Page 15 of Writhe (Wellard Asylum)

Something ugly twists in my chest. I don’t want to hear this—I don’t want the truth to be put into words. Knowing that I am not special to the doctor brings a pang of jealousy to me, and I hate that. I hate myself for feeling that way.

“You don’t know anything,” I hiss.

Clint smirks. “I know you’re not eating. Not sleeping. I know you keep looking at the window like you want to jump out of it despite the bars.” His voice drops lower. “I also know that no one gets out of this place intact. Not even you.”

I swallow hard. My pulse roars in my ears.

He takes a step back, as if sensing he’s pushed far enough. “Good luck, Eliza.”

Then he’s gone.

I don’t move .

I stay there, staring at the filthy window, my reflection barely visible in the smudged glass. My hair is limp, my eyes sunken, my skin pale. I look like a ghost of myself. Like Clint was right. Like something inside me is rotting away.

I think about Theo. About his hollow stare. About the way he looked at me afterward.

When I enter the cafeteria, it’s thick with the nauseating scent of overcooked food, congealed grease, the sour taste clings to the back of my throat. Voices clash against each other at an unbearable level of laughter, muttered curses, the distant clatter of metal trays against plastic tables.

I don’t want to be here. But I am here, and now with a tray of slop in front of me, untouched. The mashed potatoes look like paste, the meat is gray and curling at the edges, and the vegetables are drowned in something that might have once been butter but now gleams like motor oil.

I stare at it. I won’t eat it.

Across the room, Theo sits alone. Not with the others.

Not near anyone. His shoulders are hunched, muscles drawn tight beneath his thin shirt.

His jaw is locked so hard I think he might shatter his teeth.

I want him to look at me. I need him to look at me.

Is there anything human left in his face—any crack in the mask, any flicker of regret, shame, or acknowledgment?

But he won’t look at me.

Coward .

I swallow against the rising bile in my throat. The last time I saw his face, it was twisted in something close to pleasure, close to horror. I remember the way he looked at me afterward, like he hated himself. Like he hated me.

The plastic fork in my hand snaps between my fingers. A shadow falls across my table. I don’t look up.

“Are you not eating today?” The voice is smooth, almost amused. Male. One of the orderlies. The one that is sleeping with Rina, I think. She isn’t here, not sure why.

I still don’t look.

“He also said you have another session tomorrow. Your present will be delivered to your room before your shower.” The words slither beneath my skin, cold and oily, wrapping around my ribs and squeezing.

I press my lips together, keeping my face blank. Don’t react. Don’t let them win.

The orderly waits a beat, then straightens. When he walks away, it’s with a smirk in his voice. I exhale slowly, counting the seconds, willing my hands to stop shaking.

I risk another glance at Theo who is still unmoving. Still pretending I don’t exist. He knows. He knows what’s coming, and he won’t do anything to stop it. I push the tray away. My appetite is long gone.

The hunger claws at my insides, a dull, gnawing ache as I walk toward the co-ed bathroom. I don’t know why I bother—brushing my teeth won’t make me feel human again. Nothing will. But then I see him.

Theo.

He’s in an open room just down the hall, his back to me, his hands gripping the edge of a desk like he’s trying to hold himself together.

My breath catches.

He’s been avoiding me. For days, he’s refused to look at me, like I was something rotting, something he couldn’t stand to see. But I know he’s watching when he thinks I don’t notice. I know he feels my eyes on him, just like I feel his.

I step inside, shutting the door behind me.

The lock clicks into place, and his shoulders go rigid.

I take a step closer. “Look at me.” He doesn’t move. My throat tightens. “Why won’t you fucking look at me? Why did you let him?—”

“Because he would have done worse!” His voice breaks, the words crashing into me like a slap. My breath stutters. “I didn’t mean for it to happen.” His voice is hoarse, ragged. “I swear to God, Eliza, I didn’t.”

He finally turns, and the look on his face guts me.

He’s furious, but not at me. At himself.

His dark eyes are wild, glassy with something he won’t let fall.

He looks like he’s unraveling. Like the weight of what he’s done is caving in on him, crushing his ribs from the inside out.

“You don’t get it,” he mutters, voice thick, shaking. “I didn’t have a choice.”

I shake my head, but he steps closer, crowding me against the door.

His presence burns.

“He’s trying to fix us, Eliza. Don’t you see? We’re sick.”

A bitter laugh escapes me. “You actually believe that?”

