🔥 Chapter 5 — “The Devil Beside My Bed”
1232 Words
Darkness broke with fire.
A sharp scream tore from my throat before I even knew I was awake.
Midnight swallowed the room, the darkness too thick, too alive. For a moment I was still in the flames — watching my mother burn, smelling the smoke melting her skin. My little niece’s hand slipping from mine. Hearing the gunshot that ripped through my lover’s head. Feeling the bullet that was meant for me — the flames swallowing everything.
Screams.
Blood.
My chest convulsed.
“No… no—NO! PLEASE !"
I tore out of the nightmare with a violent gasp. My body shook uncontrollably.
Tears streamed down my face before I even knew I was in a room.
A stranger’s room which was unfamiliar—dim, cold, shadowed.
My breath hitched, rapid and sharp—
I felt trapped, cornered, lost—
Suddenly the door slammed open.
And then a shadow rushed toward me.
“Hey—hey, I’m here,” Marco’s voice cracked as he reached the bed, grabbing my trembling shoulders.
“I’m here.—look at me!”
I didn’t want to. I wanted him dead more than I wanted air.
But my trembling eyes lifted anyway.
His face was close, too close. Breathless. Worried.
His hands were warm, too warm.
His touch burned against my cold skin.
I tried to push him, weakly, desperately—
but my arms collapsed uselessly.
I had no strength.
No voice.
He eased me back against the pillows, his thumb brushing sweat from my cheek.
“You’re shaking… damn it,” he muttered under his breath.
Guilt twisted his features.
Fear too.
Fear that I would break.
He thought I was crying because of him.
Because of what he did to me.
“You had a nightmare… about me.”
I know what I did was unforgivable. But…”
He inhaled shakily.
“I’m not going to be that man again. I promise you.”
How ironic.
If only you knew, Marco.
You’re the smallest monster in my nightmares.
If he knew who I truly was — the girl whose world was slaughtered —
he would run before sunrise.
I tried to push him away, again, but — my muscles shook with the effort, dying under my own weight. I collapsed back into the pillows, breath scraping harshly inside my throat.
Something tugged at my arm.
An IV line.
Cold medicine dripping into my vein like a lie dressed as help.
Every bone in my body felt like shattered glass.
Every breath stabbed.
He followed my eyes and sighed, sliding a hand into his hair.
“You fainted earlier. The doctor said you need fluids. You’re dehydrated. Weak.”
He touched my cheek gently, carefully, like I might crumble.
“You… you’re safe here.”
Safe.
The word almost made me laugh.
But I kept my expression blank—
wide-eyed, fearful, lost.
An untouched girl.
A stranger.
Nothing more.
Marco exhaled shakily, sitting on the edge of the bed.
He touched my hand—slowly, gently this time.
“Just rest. Don’t be scared of me. I won’t hurt you again. I swear.”
A lie.
And I let him believe it was enough.
I let my lashes lower, let my breathing soften—
as if the nightmare had drained everything from me.
As if I trusted him.
As if I were nobody special.
Nobody dangerous.
Nobody he should fear.
The darkness pulled me under again, heavy and numbing.
And as I slipped back into sleep, one thought echoed through my fading consciousness:
You don’t know me, Marco.
Not my name.
Not my face.
Not the grave I crawled out of.
You’ll learn all of it… soon.
My eyes closed—
I let the darkness pull me back under.
not in comfort, but in cold, perfect deception.
---
When the darkness finally loosened its grip from my mind, the first thing I felt was pain.
A dull, heavy ache in every bone.
My eyelids fluttered open like they were made of stone.
Blurred light.
A ceiling I didn’t know.
Slow, rhythmic breathing somewhere nearby.
I turned my head.
Marco was asleep on the couch.
One arm hanging off the edge.
His head tilted back.
Eyes closed, lashes dark against his cheekbones.
He looked almost peaceful.
Almost human.
My stomach twisted.
How long…?
I swallowed, throat dry, and shifted slightly. My muscles protested.
Then I saw the calendar on the wall.
Three days.
I had been asleep for almost three days.
My heart dropped.
Three days trapped in his world.
My breathing hitched—and the sound must have reached him. Marco stirred, brow tightening, then his eyes opened.
For a moment he froze, staring at me as if afraid I would vanish.
Then he stood, slow and deliberate, and approached the bed.
“You’re awake,” he murmured, voice low, rough with sleep. “Finally.”
He came too close.
Too calm.
Too certain I belonged beneath his shadow.
I pushed myself upright, weak but determined.
“Stay… stay away from me.”
My voice trembled, but the words were sharp.
“I won’t tell anyone. Just—just let me go.”
Something flickered in his eyes.
Not anger.
Not surprise.
Possession.
He sat on the edge of the bed despite my warning, his gaze steady, dark.
“I’m not letting you go.”
My breath caught.
“I know you’re afraid of me,” he continued quietly. “I know what I did. I know I broke you.”
His jaw tensed.
“But things will change. I swear they will. You’ll see it with your own eyes.”
He reached for my hand.
Reflex.
Fear.
Rage.
I yanked my hand away, shaking.
“Don’t touch me,” I breathed. “Don’t ever touch me again.”
My voice dropped, cold and sharp like a blade:
“I will kill you if you do.”
For a heartbeat, the room froze.
Then Marco… smiled.
Slow.
Dangerous.
As if my threat wasn’t a threat at all—but a challenge he enjoyed.
“There she is,” he murmured, eyes gleaming. “The fire. I wondered when it would show.”
I stiffened.
He leaned in slightly—not close enough to touch, but close enough that I could feel the heat of his breath.
“I like that,” he whispered. “You’re strong. Not scared. Not broken.”
His smile deepened.
“You’re exactly my type.”
My blood turned to ice.
He straightened, brushing a hand through his hair.
“You’ve been asleep for almost three days,” he said casually. “Your body needs food. I’ll bring something.”
“I don’t want anything from you.”
He smirked.
“You will.”
He stepped back, eyes roaming over me—not with lust, but with calculation, obsession, certainty.
“I waited three days for you to wake up,” he said softly.
“I can wait longer for you to trust me.”
He turned toward the door, then paused.
“By the way…”
He glanced over his shoulder, lips curving in a slow, knowing smirk.
“Don’t threaten me with killing. You’ll have plenty of time to try.”
And then he walked out, leaving the air thick with tension and danger.
Leaving me trapped.
Bruised.
Alive.
And lying to the devil who thought he owned me.
- Writer
