Page 5

“This is the one,”Noir chirps beside me as we approach a dark, secluded trailer nestled just beneath the edge of the woods.“You’re not too far from Blush, which makes me feel better.”

Something in her voice tugs at me and I stop, reaching for her arm, my fingers curling gently around her wrist. She turns to face me, eyes searching mine as I confront her.

“Look,”I say, my voice quieter now and much steadier than I feel.“I know you think I’m fragile. And I won’t lie, I feel that way tonight. But you don’t have to worry about me, Noir. I’ll be back to myself in no time.”

“And what’s your normal self, Ara?”She asks, tilting her head, eyes narrowing like she’s trying to decipher me.

I inhale deeply, my spine straightening, chin lifting.

“I’m just me. And trust me, I won’t take shit from any man, any place, ever again.”

A smirk creeps across her lips, devilish, cunning, but then, her expression changes, and she grips the tops of my arms, her hands firm, her face suddenly serious.

“Hell might kill me, not literally, but...”She sighs, hesitating before continuing.“Tomorrow, I need to warn you about some things. About this place. It’s not your usual cirque or carnival, Ara. It’s...”

“Horror.”I finish for her and her face falls. “I could smell it the second I walked into this place, Noir. It fucking reeks of it. And then that crazy dude? Wrath? He only confirmed it.”

“It’s horror, yeah, but it’s a bit more than that. It’sextreme,real-life horror. There’s a night here once a month called Dark Night… and it’s designed to push every fucking boundary you’ve got.”

I nod, her words sinking into me like stones in water, heavy beneath the fog of exhaustion.

When she releases my arms, I glance around the shadowed landscape while a rumble of thunder rolls in the distance, hinting a storm is looming.

“Well, maybe, just maybe, this is exactly where I need to be then.”

Her shoulders sag in relief before she slides an arm around mine, pulling me closer.

“It’s definitely taught me some things. Lesson and strength. But only in the best way,”she says as we move toward the trailer.“This place? It’s not normal. Not to the real world, and it sure as hell isn’t for the weak. It’ll chew you up if you allow it.”

She pauses, a far-off look in her eyes before her voice softens.

“Hell taught me a lot about myself. His way. And for that... I can’t thank him enough. I owe him everything. He saved me in more ways than just one.”

To be honest, I have a lot to thank Hell for too, and I will, but for some reason, my mind jumps to Wrath before I can stop it. The way he looked right through me as if he already knows me. The way he just threw me over his shoulder like he fucking owned me. I get the feeling he’s the only person here who could become a problem for me.

“And Wrath?” I question as we reach the short steps leading to the door and Noir pauses, shrugging a shoulder.

“Honestly? I don’t know much about him. All I do know is he’s mute… and possibly worse than Hell.”

I blink blankly at her.“Mute?” I echo.

She nods.“He doesn’t speak.”

The thought stills in my mind as she pushes the door open. I’ve never met a guy who doesn’t talk before. That makes things far more complicated. Or does it? After everything I’ve seen, after everything I’ve endured by the hands of men, I know exactly what they’re capable of. Time and time again, they’ve proven it. Their words, their promises, their fucking lies. To be honest, I’d be happy to never hear a man’s voice again.

I step inside behind her as she flips on the light switch, then move past her, my eyes scanning the small living room. The décor is entirely black, the small couch, the floors, the kitchen counters just to the right, yet the white walls provide some brightness, a perfect balance between light and dark.

“Pretty decent, right?”Noir says behind me as she shuts the door.

There’s a slight chill in the air, mingling with a musky scent, but it’s clean and much better than the cage I’ve been in for months.

“It’s late,”she continues, setting the bag down.“Why don’t you take a shower, and I’ll make you a sandwich or something before I leave. I’ll come see you again in a few days, when you’re feeling better. I can only imagine you’re gonna sleep a lot.”

A warmth spreads through my chest at her care, it’s unexpected yet reassuring.

“Thank you,”I say quietly, my voice genuine.“I don’t know what I would have done if you gave up on me…”

The words trail off as I lower my head, feeling vulnerable, my fingers fidgeting with the sleeves of my hoodie.

Noir steps closer, her voice steady.“You’ve been through a lot, Ara. Take care of yourself, like you took care of me. We’re together now, and that’s all that matters.”

She pauses, her next words sending a strange drop in my stomach.

“There’s no one out there who can take you from me now.”

Before I can answer, she steps forward, pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead like a mom would her daughter.

“Go on,”she orders, tilting her head toward the hallway.

I lift my eyes to hers one last time before moving past her and head down the short corridor.

Reaching a door on my right, I push it open and hit the light switch. A dim glow spills over the tiny bathroom, casting a soft glow over the black walls.

A toilet. A cabinet with a mirrored door above a sink. A small window and a bathtub. But not just any bathtub. It’s old-fashioned and freestanding on delicate gold legs. The kind you’d expect to find in a gothic, horror novel rather than a trailer like this. Yet above it, there’s still a modern showerhead jutting from the wall.

I exhale slowly, stepping inside and shut the door behind me, sealing it with a final click of the lock. Moving straight for the shower, I lean over the tub and turn the knob. I grip the hem of my oversized black hoodie and haul it over my head, tossing it aside. Then move onto my sweatpants.

