I was surprised to wake up. I was so sure that I had died, that the fact that I was now conscious was almost incomprehensible. It made me doubt my own senses. I wondered if these past few weeks had just been a dream, suddenly gripped with the idea that if I sat up, I would find myself in my own bedroom, without the wounds, bruises and other evidence of violence that had marked my body. But soon enough the pain returned, like a wave washing over me. With it, it brought me back to reality and sank my hopes. My dreadful situation was, in fact, very real.
Groaning, I trying to remember what exactly had happened, while my head and most of my body throbbed and ached. Despite my pain, I attempted to pull myself into a sitting position to get a better look at my surroundings and my wounds.
I wasn't sure of how much time had passed while I was unconscious. The amount of abuse I had taken that night—was it last night?—was extreme, the worst yet, and I wouldn't be surprised if I had been out of it for weeks, if not months. I knew my injuries must be horrendous. I held out my arms in front of me, to examine the damage; my mouth hung open at the sight of it. My arms and body were criss-crossed with deep gashes and a blotched with deep purples and sickly yellows. Maybe it looked worse than it was because of the contrast between my mottled skin and the fresh white of these unfamilar sheets, but for the second time today I was surprised to be conscious, let alone alive. I wondered how I managed to avoid a hospital.
Yes, wherever I was, it was no hospital. After I tore my eyes away from the battered shell that was once my body, I took a closer look at the room. Obviously, I was no longer on the floor of my living room, but this room was completely new to me. I already realized that I was nestled in a bed, but the bed was in a room where everything seemed really bright to my straining eyes. There was a hint of sun streaming in from the short window at the top of the wall, and everything in the room—walls, furniture, bedding—was a stark white, crisp and clean.
Suddenly, low growl resonated around the room, tearing through its crisp order and sending me into a frenzy. I somehow found the energy to fling myself out of bed, as my eyes scanned the strange room for an exit. But as I tried to walk—or once my ailing body realized I was trying to use it—my legs gave out beneath me. I cried out in pain as I crumpled to the floor. I tried to stand again, but it was useless. I was suddenly so, so tired.
The exhaustion was sudden and overwhelmed me completely. I slumped against the wall, defeated. I was so tired, so tired in fact, that I was willing to give into my fate if it meant I could just rest. I was only slightly disappointed that I had escaped death, only to have it catch me again so soon...
The door to the bedroom flung open, banging loudly against the wall behind it. The sound pulled me out of the haze of sleep once more. I suddenly realized how stupid I was to want to give in, that I wanted to survive, live, fight; but unfortunately I was so weak, that I could only slide along the wall to find some corner in which to cower. My eyes tried to find some item to protect myself with, but the only thing within reach was a plastic lamp and an alarm clock. Not exactly melee weapons of choice.
But there was no shimmering beast in the frame of the door, ready to pounce on me and finish me off. It was Luc.
He was just standing there, his eyes wide and worried, his gaze first drawing over the empty bed before finding me in the far corner. Once he realized that I was not about to put up a real fight, his stance immediately relaxed and his eyes settled into a strange look. They didn't blaze with a murderous rage, nor did a sadistic smile split his handsome face, like I would've expected of him. It was just a quiet, sour look, a look of... disappointment?
We stared at each other for a moment, my head swimming from the overwhelming desire to sleep. I fought it off, refusing to look away, wanting to be ready if he attacked. This was his all doing, after all.
He hesitated for a moment longer, then walked over to me and plucked me off the floor, pulling me up by my arms.
"No!" I didn't want to know what exactly he intended to do. I tried to push him off, pry his hands free of me, but every movement hurt my battered body. I had no strength in my arms, and it was impossible. It was so frustrating, infuriating, and for some reason the anger made my eyelids heavier. Why was my body so determined to sleep when I was about to be attacked? Killed? It was a bizarre push and pull.
But he didn't attack me. He didn't curse at me or taunt me even as I wriggled in his impossible grip. He simply lifted me into his arms, carried me back over to the bed and gently plopped me down, taking a good look at me before shaking his head.
"Don't try moving around just yet. You're still too injured."
I stared at him increduously, then took another look at the room. Then it dawned on me. This room was an exact mirror version of my own; this was the apartment next door. Was I in Luc's bedroom? Had I been sleeping in Luc's bed?
"What am I doing here?" I shot back, my voice raspy and hoarse. My mind was foggy and slow, my body's screaming desire for sleep drowning out my ability to comprehend. I couldn't seem to make sense of this.
"It's the only place that's safe for you now." He replied tersely.
The growling resurged, and I glanced around nervously, trying to figure out where it was coming from. Luc wasn't reacting. I figured that it was because he was controlling it, that it wasn't attacking because he wasn't telling it too. Yet.
Then I noticed that it was slightly muffled and unclear, like it wasn't in this room, that there was something between us and it. I listened closer, searching for the direction of it. It was coming from the far wall, from the other side... where my own bedroom was.
