Page 22 of Writhe (Wellard Asylum)

Like he’s waited for this. Like he’s starving for it.

His mouth moves against mine with ownership. His tongue parts my lips, not forceful, not demanding, but coaxing. Taking. My body trembles as he pulls me flush against him, his warmth seeping into my bones.

“Again.” His voice is rough now, fraying at the edges.

I swallow hard, my pulse a deafening drum in my ears. “I love you,” I say louder, my voice shaking, breaking.

A low groan rumbles from his chest. His arms tighten around me, his hold bruising, branding. “That’s my good girl.”

His forehead presses against mine, his breath warm and uneven. “My perfect masterpiece.”

He tilts my chin, his lips trailing down my jaw, my throat, my shoulder, lingering there, reverent.

His hands skim my body, less demanding now, more indulgent, savoring every inch of me.

His cock continues to pump inside of me, lovingly now.

Still demanding with pressure, but I can chase my pleasure with this tempo.

“I have spent so long perfecting you, shaping you into what you were always meant to be. And now, you are finally mine. Completely mine.”

He feels inevitable.

A cold shiver ripples through me as his words settle deep in my bones, sinking into the cracks he has spent so long carving.

Completely mine.

But he’s wrong.

He thinks he has hollowed me out, replaced me with something of his own making. But inside. beneath the layers of obedience, beneath the conditioning, beneath the fear, there is still a part of me that is untouched. A part that belongs to me. A part that belongs to Theo.

He sees the flicker in my eyes, and his grip tightens.

“You’re still holding onto him, aren’t you?”

I don’t answer.

The silence is a mistake.

His hand moves, fingers tilting my chin, forcing my gaze to him. I hold my breath, willing myself not to flinch.

“You think he’ll come for you?” His lips twitch at the edges, amusement bleeding into his expression, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “That he’ll storm in here like some foolish hero and take you away from me?”

The thought had crossed my mind .

But Theo isn’t here.

“I told you before, little one.” Two of his fingers find my clit and begin to rub agonizingly slowly as he thrusts into me like a wave, giving me just enough friction to not completely lose my mind. “You don’t need him anymore.”

The words slice through me, more brutal than any punishment he could inflict. I do need Theo. I want Theo. Where is Theo? My breath hitches, my vision blurring at the edges. He sees it—he knows—and that’s exactly what he wanted.

“Shh.” His fingers brush through my hair, a mockery of tenderness. “You’re not alone. You’ll never be alone.”

I close my eyes, swallowing the scream building in my throat.

Because for the first time . . . I don’t know if he’s lying.

And that terrifies me more than anything.

When my orgasm crashes over me, it’s nothing but a hollow echo—more like a dying note in a symphony, flat and devoid of anything thrilling. Nothing like the fire Theo would make me feel.

The Doctor doesn’t like that.

“Not even a little song for me, pet? No howl of gratitude? No praise for what I’ve given you?”

His rhythm turns brutal, punishing, as he relentlessly chases his own release. “Howl, my sweet pet. Tell me how much you love me.”

His hands fist my hair, tugging hard. My scalp stings, and I can’t help but cry out, desperate for the release he’s demanding.

“Please. Doctor. I love you. Please.”

The words spill from my lips, too eager, too needy, but I don’t care.

He growls in satisfaction, his body stiffening as he spills inside of me, warmth flooding me, filling me, coating every inch until it slowly leaks from me.

When it’s over, I crawl into the large chair that he just fucked me over. He helps me lift my nightgown over my head and wipes a single tear off of my cheek with the pad of his thumb.

“Why wasn’t Theo here?”

His hand slides down to my chin, tilting my face up until I have no choice but to meet his gaze. His expression is calm, happy even. “You’re such a good girl for me now, Eliza,” he murmurs. “You don’t need your little fantasy.”

I push weakly at his chest. My limbs feel heavy and slow. “Theo . . . It’s not a fantasy. What we have is real. Is real.”

“Is he?”

The room tilts.

A cold fist of dread curls in my gut.

I sit up too fast, my breath hitching, my pulse thundering in my ears.

“Where is he?” I demand, pushing off the chair. “Where did you take him?”

The Doctor watches me with quiet amusement. “Why don’t you ask yourself that? ”

Panic claws up my throat.

Rushing toward the door, I yank it open, stepping into the dim hallway, my pulse hammering so loudly I can barely hear my own frantic breaths.

Theo’s name is on my lips, but I don’t call him.

I can’t. It’s after hours, and this outburst alone will grant me a week in solitary. I can’t be in solitary. I need Theo.

My bare feet slap against the tile as I run, my breath ragged, my pulse a frantic drumbeat in my ears. Theo isn’t in the rec room.

I scan every corner, every shadow, my gaze flitting over the hunched figures of other patients.

No one looks up. No one acknowledges me.

The television in the corner drones on, the colors too bright, the laughter from the screen distorted and cruel.

I push forward, shoving through the heavy door into the hallway.

He has to be here. He has to be.

“Theo?” I whisper at first, then louder. “Theo!”

Nothing.

I move faster, checking the corners where he used to lurk, the places where I’d found him waiting before. The hallway stretches endlessly, sterile white walls broken only by the occasional bolted door, the smell of disinfectant thick in my nostrils.

My breathing is too fast. My hands shake as I push open the next door, an unused storage room. Empty. The next I look at the small square window to find just another patient, muttering to himself, rocking back and forth on his bed.

The dread is building .

Then I see it . . . the hallway. His hallway.

I freeze for half a second before moving toward it, my fingers trailing the wall for balance. The last time I was here, I found his room. My heartbeat slams against my ribs as I reach the door. My fingers curl around the handle, slick with sweat.

I open it.

And the world drops out from under me.

The room is empty.

Not just empty. Sterile. Hollow.

The bed is gone—the sheets. The air is stagnant, undisturbed. It’s as if no one had ever lived here.

Like Theo had never been here at all.

A choked sound claws its way up my throat. My legs feel weak, barely holding me upright as I stumble into the room, spinning in place, looking for any sign of him. A scrap of fabric. A shoe. A single goddamn sign that I didn’t imagine him.

But there’s nothing.

“A person can’t just disappear,” I whisper. “A person can’t just . . . not exist.”

I grip my arms, my nails biting into my skin. If I hold on hard enough, maybe I won’t splinter apart. Maybe I won’t unravel like a loose thread in a fraying piece of fabric.

He was here. He was real. I know he was real.

The walls feel like they’re closing in. My knees buckle, and I catch myself against the wall, my palm pressing flat to the cold tile. My stomach lurches. A sick, twisting sensation roots itself deep in my gut .

Because now, the questions are creeping in.

The memory of the Doctor’s voice slithers through my mind: Is he?

“No,” I choke out. “No, no, no. He’s real. He’s real.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, shaking my head violently as if I can shake loose the doubt clawing at my brain. But the memories—they’re shifting. Twisting. Blurring at the edges like ink bleeding through wet paper.

Theo’s touch. His voice. The way he felt solid beneath my hands.

But what if . . . ?

What if he was never there?

Theo was my lifeline, my teacher, the one thing that kept me from drowning in this place.

And if he was never real . . . then what does that make me?

The realization crashes over me, a tidal wave I can’t escape, can’t fight, can’t breathe through.

I don’t know what’s real anymore.