BEAUTIFUL MONSTER

62 : Insanity

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I pushed my hand up my face and through my hair, shaking my head as if it would erase what was right in front of me. "No, no, this is not - he would not do this. Not after all this - he wouldn't."

Disbelief wanted to reduce me to a blubbering, tearful mess and I didn't know how I remained standing, my knees feeling as weak as paper, ready to crumple at any given moment.

The foul stench of death, so putrid in its natural form pushed grimy, filthy and dirt-ridden fingers to the back of my mouth, trying to force me to be sick.

The sucker - Ross - called to me again. "Bea-trice." His voice was gravelly, rough and slow as if his tongue weighed down like concrete and he was having difficulty touching the roof of his mouth. He made an unintelligent sound and it sounded as if he was pleading with me - to, at the very least, look at him.

Shame flooded me, breaking me like a dam would to its barriers, and all of a sudden breathing felt a lot harder, as if each inhale was dragged through the biggest obstacle: guilt, in its rawest form. "I'm sorry, I - I can't --"

He snarled viciously drawing my gaze back to him and he crashed his abnormally sharp teeth together. His eyes seemed to dull, an animalistic growl ripping out of the base of his throat. He struggled against the thick chains that held him suspended in the air, pulling like a wild animal against the bonds that were bounded to the ceiling.

It was cruelty, it was inhuman, it was... Orion.

His body thrashed forward, his mouth revealing sharp canine-like teeth. Seconds later, I realised he was hungry for blood.

I looked around. The room was windowless, there were empty crates at the far end, piled in a mess. A table, like the ones at school, was set to the side and there was a large, black book and a small container - that upon a closer look was a water bottle cut in half. The floor was covered in a thick layer of dirt, dried blood splattered in odd splotches. The walls were painted in its very own spider webs and peeling paint.

I made up my mind and walked over to the table. There was a spider in the container and I flicked it away, blowing out any dust that might have settled. I reached around, taking out my blade and pausing a second to gather my strength I quickly sliced across my palm - the one that wasn't made dinner by Ethel.

It stung sharply.

It was a thin line but I curled my hand up, holding it over to the container and letting the blood seep into it.

I wanted to run away, I wanted to scrub at my mind, get rid of what I saw, get amnesia so I wouldn't remember.

But I couldn't and I wouldn't settle for crying. Ross was here now and he needed my help. I was still in shock, horror pulsing through my body at the thought of him being alive after all this time, turned into a sucker, at the hands of Orion.

The table screeched against the ground as I dragged it. Climbing on top, I steadied myself, unflinching as Ross' spit splashed across my face when he roared, his voice guttural. I brought the container to his mouth but when he tried to bite at me, I pulled back, shaking my head slowly as I held his gaze.

He was there, somewhere. He had called for me when he had first seen me. Seeing his face so close showed me details I hadn't seen before; his skin was flaky as if it had been sewed together by invisible string, he smelt even worse, and his stained fangs were too big for his mouth.