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Will they look for me? Raise the alarm that I’m gone? Implore Seytan to track my chip and find me?
Maybe they already have. Maybe they’re on their way already.
Hope, like a fledgling bird, flutters in my chest, but I don’t have the conviction, the belief in their love, to make it fly.
My thoughts are interrupted by a sharp tug on the back of my neck, and the pressure becomes unbearable. I cry out. The machine counting my heartbeats beeps faster, and there’s a rush of heat in my neck. Blood. It’s definitely blood.
“Got it,” the doctor says, relief evident in her voice. The pressure breaks. I can breathe. The machine slows back to a steady rhythm.
“She’ll be disoriented for a while, but the sedation should keep her calm. Let’s get her to her room.”
I’m lifted onto a stretcher, still on my front, but they carefully manipulate my neck so that my head is facing to the side and I’m lying on my uncut cheek. Then I’m wheeled out of the operating room.
My body is limp and heavy, but my mind is racing. What have I done? What have I lost?
As I’m rolled down the hallway, I catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror. My hair is matted to my head, all that hard work combing it, wasted, and my skin is ashen. I look like a zombie.
The door to a tiny room is opened, and I’m deposited onto the bed. It’s more like a cot or a slab than a bed, and I long for the comforts of the asylum in more ways than one. The restraints are removed, but I don’t have the energy to move or fight. I’m lifted onto the hard cold bed and a threadbare blanket is haphazardly tossed over me.
My body feels like it’s made of lead, but it isn’t as heavy as my heart.
The doctor approaches me, no longer a friendly face or a beacon of hope. She’s holding a syringe filled with a clear liquid. I can’t even fight her as she injects it into my arm, and a cold sensation travels through my veins.
“Sleep now,” she says softly. “You’ll feel better when you wake up. This is for the best. You’ll see.”
The doctor turns away from me and speaks again, in a much firmer, colder voice, but I can’t see anyone in the shadows.
“Donottouch her. I mean it. She needs to heal. You’re only here to watch over her tonight.”
And with that, darkness engulfs me.
SHE’S ACTUALLY PRICELESS
‘GAME OF SURVIVAL’ – RUELLE
NIGHTSHADE
Isleep like the dead, always have, but especially when I’ve had my fill of Red’s sweet cunt. Maybe that’s why something suddenly jerked me awake just now – because I haven’t had her tonight. And now I can’t get back to sleep.
The asylum is quiet. Eerily so. The night is heavy with an oppressive darkness.
I had every intention of leaving Kayla to rest. Hatchet texted me earlier saying he was taking her hunting tonight, so I know she’ll be tired. If she’s even back yet.
But I can’t shake the need to see her. It’s a gut-wrenching need that has me sitting up straight in bed, palming my dick.
I’ll still leave her alone. Won’t indulge in my fantasies or partake of her exquisite nectar. I won’t even allow my fingers to skim her curves, or my tongue to trace her beautiful patchwork of tattoos. I won’t feed my cock between either set of her plush pillowy lips.
Even though my dick is rock hard just thinking about her.
I climb out of bed and pad barefoot, in just my tented silk boxers, across the hallway to her room. Opening the door, the light from the hallway behind me spills into her room, illuminating her empty bed. The sheets are flung back like she’s just climbed out of bed, but the door to the bathroom is open and the light is off.
“Kayla?”
No answer.
I take a step towards the bathroom and a sudden chill runs down my spine. I pause, listening to the silence. It’s not just quiet, it’s dead. I can’t even hear the sound of my own breathing.
“Red?” My voice trembles.
