Page 1 of Chained

Chapter One

Amora

The damp, wet floor sinks into my skin as I finally wake up. My head pounds against my skull with every blink as I try to open my eyes. God, I'll never drink again. The light that hangs overhead blinds me every time my eyes flutter just enough to see the dark, decrepit room I've woken in. The room that doesn't belong to me. The room that isn't my home.

"Where the hell am I?"

My gaze continues to follow the stone walls to find no windows. Only a single wooden door is at the far end of the room. My eyes clamp shut immediately at the sight of scratch marks sketched into the peeling paint of the door. Whoever was in here last certainly tried their hardest to get out. My heart hammers against my ribs like a jackhammer—so loud I swear it's about to jump from my chest. My eyes drift to the corner of the room, and I see my sister. My twin sister. Her body lies cold, still. No, she's not dead. She can't be dead.

"Rosa?" A scream tears through me into the darkness. Please wake up. You've got to wake up. She doesn't move. Is this it? Are we going to die in here?

"Rosa, I'm begging you—please! Just wake up!" I call out louder through a cry that threatens to crack. I can't break; I have to stay strong for both of us. She needs me, she always has since we were kids. She won't survive this, and I won't survive without her.

Her chest finally begins to rise as her body stretches out onto the cold tiles. "Oh, thank God," I whisper out loud as relief washes through me. I've never felt relief like it before. She's okay. We're going to be okay.

"Amora…" she croaks. "Everything hurts."

"You're okay, Ro. I promise you're okay." I'm already moving, praying that she hears the softness in my voice and ignores the fear that lingers behind it. My body jolts to a stop, eyes darting to my ankle. No. No. No. The word repeats in my head, over and over like a broken record as my fingers brush against the rusted metal loop around my ankle. A chain. A fucking chain. Oh God, they've got us chained in this room like animals. I know what this means, I knew before—I didn't want to admit it, but now I can't deny it.

"Help!" I scream so loud, it only adds to the pain in my head. "Please, somebody help us!"

"Help!" Rosa joins in as she tugs against her metal chain, pulling hard enough that it scrapes against her skin, but she doesn't stop. I don't tell her it's a waste of time—that she should be saving her energy to fight whatever monster walks through that door. I just hope she doesn't spot the scratch marks on the door, too. Thoughts and visions of women before us replay on repeat in my head. I'd seen enough movies to know how this ends.

Stay strong, I think to myself. The more you panic, the more you scare her. I've spent the last three years being the strong one. The dependable one. Our mother died of cancer; it took two years for her illness to finally take her, and I still haven't had a chance to properly grieve for her. After she died, I was left to sort her finances, arrange her funeral, and be the goddamn beacon of strength that held Rosa up. I don't get to crumble, even now.

It's ridiculous to be envious that Rosa gets someone to lean on whilst I'm here drowning in every decision I make, because it's never just for me. It's for her, too.

Silence floods the room in a way that's almost suffocating, the air thick with mould and regret. I can't think, even the quiet seems loud.

"It was those guys, wasn't it?" Rosa breaks the silence, her hand still gripping the metal links resting on the stone floor.

Yeah, it was.

I never knew monsters like this existed. Not really, anyway. I'm not talking about the kind that hides under your bed and drags you beneath when you're in the deepest of sleeps, no. The kind that you spot at a bar with your sister who you practically had to hold hostage for her to agree to go out for drinks. The men who sit on the sidelines, giving you the eye and flashing a smile that sends a flutter between your thighs. The men who slip something into your drink whilst you're too busy being captivated by their bullshit one-liners and the way their hands make your skin tingle. I just wanted one night to forget. To be a normal twenty-year-old girl rather than a grieving daughter. Look where that's got us.

"Yes, Ro. It was the guys," I say dryly.

"I knew they were freaks." Her eyes drop to the ground. "I knew it. I just didn't say anything because you were having fun, but I knew. He kept groping me every chance he got, and he smelt like James–that should have been a red flag."

"It's my fault," I admit, because it's true. If I hadn't been so desperate, none of this would have happened. "I shouldn't have trusted them. I shouldn't have forced us to go out."

I could punch myself in the face right now for being so stupid. I'd seen them turn away with their hands tucked in their pockets and how they gave each other a nod, but I didn't think anything of it. I was too busy drowning in the way his eyes made me feel wanted, desirable. Fuck.

"Don't blame yourself, Amora. It's not your fault," she says softly. I know she's trying to make me feel better, and maybe she means it—she probably does. Rosa is the innocent twin, the kind one. The one who sobs at charity adverts and gives her last fiver to homeless people. She doesn't have a bad bone in her body, unlike me.

"I mean it, Amora," she persists, but she's only making it worse. Reminding me that she's everything I'm not. I want to scream at her to let me have this—to let me feel the weight of shame because it's what I deserve. That no matter how hard she tries to make things better, she's making everything fucking worse.

"We need to find a way out of here, Rosa, before they come in and…" I choke back the rest of the words, but she flinches anyway. I don't want to say out loud what they'll do. I don't even want to think about it.

I don't get a chance to—footsteps thud down the corridor, thick and heavy. I struggle to stand, trying to force the chain to stretch as I close the distance to get to Rosa.

"They're coming. Oh, God, they're coming!" she sobs, every word slicing through me.

I close my fist, digging my nails into my hands. I don't look away from the door; I don't even try to block out the sound of the boots that are storming through the corridor. Every thought of what will happen as soon as that door opens runs through my mind like a cinematic trailer made just for me.

"Amora," she calls out again, but I can't hear her. I can't hear anything but my own scream that echoes in my mind.

"What do we do, Amora? What do we do?"