Mors

7

Flashbacks of my past, moments I'd meticulously buried, clawed their way back to the surface. I was on the verge of a full-blown panic attack, barely aware of my surroundings, until I felt the cold, crisp linen of a bed beneath me.

I only registered the grunting sound he made as he left the room. It was probably a good thing he walked away when he did. I was so consumed by rage and disgust that I might have tried to kill him, even if it meant my own death. The thought of how easily he had forced me to take a life, how little it seemed to affect him, turned my stomach.

He was a monster, a cold-blooded bastard who probably saw no difference between a human life and a cheap toy. I imagined him celebrating the man’s death somewhere, or maybe not. He seemed like the kind of person who’d swallow a human whole and simply call it "delicious."

A sharp cramp twisted my stomach, and I stumbled into the bathroom, dropping to my knees. I heaved over the toilet, the painful retching continuing until my stomach was empty. My ribs ached, and my throat burned. I flushed the toilet, but the physical emptiness didn't bring any relief.

I looked down at my hands, and all I could see was blood. Not just the physical blood of the man I had killed, but the blood of my mother, the blood of my innocence. I felt disgusted with myself, a murderer now. I ripped off my clothes and stepped into the shower, not caring that the water was icy cold. I scrubbed my skin raw, the top layer breaking, and blood beading in the scratches. It was the only way I knew how to feel clean again.

The ice-cold water couldn't wash away the flashbacks. The painful screams of my mother echoed in my ears, and the vile images of those men violating her flashed behind my eyelids.

"No," I whimpered, sliding to the floor of the shower, my hands clamped over my ears. But the voices only grew louder, louder until they were screaming. I was having a full-blown panic attack.

"Leave her, please, let her go!" I sobbed, seeing my mother's face, her eyes wide with terror as she looked at me, begging me to stay hidden, to not move. My body convulsed with sobs as I felt the walls of the small shower closing in on me. I couldn't leave her. Not to those disgusting men. They would hurt her more if I didn't do something.

My breathing became more and more labored until I was gasping for air, feeling as if I were drowning. My surroundings blurred, but the sounds remained—my mother's desperate pleas, the cruel laughter of her attackers. My heart hammered against my ribs, threatening to burst.

"Leave her!" I choked out, a final plea that went unheard. I screamed for God to help us, but all He did was turn His back. No one helped us. No one cared that our lives were being destroyed, that my innocence was being tainted forever.

I felt someone grab me and pull me from the shower, but the world was a blurry mess. Even the horrifying flashbacks began to fade. I felt a sharp prick in my arm, and then, mercifully, everything turned dark.

I groaned, a wave of pain crashing over me as I regained consciousness. My head throbbed, every bone ached, and I was shivering uncontrollably despite the heavy warmth of a blanket draped over me. A small, stinging pain in my hand made me open my eyes. I looked down, half-expecting to find a spider or, worse, a lizard—creatures I despised. Instead, my brow furrowed in confusion when I found an IV drip attached to my hand. That explained the cold.

"Oh, you're awake!" A woman in a maid's uniform chirped, her voice far too cheerful for the mood I was in.

"Yeah, I'm awake," I mumbled, adding under my breath, "Unfortunately."

"What was that?" she asked, a confused frown on her face.

I forced a tight smile. "Just talking to myself." I dropped the smile as soon as she turned away. Please leave me alone, I pleaded silently. I needed space to process everything, to let my brain function again without a perky maid hovering.

"I've put your breakfast here. If you need anything else, just dial one on that phone, and you'll be able to contact me," she said, placing a tray on the bedside table and pointing to a phone. I nodded, but I didn’t hear a word she said. My brain was still in a fog.

"I'll take my leave now," she chirped. She was just about to walk out when I stopped her.

"Wait!" I said hurriedly. She turned around so quickly I was sure she’d given herself whiplash.

"What happened last night?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper. I couldn’t remember anything after I was dropped on the bed.

She gasped dramatically and sat down on the edge of the mattress. "I came into your room to give you some clothes, but I heard you screaming and crying from the bathroom! I panicked and called the boss, but he was in a meeting, so I called his brother. He rushed here, broke down the door, and rescued you! You were having a terrible panic attack, so he called the family doctor to check on you, and the rest is history!" she explained, her hands flying everywhere for dramatic effect. My lips twitched in irritation. She was treating this like a performance. But maybe that was just her personality.

"I see," I whispered, the weight of her words sinking in. "Thank you. If it wasn't for you, I would've been found dead in the morning." I knew a panic attack wouldn't kill me, but in the moment, it felt like my life was being slowly squeezed out of me.

"You're welcome!" she chirped in her high-pitched voice. God, she was loud.

"Can you help me thank the man who helped me?" I asked. I hated the bastard, but his brother had helped me, and for that, I needed to thank him.

"You can thank me yourself," a deep voice said from the doorway. My eyes shot open, and my jaw dropped. Holy s**t. The man who stood in the doorway was a work of art, a god walking among mortals. My eyes roamed his body, from his perfect, well-toned arms to his broad shoulders, lingering to admire the sheer perfection of him.

"If you're done gawking, you can thank me now," his voice, deep and laced with amusement, snapped me out of my daze. I hadn’t even noticed how close he’d gotten. He was just a foot away, his head level with mine as he leaned in. My cheeks flamed, and I leaned back against the headboard.

He chuckled softly. "Um, thank you for last night," I muttered, my gaze fixed on the blankets. Even though he was the most handsome man I'd ever seen, I was deeply uncomfortable with him this close. He seemed to get the message and straightened up, turning his attention to the maid.

"I want you in my bed tonight," he commanded, pulling her chin up with a casual intimacy that made me cringe.

"Yes, sir," she replied, her voice a breathy whisper. He looked at me one last time, a dark glint in his eyes, before turning and leaving.

I scrunched my nose in distaste. I knew it wasn’t my place to judge, but I could bet a hundred dollars he was a total manwhore. I felt a surge of protectiveness for the maid, a desperate urge to warn her, but I stopped myself. She was old enough to make her own decisions. She must know what she was getting into.

"I'll take my leave now," she sighed dreamily, her eyes fixed on the door he had just walked through. Okay, maybe she's not sane enough to realize she's just a conquest. Still, it wasn't my business to meddle.

"I thought you were leaving?" I asked, reminding her she had been standing there for five minutes, completely lost in a trance.

"Huh?" she said, as if just waking up. Then, realizing her blunder, she finally left.

Ah, freedom.

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