My eyes opened sluggishly, light-headedness washing over me in an instant. The outline of a red digited lock glared blearily from the bedside table- had I always had that- I was the wrong way round. The bed was the wrong way round, and it smelled diff- I lurched upwards and instantly regretted it, my head catching up with my body in staggered waves. This wasn't my room. This was... Jase's room. I'd never been in here but it smelled like him; clean and masculine, sparsely decorated with no personal effects. What on earth was I doing in Jase's bed?
Horror crept up my spine as I tried my hardest through the fog of exhaustion to do a mental diagnosis of my body. Between my legs felt... normal. There was no throbbing, no soreness except for the resounding ache and pain in my bones. My underwear was in place, I was dressed- wait- I was dressed. My fingers held the soft supple fabric of the white t-shirt shrouding my body. This was Jase's, the neckline held his lingering scent. Had he moved me in here? Had he slept next to me? I was furious at the violation, but my brain was so numb with fever that still prickled my forehead. I needed to get up, I needed to confront him. You couldn't defend yourself if you tried.
I gingerly tiptoed out of the bed, limbs heavy, leaning against the window frame as my head adjusted to the standing position. I breathed in wheezes, I was more light-headed than I'd thought. I needed to eat, the pit of my stomach gnawing sickeningly with hunger. It was just after 11am, so I'd slept solidly since I'd passed out after work, deep enough for me to not remember how and why I'd ended up in Jase's room. Had I gone in there accidentally in a fluish stupor? No, I wouldn't have put on one of his t-shirts, that's for sure. I could hear muted chatter from the TV in the living room, Jase was up. All I needed to do was walk there without fainting, and hold my own.
I padded lightly, one foot deliberately in front of the other, shockwaves of dizziness reverberating through my head. Jase looked up from the couch, pausing whatever he was watching as he heard my fumbling approach.
"You're awake, how are you feeling?" He stood instantly and began to walk towards me. I took a staggered step back in defence, the idea of him moving me, or touching me in my sleep consuming my thoughts.
"How... why did I wake in your room? In your t-shirt?" I struggled to form the words in my delicate state.
"Your room was too hot, your fever was really high. I had to call Matty over to assess you and I didn't want him to see... anything," he explained casually, frowning at me with unconcealed concern.
"You can't... do that," I retorted lamely, a sudden wave of dizziness and fever flooding me. You're going to pass out. I held the wall for stability and Jase instantly reached for me, extending his arms to take my weight. "Stop," I groaned and staggered back further, doing myself no favours. You need his help.
"Paige," Jase growled and held my shivering body, ignoring my weak reluctance. "Sit down," he guided me to the couch, my movements easy with his assistance.
"I don't need help," I curled up in the corner of the sofa, feeling exposed and vulnerable. His t-shirt, designed to cover his huge frame was big enough to conceal everything at least, though I was less concerned with dignity and more concerned with the pressure inside my head.
"You need fluids." Jase strolled to the kitchen and poured a large glass of water, bringing it over and sitting beside me carefully. "Drink, here," he tipped the perspiring glass to me, I weakly drew my arms up to hold it but he positioned it beside my lips before I could reach across. "Do you want more?" He asked softly.
The three gently spoken words provoked memories that haunted my nightmares into flooding my conscious.
"Do you want more?" His voice was a gentle whisper, his eyes large and full of sadistic tenderness. His hand moved towards my face, I couldn't edge away from him any further. Every nerve in my body boiled with a fire I couldn't extinguish. His fingertips lightly traced the damp skin of my forehead, peeling an errant lock of hair and tucking it behind my ear. The motion was slow, deliberate, his skin against mine in a soft caress.
"Hold still," He murmured lightly, drawing another syringe to my neck. No more, I couldn't take any more. He was being docile enough for me to just seize a moment- just a moment to delay the inevitable. I launched my head forward and smashed it into his face, feeling a slight shift of his nose. He recoiled in surprise, otherwise entirely unaffected. A thin sliver of blood trickled from his nostril, he touched it curiously and rubbed the silky liquid between his fingertips. He smiled, green eyes sparkling with entertained malice. In one deft motion he seized the back of my head, grasping the roots of my hair and tugging me aside to expose my throat, driving the syringe in with angled precision.
The drug slowly worked it's way through me, snaking through my veins like magma. The internal fever took hold, seizing my muscles until I trembled from head to foot. I needed to hold still, it was going to take me under in a moment to the highest depths of agony. I bit my lip, a mistake as I couldn't unhinge my jaw now the pain seized control, the metallic taste of blood filling my mouth. It was spilling down my chin, I couldn't think- I couldn't move- Jase's hand reached forward, his fingers thrust into my mouth to prize my jaw apart. Was he... helping- no... he stroked the bloodied thumb across my cheek, the sensation of contact absolute agony that I couldn't restrain myself from. I gasped out, spluttering and jolting, watching my hands rattle involuntarily.
