Page 128 of Phobia

“Of course I do,” I answered, flabbergasted. “But I’m not coming.” I wasn’t planning to, but that obviously wasn’t the answer Judah was expecting. He looked down at me as if I was smaller than a grain of rice, the brilliant smile he carried mere seconds ago slowly turning into a scowl, icy enough to chill me to the bone.

“I’m pretty sure you are, darling. And if you don’t,” he leaned down, his breath tickling my ear, “I know where you live.”

I had never been on the receiving end of threats, never had a reason to be. I kept my head low, did my thing, and counted the days and years until I’d be free from this place. I liked to say I wasn’t confrontational or aggressive, but that one sentence from him stirred something in me—something deep, ugly, baring teeth at this man-child who dared to speak to me in this way.

I was tired of men just taking and taking and taking until there was nothing left for us to give. Until the last piece of our soul shattered under their demands. They didn’t care that they took our innocence, our best years and all those happy little moments we dreamed of as little girls.

In a manner that was completely unlike me, my hand wrapped around his throat, slowly pushing him away from my personal space, looking at him in the same way that he looked at me.

“Don’t you ever,” I hissed, clenching my teeth. “And I mean, ever again, speak to me in that way, Judah.” His blue eyes widened, shock written all over his face. “I am not one of your minions who waits for you to issue your silly little orders.”

“Danika.” Gabriel’s voice flickered through my mind, and as I looked to the side, he stood there, his eyes volleying from me to Judah, unsure of what to do. “You should let him go.”

“And you should tell your friend that we aren’t living in the Dark Ages anymore, and that men can’t order women around as they please. If I say that I’m not coming to some stupid party…” I looked at Judah, tightening my hold on him. “I am not fucking coming.”

“Okay, okay.” Gabriel stepped closer, keeping his hands in the air, trying to placate me. “I think he got the point. Just let him go, okay?”

His eyes were pleading with me while his friend tried to push away from me. Within seconds, the adrenaline that was giving me a push started dissipating, leaving me lightheaded and ashamed of what I’d done.

“Shit,” I murmured, unlocking my fingers from Judah’s throat, his coughing echoing around us, while the rest of the diner stayed quiet. I soon realized why. Every single patron was looking at me as if I’d lost my goddamn mind and maybe I had.

Maybe what happened months ago was finally catching up with me, but I wasn’t just going to stand and let them do whatever the fuck they wanted to do. I wanted to be remembered for something other than just another failed citizen of Winworth who had to return home.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, getting out of my booth. “I’m really sorry.” But when I looked at Judah, there was no trace of anger. His hand rubbed over his throat, his fingers tracing the marks I left behind, but the fire I'd never seen in someone else’s eyes before was what had me stumbling backward.

“Hmmm, I think you’ll do just fine,” Judah growled, his eyes firmly plastered to mine.

Gabriel opened his mouth to say something, but I couldn’t stay there anymore. Turning around, I ran toward the exit, needing the fresh air to escape from here. As I stumbled outside, choking, trying to breathe through the impending panic attack, my eyes landed on the place Judah mentioned.

The Morass Asylum.

The abandoned house that had only one occupant these days.

I had no idea why, but suddenly the idea of going there tonight didn’t seem like the worst one I’d had. The thought of seeing Lazarus Morass, even if it meant that I’d be doing what Judah wanted me to do, was a lifeline I held onto.

I stumbled home, realizing that exhaustion wasn’t what enveloped itself around my body. It was excitement, and for the first time in the last couple of months, I wanted to live again.

Chapter 4

Cars lined the side road as I climbed up the steep hill toward the Morass Asylum, cursing myself for doing this. I should’ve been home, far away from here, or at least at that carnival I wanted to go to, but something stronger than me pulled me toward this place, even though I knew it was a bad idea.

It might have been the worst idea I’d had in the past couple of years, but I had to come. I had to try and see him–—the pain and sadness hiding behind those eyes, if only to know that I wasn’t all alone in this world, stuck in this timeless loop of misery and sorrow. There was something wicked hiding behind these walls, something sinister whispering my name, but I still came.

The hair at the nape of my neck stood up as another car passed next to me, heading toward the same place I was going. The closer I got, the more I could hear the sound of music thudding through the night. There were no houses around the asylum, only the thick forest spreading all around the estate. The wrought iron gates were wide open at the bottom of the hill. I knew that in a matter of a couple of minutes, I’d be able to see the bars on the windows on that third floor, and the peeling beige facade that was no doubt added a long time ago.

We came here once with the school on a field trip, exploring the area, while Lazarus’s father was still alive, scarring every single student for life. I could still hear the screaming coming from the third floor, and the empty eyes of the patients gathered in the front garden.

They are harmless, Mr. Morass told us back then, excitedly explaining how the asylum came to be and how long it had been a part of the family. Lazarus was with him back then, staring at the floor the entire time and completely ignoring his father. I guess I wasn’t the only one who had a bad relationship with my parents, but seeing this wealthy family who seemingly had it all kind of shook my world a little bit, and I started appreciating the things I had.

At least I used to appreciate them until my life got turned upside down, which was why I was here, years later, allowing myself to succumb to the curiosity and the fact that I never really allowed myself to have any fun.

While most of my peers went out to parties, enjoyed themselves, had boyfriends and girlfriends, I closed myself inside our house, studying, praying, and hoping that I would get accepted to the university in Seattle, just to get away from here, even if it was only one city away.

The old women from the town often said that no one ever really left Winworth, and even those who did, they always came back because the tragedy of this town had a tendency to follow them, no matter where they went.

I guess that mine followed me too.

“Sweet Dreams” by Eurythmics blasted through the air just as I reached the top of the hill. There it was, down in the tiny valley, surrounded by trees and cars in front of the main door—The Morass Asylum.