8: old scars

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TW; take care of yourself.

Jakob's POV

"Stop making noise," the voice hissed at me as I felt my body become weak. Why was I so weak?

I couldn't understand why my limbs wouldn't move. I tried lifting my head up, trying to push the body on top of me away.

Sharp red fingernails grasped at my chin, roughly pushing my head back onto the pillow.

"W-Why..." I couldn't speak. Why couldn't I speak?

"I said shut up!" the voice dripped venom, one cold hand on my chest. A body straddled me, pushing me down.

My head hurt, my vision was blurry. Why couldn't I see?

"Stop moving," the sickly fake voice sounded overjoyed, "Shh Jakob, let me have my fun. I've wanted you for so long."

Cold hands trailed down my chest; a kiss was placed on my peck.

"S-Stop," I couldn't even tell if I was speaking out loud.

"You want this," the voice instructed. No. No I didn't. I didn't.

The hand trailed lower and I buckled up, feeling my hands make contact with a face. My vision was blurry, my movements lethargic.

The voice cursed, pulling out a knife.

It glinted in the sun. My throat felt constricted.

The small knife that was in the cold hand pierced the skin of my chest.

I couldn't feel it.

All I felt was a deafening numbness.

"S-Sto-" my speech was slurred as I tried to keep my eyes open.

The knife dug deeper.

"I'll get you Jakob."

I couldn't breathe.

Why couldn't I breathe?

My eyes shot open and I swallowed, trying to catch my breath. I stared up at the ceiling of the hotel room, remembering where I was.

Breathing in through my nose, I blinked a few times, realizing that the room wasn't dark.

I swallowed again, rubbing lightly at my chest.

At the scars from the knife.

The pain I felt wasn't physical at this moment; my wounds had long been stitched up.

It was all in my head.

And it was suffocating.

"I'm s-sorry did I wake you u-up?"

The soft voice carried through the room, making my eyes widen of their own accord.

With my heart pounding rapidly all over again, I lifted myself up slightly and my eyes met with hers.

She sat cross-legged on the chair across from the bed, the lamp on beside her. She wore her glasses, perched on the tip of her nose as she balanced a book in one hand.

It wouldn't be a lie if I said she had hypnotized me from the first moment I laid my eyes on her.

I had been trying to garner some semblance of control, but it was close to impossible when she existed. Whether it was in front of me, or as a thought in my head.

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