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These people weren’t friends, even though they sometimes acted cordial. The situation we were in didn’t allow for close relationships. At any time, Sam could tell us to hurt each other. Maybe even severely. That kind of constant worry and tension should preclude friendships.
Drake was the most compassionate. The way he carried himself and how calm he stayed all the time, plus the kindness in his eyes told me that much, but I wondered what would happen the first time he was told to do something to me. Would he even hesitate, or had it all become such a chore that he’d do it without a second thought? Like doing the dishes or taking out the trash.
He’d tried to protect me from bleeding. For just a moment, the memory warmed me before being swallowed in fear again.
Once I was back in my room and the door shut and locked behind me, I paced back and forth. I couldn’t get the image of that blood on Liam’s thigh out of my mind. How easy it’d been for Elise to do that to him. It terrified me for what was to come. Another thought tried to worm its way into my mind as I plodded back and forth across the room. The thought scared me even more than the blood.
The way Elise had slammed that knife into Liam’s thigh. The power she’d exerted over him. In a split second, their dynamic had changed. One moment he was the man. Muscular, bigger, stronger, more powerful. A second later, Elise had taken all of that from him. She’d become the one with the strength and power. He was the one on the floor writhing in pain, scared of her, hurt, and unable to do anything about it.
I thought back to all the times I’d been helpless. My young face pressed into the bed, barely able to breathe as men old enough to be my father or grandfather shoved themselves into me while I screamed. Tearing my flesh, bruising me, biting me, yanking my hair. Hours and hours of my childhood were spent begging whatever deity was in the sky for the strength to fight back. All I could do was imagine what those men would’ve done if I’d shoved a knife into their thighs. Would they have screamed like Liam? Would they have looked at me with fear in their eyes? The thought almost made me smile, but I shook it away. That was a dangerous path to go down. I didn’t need to think about the past, anyway. Too much was happening in the present.
I used the bathroom, not sure when I’d have the chance again, and was surprised to find the toilet had a heated seat. It made no sense why the people behind this did so much to make us comfortable even as they were torturing us. There must have been some kind of psychological component to it. Maybe having nice comfortable rooms kept us pliable and less likely to resist, or completely break down and lose our minds.
Ten minutes later, I sat on the bed, tracing the infinity symbol on my arm absently. I missed my watch. It was pretty much the only symbol I had of being loved. My eyes burned as I tried to hold back tears. I missed Marie and Clint. I’d never told them how much they’d meant to me. Now, I might never get that chance.
When the chime sounded, I flinched and leaped to my feet.
“Dahlia, you will proceed to the viewing room. It is time for you to be fitted for your cuff.”
I took a chance. “Where is the viewing room?” I wasn’t even sure if Sam would answer back. I thought I knew where it was, but just in case…
After a pause, he actually did respond. “The last door before the dining room. I would suggest you hurry.”
My door clicked and popped open. Without hesitation, I yanked it wider and stepped into the hallway. I’d be damned if I was going to end up like Liam or Elise simply because I was slow. If my life had taught me anything, it was that I needed to learn fast or else.
Nearly sprinting, I made my way toward the dining room. My steps faltered a bit when I saw that the room Sam had instructed me to go to was the same room I’d seen Liam leaving before lunch. The room where his hands had been bloody. A shiver ran up my spine, but I kept going and stepped inside.
The room wasn’t what I’d expected. It looked almost like a doctor’s exam room. Simple white walls, one table, tiled floor and a large window that looked into another room. Stepping deeper into the room, I squinted and tried to see what was through the window, but the other side either had its lights off or the window was tinted so dark it was completely black.
On the table sat three bracelets. They were the somewhat bulky watch-looking devices I’d seen everyone else wearing and checking periodically. The three looked exactly the same except each strap was a different length.
“Choose your cuff,” Sam said, causing me to jerk in surprise. “It will track your location and heart rate. The screen will send private instructions. You are to follow any orders given immediately or the cuff will administer shocks in varying degrees of pain. Once it’s fitted and turned on, it isn’t removable unless your heart has stopped. It is charged wirelessly via a charging station built into your bed. Each morning when you wake, it will be ready for another day of activities.”
A charging station in the bed? I didn’t even know such a thing existed.
That was the most Sam had ever said at one time. Instead of making him seem more human and less soulless, it actually had the opposite effect. The monotone way the guy spoke gave me the feeling he was a true psychopath. To do what he was doing and have so little emotion in his voice meant we were dealing with someone who couldn’t be reasoned with.
The last thing I wanted to do was put one of the things on. Cuff? I’d truly be stuck here. It would be on me until I died. That’s what he’d said anyway. I didn’t want to be shocked or electrocuted or whatever. I swallowed, but my throat was so dry I almost choked.
“Try on the cuffs. One of them should fit,” Sam said again.
My breathing came in short little gasps. There was something permanent about this. Like a line I couldn’t step back from. Once I did this, I could never get home. The real world would be gone forever.
“This is your last chance, Dahlia. Put on the bracelet. Otherwise, you will be punished, and you won’t receive your reward.”
The window in front of me lit up so I could see into the opposing room. Immediately, I wished it hadn’t.
A man was in there. Not one of the other housemates, though. He was dressed in normal clothes and tied to a metal chair with a bag over his head that was cinched at the neck with a drawstring. A matching table sat near him, with a hose coiled and hung on the opposite wall.
Frowning in confusion, I was about to ask what was going on, but the words died in my throat. My face went slack with horror as I took in more details. The man had short sleeves that left the skin on his arms visible.
Tattoos. Full sleeves on each arm. Not just any tattoos. I knew them. I remembered them. My knees went weak, and I had to grab the table to keep from collapsing.
Unsteadily, praying I was wrong, I walked over and pressed my face to the cold glass. On his right arm was a massive tattoo of a man with a skull for the head. The skull’s face leered down at a woman sucking its dick. A vulgar tattoo few would ever show in public.
Seeing it now—the walls in my mind finally shattered. A memory that I’d managed to hold back burst forward.
“Jesus, Branson. Again?” my mother asked as she opened the door.