It was still in my apartment. Why? During the lull in conversation, I could hear its footsteps, the clacking of its invisible claws on my hardwood floor. Back and forth, back and forth... it was pacing. I felt like I was missing something, but mind was so muddled I couldn't seem to figure it out.
"It's staying in there because it can't come in here. But it wants to stay close, just in case it gets a chance to come after you again." Luc explained, like he had read my mind.
I eyed him cautiously, beneath my drooping lids. Everything considered, I wouldn't be surprised if he could. But what was he talking about? Couldn't come in here?
He looked at me sternly, but with a shadow of a smile on his face. "I can't read your mind."
"Then how did you know I was just thinking that?" I mumbled, struggling to stay sitting up.
"Your face gives it all away. I'm good at reading people, not minds." He said, plainly. "And you're very transparent."
I just glared in reply, and my head felt heavy again.
"You should rest." he said, ignoring my hostility and noticing my drooping head.
"No..." I protested. "I want to leave." I didn't want to stay here, with him. I tried to crawl across the bed, to slide off the other side and escape, but it felt like my body had been filled with quick-dry cement. I collapsed face first into the bed, sprawled across it.
"You can't leave. I told you, you're only safe here."
"How am I safe here? When I'm with you?" I snapped, my voice muffled from the bedding.
I couldn't see his face, but his voice sounded slightly hurt. "Don't you—What was the last thing you remember?"
The Beast next door let out a particularly bone-chilling howl, as if to remind me.
"Being attacked," I whispered, unable to produce a louder sound; My mind was still struggling, like I was on the cusp of passing out from total exhaustion. But I had just been sleeping, for who knows how long, so why was I still so damn tired? Everything just seemed extra confusing, like my mind was being inhibited in some way.
"Right, but why did it attack you?" He continued, ignoring my degenerating state.
Why? Did he think I somehow brought this on myself? The nerve! I knew why it was attacking me... A shot of adrenaline flooded my veins, just enough to bring me out my fog.
I trembled with as much rage as my weakened self could muster. I turned my face him, my hoarse voice as menacing as I could make it."Why? Why? You know why... because of you!"
Luc's face was twisted with some emotion I couldn't place as he watched me struggle to push myself up off the bed. Was it disgust? Pain? But he said nothing.
"You... you sicced that thing on me. On us! On—"
Polly. My heart skipped a beat. My last image of her slumped against the wall, unmoving and streaked with blood was vivid in my mind. What had happened to her?
"Where's Polly? What did you do to her?!" I screamed. More adrenaline flooded my veins, pushing back the nagging need for sleep.
I struggled to get up off the bed again, hobbling over to the wall flattening myself against it, clawing at it, trying to find some grip on its smooth surface. Then, without warning, the adrenaline vanished, and I felt exhausted again. My body felt like it weighed a thousand pounds, and that fighting against gravity was useless. My knees buckled, and smashed to the floor again.
What was wrong with me? It was like I had been drugged. A cold chill ran through me. Had I? Did he give me something? I turned and glared at him with pure hate.
It didn't make sense. Why was I here if he just intended to kill me? Was this some sort of sick game for him? Was he drawing it out, for his own disturbing pleasure? Did he do the same thing to Polly's sister?
My mind raced with questions, making it feel like it was about to burst, my headache from earlier growing and surging. I swayed, feeing the strength drain from my body, and my sight darkened momentarily...
The next moment, I was in his arms; he was there before I could collapse, picking me up, his face strangely worried. Again I writhed against his grip, struggling against him, fearful that he was going to something horrible to me. But, again, he just placed me back down in the middle of his bed, and covered me with the blankets.
I continued to watch him in confusion as he fussed with my comfort, the sleep finally taking its toll, unable to fight him. But I watched, furious but silent, using every last shred of my strength to keep staring at him. He avoided looking at me until he was finished, and when he finally did meet my gaze, there was a conflict of anger and remorse in his eyes.
"You're right. This is all my doing, and for that I'm sorry. But now you've done your part as well," And just as suddenly as he moved towards me, he was out the door, slamming it behind him and leaving me in silence.
This ignited a new fury in me, but also confusion. He seemed to have answers, or at least knew more about what was going on. But why did he apologize? What for?
My mind swelled and faded in waves, my anger rising and then being smothered by sleep. I wanted to know more. I wanted to know what the hell was happening to me, to the others who I was dragging down with me. Polly came to mind again, and a new emotion overtook me: guilt.
Where was she? Was she dead? I couldn't bear to think of that possiblity. It would be all my fault, and I couldn't live with myself if that were true.
"Polly!" I screamed for her, draining the very last of my energy to regain my voice for a single moment.
There was no answer.
And then my body just gave up. A distant part of me wanted to fight this with every ounce of my remaining strength, but there was simply nothing left in me. I couldn't ignore this overwhelming desire to doze off, or fight against whatever was taking over my system. I just wanted to sleep more than I had ever wanted to sleep in my entire life.
I got my wish.
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