One. Lousy. Step.
“Need some help?” she asked, as the man picked up the crate that I’d managed to dislodge and put it back on top of me.
Yes! HELP. Help me, you dumb twat!
“I got it,” he replied. “A bit of rope, some hooks and . . . we’re good to go. There. All secured.”
“Those are some good-sized crates. Expecting a big catch?” I heard the thud of her steps on the stairs.
No! Come back.
I’m sorry I called you a dumb twat.
Don’t leave me.
PLEASE.
DON’T. LEAVE!
“Sometimes I manage to reel in a good one,” he replied.
The smugness in his voice sent a chill down my spine.
Then he shut the door, and I was plunged back into complete, utter darkness.
I WAS CRAWLING THROUGH A tunnel of sandpaper. Every time I moved forward, my skin caught on the rough, dry surface.
Scrape, scrape, scrape.
The sound of my cells sloughing off, layer by layer. My knees were raw, my back was raw, my shoulders were raw, but I could feel the warmth of the sun. I knew that if I just kept reaching for it, I’d make it out. I kept going and going, and soon I had room enough to stand. There was gravel all around me.
My heels sank into small stones and pebbles.
Crunch, crunch, crunch.
I kept walking. Everything hurt, but I trudged towards the light. And suddenly it was on me, all around me, making me squint from the sheer brilliance. I blinked and woke up, letting out a deep breath.
Whoa. Talk about a freakish nightmare. I was safely tucked away in bed, and the sun was streaming through the window. I sighed and snuggled back under the covers. A few more minutes and then I’d skip downstairs to collect my three kisses before my father left for work. I wasn’t going to take them for granted anymore.
Crunch, crunch, crunch.
I frowned.
It wasn’t supposed to follow me into reality.
I kept my eyes closed.
The covers felt funny, rough and coarse, not at all like my soft, silk duvet.
The window, the one I’d caught sight of momentarily, it was small and round. The kind that belonged on a boat.
And I hurt. I could feel it now. I hurt everywhere. My head was thick and heavy, and my tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth.
Crunch, crunch, crunch.
I knew it was bad, whatever that sound was. It was coming from behind me and I knew it was bad and evil, and it was going to pull me right back into hell.
“About time,” it said.
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
Dah-me-yahn.
Damian Hair-ripping, Skull-bashing, Coma-Inducing, Caballero.
He was here and he was real.
I squeezed my eyes tight. I’m pretty sure a wobbly tear would have escaped, but my eyes were so dry, my lids felt like sandpaper. All of me felt like that—raw and scraped, inside and out. No wonder I had been dreaming about tunnels of sandpaper. I was probably dehydrated. Who knew how long I’d been out or what the side effects were of whatever he’d used on me?
“Did you . . . what did you do to me?” My voice sounded weird, but I had never been more grateful for it. The same went for my arms and my legs and the rest of me. My head hurt, my bones ached, but I was still in one piece and I was never, ever going to hate my belly or my ass or the dimples on my thighs again.
Damian didn’t reply. He was still behind me, out of my line of sight, and he kept doing whatever the hell it was he was doing.
Crunch, crunch, crunch.
I started to tremble, but stifled the whimper that threatened to escape.