Page 39

Scarlett

“They twist the key and lock the door,

What was mine is mine no more.

Echoes are calling, walls can speak,

And as the hunted hides, the strong grows weak.”

I can’t breathe. I’m going mad. I’m losing it.

That awful verse rings in my head over and over like it’s meant to mean something. Like I’m meant to understand. And I need it to shut up. I need everything to shut up.

After they finished forcing me to come for them, they pulled out, covered me in their arousal and then left me there, like some dirty piece of trash.

I can feel the way it’s stuck to my skin. I can feel the way it’s marking me.

I feel like a piece of furniture they’ve pissed over.

The air in the room is thick with the scent of my own fear, and the ropes dig into my skin with each frantic movement. I’m tied to this bed, a prisoner in a place that my husband dared to call a place of safety.

My mind is a whirlwind of terror and confusion, each thought more fragmented than the last.

I’m losing myself, piece by piece to the madness that claws at the edges of my sanity.

Something deep in my stomach aches. It’s a pain that’s been steadily growing and I don’t know what it means, but I know it’s not good.

And then something inside me snaps and that scream that’s been getting louder and louder in my head as each awful minute passes, suddenly explodes into a rage I can’t contain.

I start jerking, thrashing, using every last bit of strength I have to fight. The rope I’m tied with tears at my skin, it rips off great chunks around my wrists, but I don’t care. I don’t stop.

I shake my head, acting every bit as out of control as this god damn situation is.

The door creaks open, the maids come in, the same old pair that have tormented me now for days. In one of their hands, I can see that syringe and I swear to God I will rip my own arm off if that’s what is needed to ensure they don’t drug me again.

I scream, a raw, animalistic sound that tears from my throat.

I fight with all the strength I have left, and the ropes that have held fast up to now give just a little. Just enough.

One of them climbs onto the bed, trying to hold me still while the other comes at me with the point aimed right at my face.

I buck, I jerk, I headbutt the bitch holding me down and she topples off, losing her balance as she hits the floor cursing.

“Stupid bitch.” She says, glaring at me.

“Fuck you.” I scream back.

The other maid sniggers like this is all some sort of joke, and clearly she wants to try to be the hero here. She closes the distance, and I wait till she’s near enough and I lash out, sending that needle in her hand spinning across the room.

It clatters to the floor, skidding across the polished wood, taunting us all with that sound.

“For fucks sake.” Syringe girl snaps.

“I’m so fucking done with this.” The other mutters.

I know I shouldn’t goad them; I know technically that I’m not in any position to truly fight but I let out a laugh, a manic half-formed sound that’s as broken as my soul now is.

In unison they pounce, like two jackals fighting over a corpse.

Only, I’m not dead yet. I snatch at the syringe, yanking it from the girl’s hand and I jab, using it like a dagger, burying it in her throat.

She screams, falling backward, but not before I can push the plunger down, giving her the full fucking dose.

The other girl jumps on my back, using her full weight to bring me down. My legs give way, my body collapses and she’s slapping me, one hit, then another across my face.

I know I’ve lost all my senses when my response is to laugh. To cackle.

“You fucking bitch,” She shrieks, rearing back.

I seize the moment, launching myself at her and I claw at her skin, at her face, at any bit of skin I can get hold of.

I can feel the chunks of her collecting under my nails, I can feel the wetness of her blood.

Her fist slams into me, knocking against my jaw, making my brains rattle.

I can see from the expression on her face that she thinks she’s beaten me now, that that hit was enough.

As we stare at one another I can see the scratches all down her face. Her hair is fraying off at wild angles like she’s been dragged through the bushes.

“He’s going to kill you.” She says. “Alex, he’s going to kill you and I can’t wait to witness it.”

The way she says it, the way she says his name, it makes me pause, makes me frown.

“You’re fucking him?” I guess. Where does the man even have the time? But then, it’s not like he’s the only one abusing me. Maybe that’s where he slinks off to while his father is raping me.

“I’m going to replace you, I’m going to be his next wife, the one he actually wants.” She boasts.

I laugh, I throw my head back and laugh so loudly.

As if. Alexander won’t marry her, she’s a maid, a nobody.

No, once he’s gotten what he wants from me, he’ll want someone with status, with class.

“Oh sweetheart,” I coo, “You stupid, stupid fool. You think he’ll settle down with some small town girl born in god knows where?

Look around you, look at this place. He’s a Forster.