"Your nerves are so overstimulated that even the lightest of touch will cause you incredible pain now," Jase explained calmly. "For example, if I do this," my eyes grew wild with distress as I watched him lick my blood from his thumb and bring the saturated digit to my face. He pressed it against the crimson smear on my cheek, rubbing his saliva over the blood to clean the mark with deft flicking motions. He may as well have been slicing through my skin with a knife, I cried out and craned away from him, resisting the ropes binding me to the chair and only causing myself more suffering.
"Pretty excruciating, right?" Jase looked at me darkly, no shreds of emotion behind his eyes. "The nerves on the cheeks aren't so sensitive on the whole, but if I did this..." from his pocket he withdrew a multi-tool knife, and I could barely register it's presence before I realised his hands weren't headed where I expected- they were going... the fabric of my trousers gaped suddenly. Without knowing why I ignored the radiating pain and tilted my head down... no...
The tip of the knife edged lightly across the inside of my thigh, a searing burn exploding through. I screamed in agony, no longer able to restrain myself from reacting. It was a prolonged, strangled cry, I had to gasp for breath as a burn rolled up my trachea. He's slicing you open, he'll go further up... I was aware, so aware of everything. Every tiny sensation, every stimulation in intense vividness. Skin brushed against the tender flesh of my inner thigh, his fingertips- he was going to- no... he is- he's going to-
"Please!" I howled desperately, barely able to form the word. "No!" I screamed. If I was loud could I prevent it? What could I do? How could I stop it? I couldn't... he was going to do it.
"You know how to make it stop," Jase sank back lazily in his chair and flipped the pocket knife to a close, sheathing it in his pocket.
A tear slipped down my cheek, I shook my head vehemently, regretting the motion as my head hammered in pain. Jase withdrew the glass and rested it on the coffee table, turning back to me and reaching his hand to my face gently, about to wipe the tears that had spilled.
"No!" I whispered hoarsely in horror, recoiling as much as I could.
"Paige, you're dehydrated," Jase explained on the edge of impatience, shifting uncomfortably. "Matt... recommended we call your consultant and have them bring an IV with fluids round. I'm trying to avoid that."
I wanted to laugh. When was this charade going to end? He cared about me now no more than he'd cared about me then, restrained to a chair whilst he tortured me. I leaned forward, exhausted, and reached to the coffee table. He picked up the water and brought it to my hands, transferring the glass to me carefully and watching intently as I sipped from it. I was thirsty, and hungry, but I couldn't bring myself to ask Jase for anything. I gulped the cool liquid down, spluttering as I suddenly mis-swallowed. Jase seized the glass and reached for a waste paper basket, shaking its few contents to the floor and holding it in front of me in case I needed to vomit.
Bile rising from my belly jolted me forward with unexpected force and I heaved whatever remnants were still in my stomach violently, watery liquid mixed with splatters of blood from my insides saturating his knee. As I recovered from the aftershocks with wheezing breaths he closed his eyes- I should have tried to aim... I shouldn't have gotten it on him... He raised his bile covered hand to my face and rubbed the watery puke across my features, the acidity stinging my broken lips.
"Paige," he whispered secretively. "It's okay," he shook his head despondently and bore his green eyes into mine. "You can tell me, and I'll make this stop. No more pain," he promised tenderly.
I pushed the bin away from my face, shaking with the effects of the illness and the uncontrollable onslaught of memories. More salty tears slipped down my cheeks and I breathed shakily to stop myself from succumbing to sobs of desperation. Jase sighed and stood up from the couch.
"You need to eat something," he said aloud, to himself mostly. "And you need to drink the rest of that water, it has rehydration salts in it. If you're not starting to improve by the end of the day we've got to get your doctor over with some fluids." My head pounded as I struggled to fight against the tears, using every bit of energy I had to maintain regular breaths and not allow the violence of the flashbacks to totally overwhelm me.
"Paige, come on," Jase implored, gazing at me as I shook on the couch, attempts to control my struggle apparently not as concealed as I'd hoped. He paced at me and drew the back of his hand to my forehead, the contact of his skin against mine provoking a stifled sob.
"-I'll make this stop. No more pain," he gazed at me nurturingly, his fingers outstretching and stroking my cheek in a soft, tender caress.
I wanted to be sick... no... I was going to be sick- no... fight it. I breathed harshly and swiftly in panicked determination to stop the acid from journeying up my throat. Control it. I breathed through it. In... out... in... out...
Jase sat on the coffee table in front of me, his knees touching mine. I shuffled back instantly, shaking with the shock of the flashbacks. It was as though I was there, I could smell it, taste it in the air, feel the ghosts of the sensations across my skin. This was PTSD. There was no real way of avoiding it after what I'd been through, but I hadn't expected it to feel so violently raw.
"I'm going to call the doctor," Jase studied me carefully.
"No," I swallowed suddenly.
"You need to be seen by someone," he insisted, reaching for his phone.
"It's not illness!" I yelped hoarsely, sitting straighter out of my shivering huddle on the couch. "It's not... it's you. Just... leave me alone," a reluctant tear fell, followed by another.
"Paige, you're sick-"
"Please! Get away from me," I cried desperately, burying my face in the crook of my arm, clutching my hair with one shivering hand and imploring my brain to focus on the rise and fall of my chest.