Page 55 of Ethereally Redeemed

He holds his hand there, doesn’t let go of the grip, and I only look at him. Confused, bewildered, wondering what the fuck is going on with me.

“You’re safe now, do you hear me?” When I don’t respond, he clamps around my throat again. “Do you fucking hear me?”

“Yes,” I manage to whisper.

He releases the grip, but he doesn’t remove his hand. “Good girl.”

Something heated fills my core. Then, he takes his hand around my neck, gently massaging his way from my shoulders to my scalp, and I cannot help but let out a moan of relief at the sensation, the muscles in my neck tense.

My heart is a wild beat underneath my ribcage as I desperately fight to calm down, needing to stay focused. I can’t get lost within the demons haunting my mind.

“Are you my good little doll?” he whispers into my mouth, his breath warm against my skin and sends a delicious tremor through me. His hand roams over me with a deliberate touch, as if assessing every part of me.

As he brushes his lips against my skin, my breaths grow shallow, but not from panic this time.

His fingers press and probe around my neck tenderly whilst his voice whispers sweet nothings into my ear, and I realize it’s all an act to distract me.

He works his fingers carefully, nibbling my earlobe at the same time, causing me to clench my thighs from the heat in my core.

“My beautiful little doll,” he whispers, continuing to probe around my neck.

And then, I know it’s a distraction. But why?

“What are you doing?” I ask him, voice strained.

At first, he says nothing, his fingers methodically exploring the base of my neck. He pauses when he finds a specific sore spot, his fingers lingering on an unnaturally ragged area between my scalp and neck. The pain is sharp as he pinches the skin between two fingers, making me wince. Panic wells up inside me, an overwhelming urge to scratch and smooth out the unevenness.

I need to fucking itch it, smooth it out and—

“Something’s not right,” Grey murmurs quietly.

Then, it feels as if something lurks beneath my skin, my heart racing faster as the realization dawns, eyes growing wide with palpable fear. “Grey, what did you read in that journal?”

When he doesn’t reply, I repeat my question, my voice harder than I intended.

As he continues to touch the spot, it feels disorienting, like a worm writhing just beneath the surface, ready to strike when I’m least expecting it. Grey suddenly recoils, taking two steps back.

“What is it?” My voice rises, panic lacing my words. “What is it?”

“There’s something in your fucking neck!” he shouts, fear gripping its hold of him.

Eyes widening, my mouth opens and closes as I struggle to find words. My hands fly to my neck, feeling the spot where he had been kneading a particularly hard muscle knot, and I feel something foreign lodged under my skin. I rush to the bathroom—a sad excuse for one—inside the basement, letting the sunlight illuminate the space as I tear off my shirt to see in the mirror.

Uneven skin—scratch it, itch it, cut it out!

Grey follows, gently moving my hair aside to get a better look. In the mirror, I see it—a tiny, rectangular shape beneath my skin that I hadn’t noticed before. Nausea churns in my stomach.

“Don’t freak out,” he says, and I give him a glare that suggests he better shut up.

“Grey. What did you read in the passage?” I ask again, knowing I don’t truly wish to know.

“They did something to all people they sent to Dankworth Institute,” he begins by saying, swallowing harshly, his Adam’s apple bobbing in the motion.

I wait for him to finish with bated breath, staring into his eyes through the mirror’s reflection, and my entire skin itches. The voices in my head scream to get rid of whatever’s embedded there. The obsessive compulsion to tear apart the skin is slowly suffocating me.

“This thing inside you… We have to get it out. It’s a tracking chip.”

Chapter 20

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