Page 48 of Ethereally Tainted

The knife he’s holding in his hand glimmers in the moonlight as he stands in the corner of the room, waiting for me to follow his commands. It’s eerily quiet inside the manor, with all the children asleep in their separate rooms on the upper floor, but for some reason, the master wanted me here tonight. Despite the darkness, I can still see that smile that’s too wide to be normal, his decaying teeth smoldering with an ominous breath as he easily holds the knife in front of him. His movements are fluid as if he has done this a hundred times before–which, I suppose, he has.

Tonight, he wants me to obey his commands and do whatever he pleases to torture me in the sickest ways possible. Whenever I reflect on it, I feel like something heavy is hanging in my stomach like a stone, and guilt fills me as I think back to wishing it was that strawberry-haired girl–Aurora–here instead of me. She’s his favorite doll, not me. But then, I cannot be selfish now. She deserves some rest after everything he has put her through.

No one deserves his wrath.

He lifts his knife toward me, pressing it against my skin with the most haunting look in his eyes before plunging it in, carving something on my arm that I cannot see. The only thing heard is my heavy breathing as I try not to scream from the pain because screaming only makes everything worse.

He thrives on our pain.

I feel the tears brimming my eyes, the hopelessness clogging my mind until I want to do nothing else but dig my own grave and leave the earth. At least then I would be free.

“Will you be good?” The old man rasps, making me want to cry even louder from how terrified he makes me feel, my body trembling.

“Yes, Master.”

“Crazy bitch,” he mutters before continuing his torment.

I sense the onset of my panic attack as my lungs struggle to inhale and exhale, creating a whistling sound that elicits strange looks from other patients. I’m too panicked to care about them, and all I can think about is how much I need to get out of this place. A mixture of anxiety and dread fills my system, mixing into one until I am nothing but a jumble of frayed nerves in my mind and body. I’m spiraling into a pool of utter blackness as the shadows take over my mind, and this time I’m scared of them taking over completely. I’ve never lost myself, although I know there’s a possibility of doing so.

I am Naya, I am twenty years old, and I am not fucking crazy.

Furiously, I scratch my hand until the skin turns red with irritation and the searing pain takes over, but even then, I don’t stop. To get rid of the pain in my chest, I continue picking at the skin on my nail beds, causing myself pain to prevent it from worsening. It helps temporarily, but not forever.

I need to get out of this place. Maybe I can find Rebecca and plead with her to help me escape, even if that is a death sentence in itself. I will never be able to survive in the woods without the proper equipment. The demons are everywhere and lurking deep in the shadows, ready to take over and kill me this time, which is what I deserve.

I fucking deserve to be killed for my sins.

A guttural sound of anguish emanates from my throat, its intensity reflecting the pain inside me. Everything hurts, and I have no way to escape this endless pain. I then feel something soft and warm against my lips, forcing itself against me as if to cover my mouth. Through my blurry vision, I’m able to make out the figure of a tall man with deep, raven-red hair.

His eyes sparkle with something, a worry I have never seen pooling in them before, but he stops my screaming momentarily, slowly bringing me back to earth as the realization settles in. I am not at Grimhill Manor anymore.

And I just stare at the guy, confused as my inner demons slowly retreat, leaving me alone with the imposing demon who stands right in front of me.

chapter 19

Grey

The grief she expressesas I stand before her is barely visible; she does not weep or wail. As in the case of unstitched wounds, it is discreet, persistent, and almost as silent as bleeding. The worry settles deep within me as I watch her unfold in front of me; it reminds me of watching glass break into a thousand pieces without noise. Her mismatched eyes glisten from unshed tears, and all I want to do is wrap her inside my embrace despite not knowing her.

The fear of being alone is a constant reminder that I am, in fact, alone. Even if I’m surrounded by people. It’s a curse I have to live with, one where I fear being alone yet cannot handle being near people.

When I saw her curvy body in the food line with Alex, something knotted in my stomach, and it wasn’t jealousy. No, it was a type of rage at seeing him with her. One where all I wanted to do was slam my fist into his jaw, especially after he made a fool of her. And so I did, and it felt so fucking good hurting my knuckles as I watched his skin rip open.

Luckily, none of the guards saw it, so I got away unscathed.

I have never felt anything like it, rage the only constant emotion inside me, yet my soul draws to her in ways it never has. And that alone is terrifying.

She’s not yours, I try to remind myself, although my mind has already claimed her as mine.

It’s a dangerous game I’m playing, one where I know I will completely lose myself, yet I cannot find the power to stop. She unknowingly has me completely under her control which makes it all the more essential to let her go. Yes, this is a fleeting feeling that will vanish as quickly as the leaves rustle in the breeze. During their growth, the leaves meet their fate when the wind comes, snatching them away from their stalks. That will happen to this feeling, too.

My feelings are playing a cat-and-mouse game. A lethal game where one side pursues the other side until they have the chance to catch up, and then it starts all over again. She stands before me, and I can’t help but be taken aback by her beauty–her hair is artfully arranged around her face, and her lightly freckled skin adds a beautiful texture to her pale complexion. She is breathtaking, and that is even more terrifying.

I need to back off, yet I cannot.

Taking my time, I carefully move my hand away from her mouth, the sensation of her breath filling the air around us. It was a last-minute solution–truly–and nothing I had planned to do, to violate her like that and muzzle another scream about to rip from her throat. When I saw her running toward the staircase and hyperventilating, I didn’t think. When I noticed she was about to scream, I quickly sprinted in her direction, intending to muffle the sound. If any guard other than Ray had come, the consequences for her would have been much worse. Even though I can’t fathom why it matters to me. I have never felt such a powerful yearning for another person before, and if I cannot find a way to ease this need, I know I will go mad.

The guards love seeing patients suffer rather than becoming better. They do everything in their power to punish patients for the slightest mistake or weird behavior, something I have been exposed to more times than I can count on my fingers and toes combined.

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