Page 53 of Inside the Wicked

Oh god.Why would that be necessary? I start to force myself out of my comatose state with the adrenaline coursing stronger each minute.

I’m on a small bed. In the room there’s a desk with some paper and pencils on it.Considerate of them to leave me weapons.I train my eyes on the plastic cup of water and bite my lip at the ache of my dormant muscles when I’m too eager to reach it. I gulp down the liquid greedily, some of it trickling down my chin.

Alistair must have been waiting, perhaps knowing I wouldn’t get into Lumina, and now he knows it was all a lie. This is my punishment. Solitude. Silence. For failing in his task.

My lip wobbles as I think of Rhett in my loneliness. How many times was he subjected to this absolute nothingness? With the soundproofing, it’s like I’ve only just discovered the true meaning ofsilence.It’s not a pleasant or even fascinating discovery. I’ve only been awake for a few minutes and I’m frightened by it, how nothing has even a little echo and I’m scared to try my voice. Only if they opened the door would I feel like I was actually part of the world still, not a foreign object floating in space.

I sit back on the bed and hug my knees to my chest.

Don’t cry, little bird.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

I have to keep my mind strong, or this place could break me. I don’t know how long Alistair intends to lock me in here. The door has a slot for food and a small hatch above it. Other than that, I have no contact.

I find a camera in the corner of the room and my skin crawls. I want to hide, but there’s nowhere to do so. I’m fully exposed for them to watch me like a lab rat and observe what the slow madness might do to me.

Then I remember my parents. They expect me every Sunday for dinner.

My small flicker of hope winks out. I have no doubt Alistair will have my phone, and with all the times I’ve made excuses before, one text is all it would take for them not to be concerned.

Adam and Rix may know what’s happened, but there’s nothing they can do. They’ll just have to wait until I’m released. Two weeks maximum, I think. At least, I would like to believe my father still cares enough that he’ll insist on a wellness check if I skip out of more than two dinners in a row.

Though I still turn cold and scared at the thought of spending fourteen days in here.

I don’t know what to do. I thought Alistair would see me awake and come to talk and tell me all he knows, gloat about my punishment. I would at least find out how long I’ve been out and how many days he plans to keep me here.

No one comes.

Maybe it’s the silence already driving me mad and I’m counting the minutes as hours. My chest constricts. Shit, has he restricted the air in here too? My eyes flutter, and I lean against the wall for balance.

I’m going to die in here.

I shake my head, not understanding why I can’t calm the fuck down.

“Breathe, Ana,” I tell myself in a hushed, eerie whisper. It’s as if the words don’t really leave my lips—there’s nothing for the sound to rebound off.

This is a sick, twisted method of torture.

My anxiety is rising rapidly. Blood soaring. Forehead slicking. Chronic pacing.

I realize what’s happening, and that only makes it worse.

It’s happened to me once before—a panic attack so vicious they say the symptoms are like a heart attack.

I can’t let it happen here. Not fucking here.

My body isn’t hearing me though.

I just want Rhett. I think of how he would hold me, how he would know what to do. I think of the time he caught me in the maze, and how I might have spiraled to this state then had he not been there. I can’t explain how he reaches my mind like no one else can. How his touch soothes any ache, even those deep and hidden to everyone. Not to him. No part of me has ever been hidden to him, and Ineedhim now.

I . . . shatter.

Sinking to my knees, I break into a violent cry.

I want to tear out the thing pounding like a caged beast in my chest, because it’s causing me so much pain I think I might stop breathing to kill it instead.

Make it stop.

---