper sounds, from what feels to be Araceli’s lips hovering over mine. Her breath sends coils of warm air to my skin. My mouth still feels like I’ve been chewing on cotton balls, just like it did before I remember the paramedics wheeling us away.

I wonder if hers feels that way, too.

My lips go to part, but something is already lodged between them, obstructing my ability to move them further.

“I’m almost there,” she coos, stealing my hands and tossing them, wires and all, over my head, in a death grip.

How the hell does she have the energy to be out of bed?

To be… on top of me?

Warmth meets my groin.

Tight, wet, warmth .

Fuck.

I try to open my eyes, but still they don’t budge. I’m too tired. Not that I need to have them open to confirm what I feel.

Araceli.

My stepsister .

Riding my cock with her sloppy wet pussy… in a fucking hospital bed.

Doing what no one has ever done to me before.

Well, at least with their pussy. I’ve only ever had oral sex. Not this kind of sex. This feels better than any mouth slobbering on my cock ever could, because it’s her, taking what she wants—from me.

Christ, she feels so fucking good.

Even in this shitty state, my body knows how much I want her—my painfully hard cock is a dead giveaway.

“I’m coming for—”

Hinges squeal, and the air grows silent. Eerily so, until another familiar voice—my father’s —pokes at the euphoric bubble Araceli placed us in. Like a needle to a balloon, bursting it.

“Get off of him, you fucking bitch!” he screams.

Though she doesn’t get off me and from the way her already tight cunt grows tighter…

Oh, she’s about to get off Dad… on me.

“I’m so close,” she lets out as her breathing becomes ragged.

“Oh, no, you’re not!” Dad’s footsteps stomp across the room.

“Get off of him, you crazy fucking bitch!” Dad shouts again and once again, she doesn’t listen.

“I’m almost—” she gasps. “I’m al—” a stutter, her voice weakening, “… almost there,” she mewls, faint, but it’s there.

Shouting fills the room, competing with the chaotic melody of Araceli’s panting and the machines beeping. Every part of this room, and my body as well as hers, is going absolutely haywire.

My eyes finally open, barely, but enough to see the chaos unfolding.

Two security guards barge in, multiple nurses follow, but all I see is Araceli in a hospital gown on top of me, straddling my body. Standing her ground with my dick still inside her, she fights off the hands clawing at her to get off me.

She looks so sad. The usual golden hue of her skin, robbed by a ghastly white. The wig she got from the Halloween shop, split down the middle with the competing shades of black and blonde, still rests on her head. Tilted slightly but there. The blonde side, however, is covered in the red liquid spewing from her wrists as she tries to fight everyone off her.

Strength like I’ve never seen before overcomes her, breaking through the stronghold of however many sets of hands there are trying to get her to get away from me.

She lunges forward, and the blood follows, dripping onto my hospital gown, causing the fabric to become drenched and stick to my skin.

Not paying any mind to the doctor trying to fight his way to her with a syringe in his hand, her lips find my ears. “I’m coming back for you,” she whispers. “Don’t believe his lies. I’m not leaving you.”

Araceli is pulled off of me, our physical connection lost on impact. My cock bobs free of her warmth, but I can still feel her release coating it.

“Get off me!” she shouts. A security guard now holds her arms back, and the doctor looks hesitantly at my dad.

“It’s your call,” he says, monotone, waiting for him to give the order to inject Araceli with the syringe.

Her eyes lock onto mine for a moment before she looks at the hospital staff. “Where was all this help when I called for you after he did this to me?!” she screams, pointing at Dad, deep sorrow and anger coating her words.

Dad clears his throat. “She’s a liar. A deviant with a drug addiction. Do not listen to her,” he says with arrogance. “You heard the song she’s been singing since the paramedics found them. She kept singing it here just now. She’s trying to kill him!”

“Look!” She manages to wiggle one hand free. Circular burns line her skin. They look fresh. They look almost identical to the ones he used to leave on me before I learned that obedience means survival in a tyrant's home. Same as the ones I found on her back the other night.

“Do it!” Dad instructs the doctor, who begrudgingly listens and pumps the fluid filled syringe in Araceli’s arm while the guards pin her down.

She thrashes about in their hold before her eyes eventually glaze over. As her eyes finally close, mine close with her in solidarity—I want to scream. To tell her it’s okay, but what I now realize is that a breathing tube in my mouth makes that impossible.

