Page 27 of Strangled
Lifting my head, I sigh and straighten to my full height, arching my back and extending my arms above my head. My fingers scrape along a low hanging rafter. A hiss escapes my lips at the pulsing throb radiating through my ass when I accidentally clench.
“Fuck,” I mumble with a groan. I’ve never been so sore in my life, but then again, I’ve never been fucked like that before either.
The wayhetouched me, hesitantly at times, but all the others… it was so fuckingconsuming—downright primitive. It was too much and not enough at the same time with the rushed mixture of overwhelming pain and all-consuming rapture.
I stretch from side to side, groaning as my bruised flesh is pulled taut. My nails scrape along the rafter before the sensation disappears as I lean to my right. I freeze with my arms still in the air, something niggling at the back of my head. My eyes roll into the back of my head as I grasp for comprehension, my temples pulsing from the exertion.
So fucking close…
My eyes snap open, my breath punching from my lungs when it finally fucking hits me. Dropping my arms, I extend one out to feel along the wall. I ignore the spiderwebs wrapping around my arm as I brace my weight along a stud. I lift myself onto the tips of my toes, putting me closer to the two-by-four above my head.
I gain just enough height for my fingers to curl around the edge of the rough wood. My ribs ache, constricting around my lungs as I reach further, higher. My head swims from the lack of oxygen. Stars flicker in front of my eyes as my vision darkens.
My shoe scrapes along the floor, and when my toes connect with the exposed inner wall, I step up, gasping as oxygen rushes in. My head swims from the force, and I lean against my raised arm, eyes closed, lips parted as I pant.
When stability resurfaces, I force my eyes open, battling with the darkness. Having the extra height under my feet gives me enough space to curl my arm around the beam at the same time I push off with my foot. I dangle, my legs swaying under me as I wrap my other arm around the rafter.
Taking a deep breath and holding it, I use every ounce of body strength I have to haul myself up. I curl my legs around the second two-by-four and dangle from the rafter, my head hanging back between my shoulder blades.
I’m forced to see with my hands more than my eyes now that I’m away from the minute beams of light shining through the holes in the walls. I’m not sure how I manage it, but using every ounce of core strength I have, I’m able to curl myself around the beam and haul myself to the top of the rafter.
I duck on instinct, but as I move into a crouch, I swipe my hand through the space above my head and find it empty. My hands tremble as I hold onto the wood in a death grip, my body rocking precariously on the open beams.
Webs and whatever else floating through the air cling to my skin as I inch my way down the darkness. I’m sweating. The air at this level feels warmer, muggier. I lean down to swipe my forehead along my bicep, blinking rapidly when a droplet of sweat drips into my eyeball.
“Motherfucker.” I grit my teeth. I scrunch my eye shut against the burning sensation, fumbling along with even less vision before—which wasn’t fucking much.
I’m almost in a daze, overheated and overstimulated, when my hand scrapes over a deep divot in the wood. It makes me freeze, my palm pressed directly against it. Putting all of my weight against my left hand, I trace my thumb along the groove.
My heart gallops in my chest, my breaths coming faster with every unsteady beat. I can’t tell what it is without being able to see, but… it doesn’t feel like a natural deterioration to the wood.
It was put here on purpose—for a reason.
“Fuck,” I whisper to myself, my mind racing. I raise my arm slowly, deliberately cautious as I feel around. When my fingers caress a delicate string dangling in the middle of the open space, tears of relief sting my eyes, my breath whooshing from my lungs.
I hold onto that string like a life preserver as I balance myself between the beams. I dig the ball of my foot into one of them, using my left arm for support as I slowly rise to my feet, my fingers never loosening around that string. It makes my balance precarious at best, but I can’t risk losing it, especially when I can’t fucking see.
Before I reach my full height, my head collides with a hard surface. I jerk away on instinct, hissing as my scalp is ripped open, flooding with a blistering heat.
“Shit,” I utter. Warmth flows over my fingertips as I swipe them over the gash. I bring my hand to my mouth and dart my tongue out. The distinct flavor of copper clings to my tongue, and I grimace, wiping my hand on my pants, although all it does is smear.
My right eye twitches in an attempt to keep blood from dripping into it as I fumble above my head, pounding my fist against the wood in desperation. I don’t care if he hears me. In fact, I fucking hope he does.
My foot slips, and my grip on the delicate string tightens on instinct as I use it to catch myself. I sway on the rafter, my balance in shambles with only the ball of my foot keeping me in place. A choked sound escapes from between my lips as all the breath in my lungs evaporates. My stomach bottoms out, a breathless scream ripping apart my throat as the wood underneath my foot disappears, and my body lurches.
* * *
I can hear him moving around, the shuffle of his feet along the floor, the scrape of his nails along the wood. It’s almost too much, the way each tiny movement has my heart beating faster, heavier. The sensation is almost painful in its intensity.
I brush my knuckles along the abraded wood as I crawl on my hands and knees, following the sounds he makes as he migrates, each step bringing him closer to me. I wonder if he even realizes how close he actually is, how he could reach through the passageway, and our fingers would touch.
My finger traces the outline of one of the homemade hatch doors as I wait for his movements to start up again. He does that a lot—moves and then pauses—probably because he can’t see.
I’m on my third round of tracing when I hear his shoes scuff and scrape on the wood. My ears perk, and my finger freezes. Air whooshes in and out of my nose with every labored breath. I press my ear to the floor, hating the vibrating hum from the music and yelling downstairs.
It’s already disrupted enough of my night—and now this. But it did give me new, refreshing prey, so perhaps Ishouldbe a little more grateful.
“Shit!” Lyken’s unmistakable voice reverberates through the space and directly into my fucking ear. I close my eyes and hum lightly, satisfaction washing over me.