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t look away. “I believe that if you don’t do what he says, he’ll destroy you.”

“He already has.”

Theo flinches like I’ve struck him.

“He raped me. And I liked it. How fucked up is that, Theo!?”

Silence stretches between us, thick with things unsaid.

Then, suddenly, he’s on me.

His hands tangle in my hair, his lips crashing against mine.

And for the first time in days, I feel something other than cold.

It’s not gentle. It’s not careful. It’s desperate.

Theo kisses me like he’s drowning. Like he’s trying to convince himself that I’m still here, still breathing, still his.

And maybe I am. Maybe I want to be. His body presses against mine, caging me in, his breaths uneven, his hands shaking where they cradle my face.

“You have to be good, Eliza,” he ghosts against my lips, his voice cracking. “Please—Just—Be my beautiful doll and just play with him. ”

I hate him for saying it. But I hate myself more for the way my body betrays me, melting into him, craving the only warmth I’ve been given in days. I don’t know if I’ll survive in this place.

But I know I won’t survive it without Theo.

Theo trembles against me, his breathing harsh, fingers twitching where they cradle my face. When he pulls back, his eyes burn into mine, pupils blown wide, something unhinged lurking behind them. He’s shaking his head, whispering under his breath.

“No . . . no, no, no, I can’t.”

His hands drop to my shoulders, gripping too tight, his whole body wracked with something too big for him to contain. His forehead presses against mine, the heat of him branding me, his breath shuddering between us.

“I can’t see you like this,” he rasps. “I won’t.”

His grip tightens, fingers digging in. My pulse jumps.

“My little Dollface . . .” His voice is barely a whisper, reverent and breaking. “He’s cracking you, isn’t he? Splitting you open, piece by piece.” He exhales sharply, his lips brushing against my temple. “I can’t watch it happen. I won’t let him ruin you—ruin my toy.”

My breath stutters in my chest. There’s something possessive in the way he holds me, something that makes the air between us thick and suffocating. He’s unraveling, but at the same time, he’s claiming.

“You’re mine.” His voice is dark, shaking with too many emotions layered at once. rage, sorrow, something deeper. “Even if I have to share you with him.” He cups my chin, forcing me to look at him. “You are mine to break, mine to put back together. My perfect little doll.”

I swallow hard.

Say what?

“I—”

“Say. It.” His fingers flex against my skin. His jaw is tight, his eyes desperate. “Tell me you’re mine.”

Something inside me twists, a dark part of me curling around the demand. I should shove him away. I should fight, scream, push him out of my space. But I don’t. Because maybe I am his. Maybe I’ve always been his.

My voice barely a breath when I speak. “I’m yours. But what if I’m also his?”

Theo shudders, exhaling like he’s been holding it in for years. His fingers slide down my arms, his touch rough, grounding, possessive.

“My perfect little Dollface,” he murmurs, almost to himself. His lips graze my cheek, my jaw, like he’s committing me to memory. “No cracks. No fractures. I won’t let you break.” His arms wrap around me, pulling me into his warmth, into the only thing in this hell that makes me feel real.

But as I close my eyes—as I let him hold me—the doubt creeps in. Because Theo isn’t the one who decides if I break. The Doctor is.

The first sound is the click of the lock.

I jolt upright in bed, my heart slamming against my ribs. The room is dark, but I don’t need to see to know.

He’s come for me.

The air shifts as the door creaks open, and then they’re on me.

Cold, calloused hands snatch at my arms, wrenching me off the cot before I can react.

My legs buckle. I’m too weak to fight, too dizzy from hunger, from exhaustion, from the weight of everything inside me pressing down like a steel trap.

I don’t scream—they want me to scream. I bite down on my tongue, tasting copper, and let them drag me through the dimly lit halls.

The floor is freezing beneath my bare feet, the flickering fluorescent lights above making the world stutter in and out of reality.

Shadows stretch like hungry hands along the walls.

My body feels distant, like I’m floating somewhere outside of it, watching this play out from a different version of myself.

We pass the rec room, the cafeteria. I don’t know what time it is, but everything is silent.

The hallway stretches longer than it should.

Then we stop. The heavy door creaks open, and the smell of bleach and steel slithers up my nose, clinging to the back of my throat.

The metal tub gleams under the harsh light.

A shudder rolls through me, but the orderlies don’t hesitate.

They know I have nothing left to fight with.

Their fingers clamp down on my wrists, my ankles. They lift me with no effort at all.

I brace.

Then.

The plunge.