Now entirely naked, I stand in front of the mirror, my head down and hesitating before finally forcing myself to face whatever I’ve become.

It’s been so long since I last saw myself, and I’ve aged, as expected, but I’m still young. Although I haven’t really thought about my age for a while. I think I must be at least twenty-three now I guess.

Pale gray dwells beneath my icy blue eyes, years of trauma etched into my skin like shadows that refuse to leave. My cheekbones protrude more than they used to. Hunger has carved away at me, shaping someone I barely recognize. My gaze drifts downward as my long, straight black hair spills over my slashed and scarred breasts.

I look frail. Weak.Fucking weak.And I hate every part of what I see.

My eyes continue to trail over the cigarette and rope burns scarring my arms. But then they stop on the one mark that annoys me the most. Kyro burned it into my upper inner arm, stamping me with something I still don’t understand. But I know one thing, it needs to go.

I force myself to turn around, sweeping my hair over one shoulder before glancing back at my reflection. Scarred rope burns still wrap around each side of my small waist and the memories of how they got there flash through my mind in like a broken film reel stuck on the worst parts.

I don’t bother looking lower. I don’t need to. I know what’s there. The marks on my upper thighs, beneath my ass, they haven’t faded. Time hasn’t erased them, it never will and it’s something I have to learn to live with now.

Lowering my head, I let my hair fall back into place and take a deep inhale before stepping into the tub, pulling the shower curtain around it.

The warm water embraces me instantly, as I reach for the soap. I lower myself inside, letting it cascade over my skin before curling into myself, pulling my knees to my chest and rest my chin against them. My vision blurs as I stare into nothing, lost in the silence as always.

Just breathe. Just exist.

I’ve never truly allowed myself to grieve the parts of me that were stolen. The girl I once was, is long gone. Taken in fragments, chipped away by cruel hands and even crueller intentions.

I search for her sometimes in the quiet spaces between my breaths, but all I ever find are shadows of who she used to be, faint and distant echoes of a voice that no longer belongs to me.

I close my teary eyes, gripping my arms as if I can hold myself together, as if I can stop the pain.

Maybe that girl is dead.

Maybe she died the night I did.

Maybe this, this hollow, unfeeling fucking existence, is all that remains of me now. A rebirth, not into something stronger, but into something numb. Still breathing. Still moving. Butvery much dead on the inside.

But you’re not failing now, Ara.

Get up. Get better. And fuck shit up.

I repeat the words like a fucking chant in my soul, forcing them to drown out the trauma-laced voices whispering that I’m pathetic. That I’m nothing.

But not anymore. I owe it to myself to not become stronger.

I wipe my eyes with my palms, then reach for the soap beside me. Once washing and shaving is done, I stand gently, turning off the shower, razor still in hand.

Before stepping out, I reach for a black towel and wrap it tightly around me as I head for the cabinet, hoping to find something that will help get this shit off my skin. But as soon as I pull the door open, the mirror catches something beside me, a flicker of movement at the window. Too quick to catch.

My breath gets caught in my throat as my eyes dart toward it, but all I see it emptiness. Just a black void with heavy raindrops patting against the glass.

I can’t be losing my damn mind now, surely.

My heart pounds against my ribs, a natural reaction, but I force a deep inhale, steadying myself, then refocus on the cabinet in front of me.

“Thank fuck,”I mutter under my breath, spotting a med kit.

I pull it down and open the box, starting to prepare everything, the first step toward something right. With a quick snap, I crack open the little black razor, the casing splitting apart until the thin silver blade drops into the sink with a dullclink.

I’ve already lost chunks of myself, what’s one more?

After cleaning the area around the mark on my inner arm, I poise the razor’s blade above it. My hand trembles violently, but before anymore hesitation can creep in, I press the blade into my skin.

A sharp hiss escapes through my clenched teeth as I sink it as deep as I can, blood rising instantly and trickling down.

The pain is electric, white-hot, but exhilarating as I drag the blade, slicing through flesh, carving out the mark that has no place on me.

My eyes clamp shut as the pain sears through my body, tracing a perfect circle until the agony becomes unbearable, and the blade slips from my fingers, clattering in the sink.

My breaths come out ragged with my head lowered, watching crimson pool at my feet, bright red veins running down my arm, dripping from my fingertips.

Lifting my gaze to wound, I see the fatty flesh still clings, barely attached. With a sharp inhale, fuelled by a reckless surge of adrenaline, I grab the remaining flesh with shaking fingers, and tear it straight off.

A scream rips from my throat, my head thrown back as agony explodes through me.

“Fuck!” I bite out, eyes squeezed shut.

I toss the torn flesh into the sink before gripping the edges, trying to compose myself. After a moment, I start stitching the wound, each pull of the thread sending fresh waves of discomfort through my arm. Once the last stitch is in place, I clean the area and wrap a bandage tightly around it.

I exhale slowly, my body still trembling as I move to clean up the mess. Blood streaks across the sink, the floor but I wipe it all away until there’s nothing left.

After brushing my teeth, I finally lift the piece of flesh, the mark that once stained my body without permission and without hesitation, I toss it into the toilet and flush.

I watch as the whirlpool swallows it whole, dragging it down, removing it from my existence. And once I’m satisfied, I turn around, step out of the bathroom and head toward the kitchen.