He’ll marry an aristocrat, an heiress. Not some hillbilly bitch. ”

Her expression flickers for a second. An expression of uncertainty before she folds her arms across her chest. “He won’t need anything else. Not once you’re dead, because we’ll be rich enough from your life insurance.”

“Alexander will never be rich enough.” I reply. He could inherit all the diamonds in the world and it would still not be enough for my greedy husband to be satisfied.

“You’ll see.” She spits. “Well, no you won’t see. You’ll be dead, and all those pretty jewels you had will be mine too…”

I don’t let her finish. I don’t care enough to hear her pathetic words. I lunge at her, scratching at her face again, driving my thumbs into her eye sockets.

She screams.

She screams so loudly this time and it’s literal music to my ears.

I don’t care that he was fucking her. I don’t even care about the fact that he cheated on me. But she knows what he is, what he’s doing and yet he’s happy to play along with it? To witness this? Nah, this bitch won’t get a free pass now. This bitch won’t get a pardon, not from me.

I curl my fingers into the sockets, squishing the eyeballs, scooping them right out. They pop like little golf balls down onto her cheeks, dangling by a few tendrils of bloodied flesh.

She’s howling, clawing at the air but she can’t defend herself, not when I’ve taken her sight.

I rip the eyeballs free. Holding them up as if she’s able to witness this and then I squeeze my hands, curl them into tight light fists as both of them explode into much. The blood and the gunk pools between my fingers, it streams over my knuckles and down my wrists.

I toss the entrails at her, covering her in her own mess. She can lay here, she can whimper and cry and wait for her precious Alex to come find her. As if he will show her any mercy.

I turn, checking on the other maid, and see she’s out cold with that syringe still buried in her throat. At least I can get a moment’s respite before I need to deal with her.

I dive under the bed, my fingertips frantically searching for that tell-tale sign in the floorboards. That raised bit of wood that tells me there’s a secret space beneath.

Only, it’s not there.

Why the fuck is it not there? It’s like it never existed. The realization hits me like a physical blow. Am I truly mad? Have I imagined it all?

And in that moment, that final thread of my sanity goes.

I needed that gun. I needed…

Rational thoughts die. Logical actions become obsolete.

I glance back at the maids. The blind one is rolling around, grasping her face, making a right racket. But the other one, she looks so peaceful, too fucking peaceful.

She doesn’t get to sleep soundly, she doesn’t get to simply wake and continue on, as if she wasn’t a part of this. As if she hasn’t contributed to my pain and suffering.

I scramble over her immobile body, straddling her.

It’s an easier job to do it when the bitch isn’t fighting me. But I take her eyes. I take her sight too.

And then that rage that’s been going off inside me like an atomic bomb fills the void left by my despair. I launch myself at the room, tearing at the walls, the furniture, the very air that surrounds me. I want to destroy it all, to leave this place in ruins as they’ve left me.

I am a force of nature, unstoppable and wild.

I burst into the corridor, like a demon let out of the box and nothing they do can put me back in it.

I race through the house leaving a trail of destruction in my wake. Vases, portraits, nothing is left untouched as I unleash myself like a phantom.

Even if they do kill me, even if they do manage to lock me back up and subdue me again, my wrath will still be here. My tempest will still remain on these walls, etched into the very history of the Forster Mansion.

My screams echo off the stone. My hands destroy whatever they come across. I am no longer human in this moment; I am no longer mortal. I’m a god, a creature of vengeance.

And then as quickly as my fury is unleashed, it is stolen.

That sharp pain that’s been slowly twisting in my belly makes me double me over.

I fall to my knees, my strength faltering.

Blood—my blood—it’s pooling on the floor, soaking into the wood as though this cursed place demanded a sacrifice for my actions.

I stare at it, horror rooting me to the spot.

This can’t be happening. Not now. It’s not possible. It’s not…

Hurried footsteps echo through the horrific silence that seems to swirl around me.

I lift my gaze and see Rafe, standing, staring back at me. He looks like an angel. An apparition come to save my soul. Only, I’m too damned for that now. I’m too fucked in the head, and too tainted to ever have a chance of redemption.

His shock mirrors my own and for a moment, we are frozen, two souls caught in the tempest of our shared tragedy.

And then, that pain cuts through me again. It splits me in two. Cleaves me in half. It twists and it cuts and I buckle under the pressure, vaguely aware of the floor rushing up to meet me, before Rafe’s arms are holding me as he carries me away.