Page 15 of Grotesque Love

Why am I a prisoner in my own bed again?

The nightshirt is different once more. I only know this one is different because it’s a pale lilac colour while the others have been white with some form of ribbon or embroidery.

Someone has been taking care of me. My hair has been washed, brushed and tied back. With a flash of panic, my hands fly to my scalp and run down the length of my silky locks to ensure that my hair hasn’t been cut while I’ve been sleeping.

I’m clean. My skin feels soft, like I’ve been taken care of, but something about it makes me feel dirty. I shudder at the thought of Carver bathing me, even though he clearly must have while I’ve been delirious with a fever.

Why? Why can’t I remember?

My tongue feels thick. Heavy. Clumsy. When did I use it last? Are my words being spoken out loud? Or is it all just in my head?

Footsteps shoot fear into my heart.

But what is there to be afraid of?

My eyes close as I try to steady my sluggish thoughts. Whispers and hushed voices send shivers down my spine, and panic begins to claw at me, urging me to run, to escape this room. This cage of pastel pinks and pretty furniture.

As the door creaks open, a sliver of light spills into the room, illuminating the figure standing in the doorway.

It’s her.

I recognize her silhouette, the gentle slope of her shoulders, and the way she carries herself with a quiet strength.

Relief washes over me, melting away some of the confusion and fear. She takes a cautious step forward, her face etched with concern and weariness. Her voice, when she speaks, is laced with tenderness.

“My love,” she says softly, her words reaching deep into my fragmented memories. Her white hair frames her face, almost like a halo. “I’m sorry.”

Without fully understanding why, I allow tears well up in myeyes and fall freely. I reach out a trembling hand toward her, craving the touch of her skin against mine. But before our fingertips can brush together, something shifts in her expression.

A flicker of doubt passes through her eyes as she studies me. It’s as if she’s seeing something that I can’t comprehend. The warmth in her gaze wavers for a moment before being replaced by a haunting sadness.

Confusion clouds my mind once again as I try to make sense of her expression. She seems to blur at the edges, her face shifting and flickering. Panicking, I reach for her but my fingers pass through thin air. My tears burn as they fall, distorting my vision and I try to blink them away. Try to swallow my sobs.

By the time I can see clearly, she’s gone.

Heisn’t though.

He stands in the doorway, casting a long shadow that seems to stretch across the room, filling the space she left behind. There is something about him, something familiar yet... I can’t quite place it, but a sense of unease settles deep within me.Fear.

His eyes, cold and calculating, lock onto mine with an intensity that sends a chill down my spine. He takes slow, deliberate steps towards me, a sinister smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“You remember me, don’t you?” he asks, his voice almost saccharine as it sets my teeth on edge. Cloying. Sickly. “You may have forgotten everything else, but deep down in that fragmented mind of yours, you remember. It’s just you and me now, Ari. You and me.”

Flashes of memories start to piece themselves together and tendrils of dread weave their way around my heart. The pain...the torment...it all comes rushing back like a tidal wave crashing against my fragile consciousness, pulling me under with the current.

I remember him now.

But how? How did I end up back here? I remember him leaving. The door locking. And then I was free. I could breathe.

Then…why can’t I remember?

The questions swirl in my mind, but before I can find answers, he steps closer, invading my personal space. His touch sends waves of revulsion through me, and I recoil instinctively.

“What…want…me?” I manage to rasp, my voice barely audible. Weak and shaky.

“I only want to take care of you, my little Rapunzel,” he chuckles darkly.

The mattress dips as he sits on the bed, and reaches out to wrap tendrils of my hair between his fingers. I try to inch away, but he keeps a tight grip, the pain in my scalp pinning me in place.

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