Page 24 of Writhe (Wellard Asylum)

M y fingers press against my stomach. Could my own touch erase the wrongness beneath my skin? A shudder rolls through me, deep and visceral, as the realization slams into me with sickening force.

I haven’t bled in weeks.

A dry sob catches my throat. Six weeks? Seven? How long has it been since my body was my own? The Doctor’s voice slithers through my mind, smooth, honeyed venom.

Our child, you’ve done so well, little one.

I gag. My stomach churns violently, but there’s nothing left in me to expel. Only the poison of his words, his touch, his claim. No. No. No .

Not his. Not his.

I would have known. I would have felt it.

If it had been Theo’s, I would have known.

My Theo. My love. He would never have let this happen to me.

My hands claw at my belly, nails digging in, desperate to carve out whatever sickness is festering inside me.

This thing is wrong. A parasite. A corruption. A mark of ownership.

And he did this to me. The Doctor. The monster.

Rage surges up, blinding, consuming, burning through the fog of my mind with searing clarity.

My vision pulses, my breath comes in sharp, erratic bursts.

My skin feels too tight, my bones are too fragile to contain the fury surging through me.

He took everything. He branded me with his seed, chained me to him with something that should never have existed.

A low, guttural sound bubbles from my throat, something between a sob and a snarl. My hands tighten into fists, nails biting into my palms, the sharp sting grounding me for a fleeting second before the fury overtakes me again.

I will not let him win. I will not be his.

My gaze flickers to his desk. The letter opener gleams under the dim light, sharp, waiting, begging.

A laugh. A sharp, brittle sound escapes my throat.

“Shh, little one,” he soothes, stepping closer. “I know this is overwhelming, but I’m here. I’ll take care of you.”

I jerk away from him, rolling out of his lap, clattering on the floor. “You did this,” I hiss, my voice shaking with fury. “You put it inside me. ”

His smile softens, as if he thinks I’ll break apart if he’s not gentle with me. “We did this,” he corrects. “Together.”

I lunge at him, fists swinging, nails clawing for his face, but he’s ready for me. His hands snatch my wrists with that practiced ease, as if he’s done it a thousand times before. Maybe he has.

“Ah, there she is.” His grip tightens, bruising, but I don’t care. I twist, struggle, spit at him. Anything to get him off me. “Such fire, even now. That’s what I love about you.”

I scream. I want to claw his eyes out, rip his throat open with my teeth. But then–

“Dollface?”

The voice slithers through my mind, velvet, and smoke. I freeze.

Theo.

The Doctor notices the change instantly. He always does. His lips curl at the corners, patient, expectant. “You still hear him, don’t you?”

The world tilts, my vision tunneling, and suddenly I see him, standing just behind the doctor, lips curled in that familiar smirk, dark eyes gleaming.

“Go on. Kill him for me.”

I let out a shuddering breath. My fingers twitch at my sides.

Yes.

Yes, I can do that.

The Doctor moves to touch me, some soft, condescending caress meant to soothe, to control, to remind me that I am his.

But I am not.

I lunge before I even realize it, instinct taking over. My fingers close around the letter opener on his desk. a gleaming, silver dagger in my grasp. It feels perfect in my hand, like it was always meant to be there.

His expression barely has time to shift from arrogance to surprise before I drive it into his neck.

A wet, visceral shh fills the air as the blade bites deep, slicing through muscle and flesh, severing the carotid artery.

For a heartbeat, neither of us move.

Then.

The blood comes.

Hot. Pulsing. A thick, arterial spray that paints my face, my hands, my hospital gown in a glorious crimson. The pristine white of his coat is instantly ruined, the fabric saturating, darkening, dripping.

He staggers, a choked gasp escaping him as his hands fly to his throat. Useless. So, fucking useless. His polished shoes slip in the growing pool of his own blood, his legs buckling beneath him as he crumples to the floor.

Wide, disbelieving eyes lock onto mine. Not fear. Not yet.

Betrayal.

He thought he had me. He thought I was his.

A sick thrill rushes through me, electrifying my veins .

I step closer, watching—studying as he sputters, gurgling on his own lifeblood. His hands clutch at the wound as if he can somehow will it closed, but the hole in his throat is too wide, too deep. He is drowning in red.

A shuddering rasp escapes him, wet and broken. His lips form around my name, but nothing comes out beyond a strangled whimper.

I tilt my head, fascinated. So, this is what he looks like when he loses control.

“Look at you. Not so powerful now, are you?”

His chest rises and falls in rapid, shallow bursts. His body is twitching, muscles locking up as the blood loss overtakes him. He’s dying, and I am his final sight.

“You did such a good job for me, Dollface.”

A giddy, manic laugh spills from my lips, bubbling up like champagne, like something bright, effervescent, and wrong.

Theo is proud of me.

I sink to my knees beside the doctor’s convulsing body, watching the last vestiges of life drain from his darkening eyes. I trail my blood-soaked fingers along his cheek, smearing the warmth of his ruin across his skin.

“How does it feel? To be the one who’s helpless?”

His mouth parts, something like a final plea forming in his throat, but the sound dies before it can be spoken.

A final shudder.

A final, broken exhale.

And then, nothing .

His body stills—his glassy, lifeless stare locked onto the ceiling, unseeing.

I hum, dragging the blade down his chest, splitting the buttons of his ruined coat one by one. A pointless act, but the sensation of cutting—of destroying him—feels too good to stop.

Theo’s voice is there again, curling around me like smoke.

“Beautiful, vicious girl. But we’re not done yet, are we?”

It’s not enough.

The Doctor’s blood is everywhere—soaking into the floor, splattered across my skin, thick and hot and reeking of iron.

His body lies motionless beside me, eyes staring at nothing, mouth still parted in shock.

The room hums with silence, broken only by the distant ringing in my ears, the wet sound of my own breathing.

But it’s not enough.

Something is still wrong.

My hands tremble as I press them against my stomach. A thin layer of sweat clings to my skin, mixing with the doctor’s blood, making me feel filthy, unclean. Beneath my fingertips, there is something there. A tiny swell. A sickness. A curse.

My breath hitches. My pulse stutters.

My nails dig into my skin, hard enough to leave crescent moons in the soft flesh of my abdomen. A violent sob tears itself from my throat. My vision blurs, the room tilting, distorting into something grotesque, something unbearable. This isn’t real. This can’t be real .

I won’t carry this.

I won’t.

The letter opener is still clutched in my hand, its blade coated in crimson. His blood.

But I need mine now.

I raise the blade.

And plunge it into my stomach.

Pain. Agony.

A hot white explosion tearing through my insides, ripping me apart.

The air is stolen from my lungs as my body seizes, recoiling from the intrusion, but I don’t stop.

I can’t stop. I drag the blade through flesh, through muscle, through whatever thing has taken root inside me.

Blood rushes out in thick, wet warmth, drenching my fingers, spilling onto the floor, pooling beneath me in a growing, glistening puddle.

A breathless, broken laugh tumbles from my lips.

I did it.

I won.

The darkness creeps in at the edges of my vision. I collapse onto the floor, the tile slick beneath me, cold and unyielding. My heartbeat stutters, falters, weakens.

But it’s okay.

I am free.

I close my eyes.

And let the abyss take me.

Everything is slipping away.

The Doctor is dead.

The sickness is gone.

I should be dying .

But then.

Something shifts.

“I’ve got you now, Dollface.”

Theo.

Theo has me.

A small, delirious smile touches my lips. My head lolls against a solid shoulder, my body slack, my mind slipping further into the abyss.

I don’t fight it.

I don’t need to.

Theo is here.

Finally.

Finally.