The shiver that attacks my spine doesn’t stay put for long. It crawls onto my shoulder, crashing its violence onto my jaw. My entire body is cold and clammy in the same breath. Shivering. Shaking uncontrollably.

A nurse runs over. “He’s going through withdrawal,” she announces, messing with what I think is the bag that’s hanging from the IV drip.

Another nurse comes over. “This will help him.”

Warmth finds my veins as the lingering scent of tobacco wafts its way to my nostrils. It’s as overpowering as the urgency, now competing with my exhaustion to stay awake.

My dad’s tongue clicks and his fingers snap, causing my eyes to pry open and weakly glance in his direction.

“Please. Leave me and my son alone for a few moments.”

The nurses nod and file out, leaving me and my father alone as he approaches the side of my hospital bed.

He remains silent until the door slams and when it does, it’s not his words that break the air, it’s the jingling of keys.

“I warned you to stay away from her. I warned you that she was trouble, but you didn’t listen. No one ever listens to me,” he pauses, and laughter follows. Loud and sinister, hair-raising laughter. “No one ever fucking listens,” he grits, repeating himself, “until it’s too late, but don’t you worry my son.” He reaches for my hand and the black sleeves of his jacket brush against my wrist first before he squeezes my hand. His entire body trembling from anger. His dark eyes bore into me, scaring me, but I’m too weak to move anything. I haven’t seen this look on him since the first and last time I disobeyed him. He clears his throat, lowering his mouth to my ear, breathing out a cryptic warning. “She’s getting what’s coming to her, but lucky for you, I know how to make this mess go away.”

The keys in his other hand jingle.

“It may take a bit more creativity.”

Whatever medicine the nurse administered to me has pulled my eyes shut. Soft tingles of warmth burn through my veins.

“But I’ve done it before.”

My hearing dulls and though I’m aware of the anger ripe within my father’s words, it sounds like he’s speaking into a funnel. He continues to talk, but I go in and out of being able to focus. My head is pounding and my mouth feels so fucking dry.

“… don’t worry, he’ll be here in a minute and walk you through what needs to be done. I never wanted it this way, but you need to understand that I have an image to protect.”

The last word hangs on my conscience.

He said his image.

What the actual fuck?

Not his son or his family. His fucking image .

My father places his hand on my chest, and it aches upon contact. It feels so fucking sore. Emotion grips him for a moment as he sniffles. “I can’t believe she did this to you. She won’t get away with this. I’ll see to it.”

I mull internally over what he’s saying. Araceli would never… I don’t think.

He’s lying.

Just like she said he would.

“I’ll see you, son,” he whispers before leaving the room. The hinges squeal, and a soft murmur is exchanged, but the door never closes. Footsteps filter through the room. These are slow and not as urgent as the ones from the nurses and security guards from before.

A warm hand grips my arm, squeezing it.

“Your father sent me here to…” the man pauses, “take care of things. ”

My eyes fight my need to sleep, peering down instead at my chest. Bandages cover my skin. Blood seeping from most of them.

Fuck. My dad really wasn’t lying.

I blink for a second and see Araceli, bloody and smiling at me with a knife in her hand. “Fatum enim eligimus brother, you understand,” she says, repeating the chant from the haunt. I blink once more, but the memory fades. Reality hits me all over again that I’m here in the hospital. All because I didn’t listen to my instincts. All because I let her tempt me.

The man clears his throat. “Quite the mess you and her made.” He stares at my bandages. “You’re lucky. Those wounds will heal, but it’s this one.” He stops to point at his chest. “Those inner wounds that will take some time. If you need someone to talk to about what happened, so you can better understand, don’t hesitate to reach out.” The man drops a card on the small table to my side.

I nod. Not taking any of this to heart. I’m too tired. My eyes close. Falling asleep with the taste of Araceli’s essence on my lips.

I hear the man’s footsteps move to the door, but he stops dramatically and my lids jolt open.

“I wouldn’t wait too long. That invitation is good for a limited time. If I don’t hear from you, I will upgrade it to a request.”

A final message breaks through my dwindling conscience as sleep begins to consume me.

“You can’t expect to attend Heathen’s Cross unscathed. No one leaves as they came in. You either become a member or you become a sacrifice. Take care, Mr. Rainey. We’ll be in touch.”

What the fuck did she do to me?