Page 31 of Ethereally Tainted

Thump, thump, thump.

“You have been a very bad girl, my child.”

The master’s voice fills my head, and another whimper escapes me as I run through the otherwise blazing corridor. The only thing that remains now is darkness devouring everything, even the shadows are displayed on other patients’ faces.

My family is fucking dead. Why did she say I would return to them?

Nothing about this place is right. It’s a place of secrets and pretense. A sense of dread wells up within me, telling me this place is far more sinister than Grimhill ever was. And maybe it is.

Or maybe I am crazy, an utter lunatic.

Chapter 11

Naya

My legs keep movinguntil they feel like they’re on fire, and I hear voices in the distance, but none of them are close enough to catch me. A few meters ahead, I make out the shape of a door as I rush toward it, nearly colliding with someone in my haste. I shove the door open, feeling the gritty texture of the wood against my hands, and the sound of it scraping the tile floor fills my ears. It is the loud, incessant buzzing of noises surrounding me that aggravates my headache, and the exhaustion from running tenses my neck muscles. I want to scream to make it all go away.

In my hazy vision, I stumble into a toilet booth and kneel, the smell of vomit filling the air as I retch up the IV nutrients I’ve been given in the last few days. All the light and noise from the outside seem to dissipate, leaving me in a cocoon of complete darkness. I feel the salt from my tears as they run down my face, coating my tongue and sending my taste buds into overdrive. The psychologist’s words keep echoing in my head, taunting me of something I will never have.

‘Soon, you will be back with your family again.’

My family is dead, every single one of them. All were murdered by the one woman who never got the help she needed, letting the sickness take root in her head until it made her into a soulless psychopath. A tide of water seems to be beating into me, pulling me into its grasp and sending me spiraling downwards.

I’m so immersed in the inkiness of the dark surrounding me, plunging my mind into a festering pit, that I don’t recognize another’s presence until a warm and inviting hand rests upon my shoulder. A gentle warmth that speaks of summer nights and beautiful skies soothes my inner turmoil. The sensation of a tender touch causes me to flutter my eyes open, and when I do, I’m enchanted by a pair of mesmerizing sapphire blue eyes that remind me of the beauty of the ocean and the warmth of the summer breeze. In the waves of his eyes, I find myself drowning, my heart stuttering as I realize an actual person is standing before me. I quickly wipe my mouth and dry my tears.

Amidst the clamor of unknown voices around me, I make out the familiar tone of Ray’s and Dr. Lewis’s calling my name from somewhere far away. Even though they are close, their voices sound like whispers, as if they’re coming from the other end of the world. Panic rises in my chest when the knocking doesn’t stop, only increases, my eyes flaring in response to the anxiety. Seeing that person walk away toward the bathroom door, I collapse against the wall, both relieved and terrified.

“I will handle it.”

The voice that comes from somewhere inside the room is captivating, a feathery touch that caresses my soul into its safety.

It has been a long time since I reacted like this. I feel trapped inside my own mind, with nowhere left to go.

The seconds tick by like hours as I attempt to calm my breathing and dull the panic coursing through my body. All my thoughts are interrupted when I spot a man crouching in front of me, and I can’t help but take in every detail of his appearance. The fabric of his jeans is a deep, almost black color, contrasted with the gentle, light shade of his hoodie. An earthy scent lingers around him, a fragrance that’s a mix of dark florals, spices, and the earthy smell of damp woods. I recognize the scent from the cafeteria a few days ago–the rude guy who refused to tell me his name–and the guy I closed the door on after he offered me painkillers. I was smart enough to know better than to trust him, so I quickly disposed of the painkillers. Now, he feels like the only solid thing in a world crumbling around me as I battle back my tears.

“You’re okay,” he states matter-of-factly.

A red-hued highlight in his hair covers his one eye, yet the way he looks at me is almost feverish with intensity. A feeling like nothing I’ve ever experienced before fills me as his piercing eyes search my soul. It’s one that fills my body with tingles, yet one that promises danger if I step too close, and I have to swallow harshly because of my dry throat. His captivating eyes draw me in, so much so that I’m not aware of the silence that has replaced the knocking on the door outside, a silence so thick that I’m wondering if the staff have given up on me, after all.

Although I cannot identify the person crouching in front of me, the red hair and distinct aroma present are familiar, letting me know that I have encountered them before. The voice, too, because it has unconsciously glued itself to my head for so long that I feel like I will remember it fifty years from now.

As soon as my body recovers after the onslaught of panic and realizes that I am safe for now, I let go of the walls surrounding me and let my focus return.

I have no clue why he’s even here, but I can’t help but appreciate it because it gives me something else to think about.

After giving me a long, thoughtful look, the man in front of me leans against the toilet door and takes a seat beside me. We stay quiet, and the tension slowly dissipates in the silence. While I know I don’t have to be embarrassed about the way I reacted before, I can only imagine the fear in my eyes as I dashed through the corridor of patients. My cheeks are hot, turning a deeper shade of red as I nervously glance down at my legs, crossed in a neat manner.

The blister forming on the heel of my foot catches my eye, and in an attempt to manage my emotions, I peel away the skin, slowing my breathing as the skin gradually flattens. Silently, I pick at my skin, waiting for satisfaction to slowly drift over me, and while I’m doing that, I forget about the person next to me.

He is close, so close I feel his skin pressed against my chest, and it feels so comforting, like a friendly caress, as he tenderly lifts my head so I can gaze into his eyes. His eyebrows are drawn together, resembling something I would only take as worry, but worry for what?

His skin on mine feels like a deep connection, more intimate than anything I’ve ever experienced. That thought alone terrifies me to the point that my body instinctively jumps away, making a loud thump against the toilet. His hand drops back into his lap again. The air in the room suddenly grows thick with unease, and I nervously clear my throat in an attempt to ease the awkwardness.

God, I really am socially incapable.

“Um, what are you doing here?”

I avoid his gaze, my hair cascading down my face, the soft strands tickling my skin, but I remain motionless, refusing to move my hands. His breath is like a gentle breeze, fanning against my skin, making me unable to move while he’s so close to me.

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