Page 56 of Vicious Games

I knew this wasn’t rea—

CHAPTER 22

AURORA

I awoke inside a padded cell.

I scrambled off the hospital bed and ran for the door. I pulled on the handle, but it was locked. I hadn’t really expected otherwise. The entire door was padded except for a small metal square. I curled my fingers into a fist and pounded on it. “Let me out! Hey! Is anyone out there?”

After several minutes, I gave up and paced around the windowless, empty room.

“This isn’t funny, Roman. I know you’re watching somehow. Let me out of here.”

I stopped to listen. Nothing.

I threw my arms up in frustration. “You want to hear me say it? Fine. Fine! It’s true. I pawned the necklace, and I was going to run. Again. I’m sorry. Can you hear me? I’m sorry!”

I ran over and pounded on the door again. Nothing.

“Dammit, Roman! Get in here,” I shouted as I stared up at the ceiling. If I wasn’t acting insane before, I sure was now.

I pulled at the silk corset. The dress was uncomfortable, and I wanted it off. I looked down to see the faint scratches on the tops of my breasts where the beading had rubbed against my flesh. I leaned against a wall and slowly slid to the floor.

Pushing my hopelessly tangled hair out of my face, I continued to talk to the air. “I would have come back.” I looked up at the ceiling again and raised my voice. “Do you hear me? I would have come back. I just needed… time… space… I don’t know. Goddammit, Roman!”

I toyed with a loose bead on the dress as I stared at my lap. “You’re not an easy man to love, you know that, but against all reason and my better judgment, I do love you.”

I pulled my heels off and tossed them across the room. “You’re a fucking psychopath. You know that? It should be you in here, not me,” I grumbled to the empty room. I then let out a long, frustrated sigh. “But you’re my psychopath. You don’t think I understand why you do this shit. You think I’m too young to get it, but I do. I’ve already lived a hundred lifetimes. That’s how it is with people like us. People with no anchor in a storm. People who are set adrift by the very people who are supposed to love and shelter them from the rain. We don’t trust the sunshine. Are you even listening, Roman?”

I buried my face in my hands.

Just then, there was a loud click, and the door opened.

My heart fell when it wasn’t Roman.

A tall, stern woman with her gray hair pulled back in a severe bun entered with two female attendants behind her. “My name is Mrs. Higgs. I’m here to complete your intake at St. George’s Hospital.”

I looked past her into the dark corridor. “Where is Roman?”

“As I understand it, Mr. Winterbourne is recovering from his gunshot wound. A wound you gave him at your wedding.” She spoke in a clipped, disapproving tone.

I shook my head as I backed up. “That’s not true. I didn’t try to kill him at our wedding. I never said yes!” I leaned up on my toes and tried to shout over her shoulder into the supposedly empty corridor. “I never said yes!”

Mrs. Higgs unbuttoned her cuffs and slowly rolled up her sleeves. “Please, Miss Barlowe, let’s not make this more difficult than it needs to be.”

I snatched one of my high heels from the floor and held it in front of me like a weapon. “Back off! I’m not going anywhere with you.”

The two attendants, also dressed in head-to-toe white, stepped around her toward me. Never stood a chance. They swiped my wrist, knocking the shoe out of my hand, and grabbed me. I screamed and protested as they dragged me out of the padded room by my upper arms.

They dragged me down a long, darkened corridor. My eyes had to adjust as we entered a bright room covered in green and white tile. Pushed against the wall was a long table covered in all sorts of leather and metal restraints. I struggled harder. At first, I thought they were going to restrain me to the wooden chair in the center of the room. It was only with slight relief that I realized they were dragging me past it to another room.

The moment we crossed the threshold, the women started pulling at the stays of my silk corset. In the center of the room were two massive cast-iron soaking tubs. Rather preposterously, one had a chair attached to the side.

Mrs. Higgs pointed to it. “Your choice, Miss Barlowe. We can strap you into the bathing chair and dunk you in ice cold water, a treatment designed to reduce your hysteria, or you can calm down and bathe like a civilized member of society in the other tub.”

I stilled. “I’ll be good.”

She nodded.

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