Page 68 of Forced Bratva Prisoner

Sasha is asleep with her book on her chest and the bedside light still on.

I flick the light off and gently take her book out of her hand, placing it on the bedside table.

I pull the blankets up over her chest and lean down to kiss her cheek, but then change my mind and turn away. After changing into something more comfortable for bed I climb beneath the covers, facing my back to her because I still feel horrible about what I said today.

I close my eyes, and to my surprise, I fall asleep easily. But it’s not the kind of sleep you want to fall into.

***

I am walking through the hallway of my old family home, calling out for my mother and father. It’s dark, but I can still see clearly.

“Mom? Dad?” I shout into the open space, and my voice echoes back towards me.

“Claire?” My sister isn’t answering either.

My knees are stained with mud from the soccer game I was playing with the guys. My jersey is muddy, too, and I came home looking forward to a hot shower and some hot dinner.

But the usual rich aromas that flow from the kitchen aren’t there, all the lights are off despite it getting darker, there isn’t any music coming from inside the house, and the TV isn’t blaring cartoons from my sister's room.

“Hello?” I call out again, but my voice is rich with tension and tight in my throat.

Something is wrong. I can feel it.

As I walk towards the family room, I can smell it.

Metal.

It’s in the air, stinging the back of my throat.

The metallic taste of iron is on my tongue. It tastes like blood. The air tastes like blood.

I step into the family room and freeze in horror. There is a monster leaning over my mother. He’s massive, dark, with long fangs. His teeth are tearing into her flesh, ripping her arm from her body. Blood is flowing like a fountain from the shredded remains of her arm. I open my mouth to scream, but no sound comes out.

I want to run towards her and fight the monster off, but my feet are sunk in cement, and I can’t move. My sister is hanging from the wall. Her throat is cut, and her shoulders have massive knives sticking into them, pinning her against the wooden panels of the wall, like a piece of art.

A blood, tortured piece of art. Her face is twisted and distorted with pain. There are clean streaks down her cheeks where her tears washed away the blood on her skin. But she isn’t crying anymore.

Her eyes are empty sockets. Black holes.

My mother has stopped screaming. The monster is laughing. He fades in and out of existence because he’s not really here. This all happened before I got home. My feet are still buried in cement, and I fall forward when I try and take a step.

I fall onto my father’s body.

His eyes are open and staring at me. His mouth is stitched closed. His hands are on his chest. I grab his hand and call his name, and when his arm flops lifelessly to the side, my little sister's eye rolls from the palm of my father’s hand.

I scream loudly and toss and turn, fighting with the blanket which is tangled in my legs.

“Leo,” a gentle voice calls my name. “Leo, it’s okay. You’re at home. You’re safe.”

The gentle voice is still speaking. I blink into the darkness, and slowly the nightmare fades away, Sasha’s face filling my vision.

“Leo?” Her hand is on my cheek, stroking gently across my face.

“I’m okay,” I say breathlessly. “I’m okay,” I say again for self-assurance.

“What happened?”

“I had—I had a nightmare.”

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