Page 94 of Somno Slave

My legs start to ache—dull at first, then sharper the longer I stay upright, like my body’s finally catching up to everything I’ve been forcing it through. I hesitate, eyes flicking to the chair.

I lower myself into it carefully, like sitting too quickly might trigger something. The cushion dips under my weight. I pull my knees in slightly, grounding myself, forcing my body into something contained.

I reach for my phone, scroll, tap another track, then another. Let it fill every corner of the room until there’s no space left for anything else.

My head dips once, jerking slightly before I catch it.

No.

I straighten immediately, dragging in a breath, forcing my eyes open wider. My fingers press hard into my thigh, nails biting through fabric, something sharp enough to keep me here.

Stay awake.

The hours stretch. Time loses shape, slipping past in uneven pieces. Song after song blends into noise, into something constant and numbing. My posture shifts, readjusts, tightens, loosens. My body grows heavier in the chair, muscles resisting less each time I fight it.

My eyelids burn.

Then ache.

Then start to fall.

I blink hard, dragging them back open. My head tips forward again, slower this time. My hand fumbles for the remote, pressing the volume up again louder until the sound vibrates through the room. It should be enough, but it isn’t.

The music shifts to another track. The sound warps slightly at the edges, the bass dragging just a fraction too slow, like it’s being pulled through something thicker than air.

My thoughts start to lag behind themselves, half-forming before dissolving. My body slackens in the chair, just slightly, just enough. My breath evens out without my permission.

And just as I fall, I immediately know I’m no longer alone.

The room tightens around me like a held breath. My body knows before my mind does as every hair stands to attention, it braces for impact.

And then, his voice slides into my mind. “You did well, Doctor.”

His breath is warm next to my ear, teasing, his praise threaded with something darker than approval.

My chest seizes, eyes flying open, and I see him.

Fuck.

“No.” I shake my head violently like I can knock the dream away. “You’re not here.”

My voice cracks halfway through.

“You are in prison,” I say quickly, the words tumbling now. “You’re locked in a fucking chair behind locked doors. You can’t—”

My breath catches hard. “You cannot be here.”

His smile deepens slightly.

“Wake up,” I whisper. I choke when I say it louder and it tears out of me like a broken whimper. “Wake the fuck up.”

My pulse crashes violently through me. I try to move my hand again.Nothing.

“No no no no—”

The words spill out faster now, tripping over each other. “This isn’t happening. I’m asleep. I’m asleep. I’m literally fucking asleep—”

Sleep paralysis.