Page 55 of Chained

"Fine," she snatches the red dress from the bed, the one I'd planned to wear, "but I'm wearing this."

I laugh as she heads for the bathroom. "Looks better on you, anyway."

The memory stings the more I replay it. Why? Why did I have to push her? Why couldn't I have just settled for a girl's night in, where we'd be safe, where we'd be together? I'm so locked into the guilt, the pain, the fear of what's to come for me—that I don't notice the door or its hinges screech.

If I close my eyes hard enough, I can still smell the coconut. Still feel the buzz of the vodka shots we'd downed before we even left the flat. Still hear her laughing at something stupid I'd said in the taxi. It feels like a different life. A different girl wore that perfume. This one just smells like blood, bleach, and the sour tang of fear that's soaked so far into my skin, I don't think I'll ever scrub it out.

"Oh, little dove, you've got yourself in a bit of a mess here." A voice flows so easily in the room, so soft, but yet it drips with something that makes my heart beat a little faster. I lift my head, eyes peeking over the tops of my knees as I grip tighter.

Every muscle in my body locks at once. I don't know this voice, and not knowing is somehow worse than the ones I do.

"Who are you?" I whisper as I look her up and down. She doesn't look like staff, but she doesn't look like one of us, either. Her dark hair cascades down her back, a dress that fits so tight I wonder how she can breathe. Arms are covered in floral tattoos, and she has green eyes that pierce right through you.

"I'm Melina." She smiles, the whites of her teeth showing as she bends down in front of me. Her hands are soft, nails manicured as she prises my hands away from my legs.

I want to snatch back, to curl tighter into myself where nothing can reach me, but something in the way she moves, so unhurried and with a smile that isn't kind, tells me this is pointless. That this is inevitable.

She tuts as she takes my hand into hers, twisting and turning to check on the small cuts on my hands. I don't snatch it away; the red light still flickers on the camera above.

"Are you going to kill me?" I let the words fall. She'll lie, they won't tell me.

I don't even know why I ask. Maybe some small, stupid part of me hopes that saying it out loud will make it less true if she says no.

"No, honey, I'm here to save you." She licks her bottom lip with her tongue before straightening to a stand. I push myself up, bowing my head down as she wraps her arms around my shoulders.

Save me. The word tastes like a lie in my mouth before she's even finished saying it, but I let her pull me up, anyway. What choice do I have? None. There is never a choice here, only degrees of obedience.

"What the guard did below must have been awful. I can only imagine…" she says as we begin walking through the halls. I risk a glance at her face, a frown on my own. What is she talking about? What he did? He didn't do anything.

I bite down any words that try to escape. Staying quiet is probably the safest thing I can do right now.

My mind races, trying to catch up, trying to fill in whatever gap she thinks exists between what actually happened and whatever story is being told about me now. I don't correct her. I've learned that much at least—that the truth means nothing here, only the version that they create.

"But I hope you know, Vincent won't stand for that. No matter who it is, they don't touch what belongs to him. Let alone try and…" she smirks as she looks me up and down, "well, you know."

I don't know. That's the problem. I have no idea what she's talking about.

A cold, slow dread starts to pool low in my stomach. "Where are you taking me?" My throat feels so dry I can barely speak as we step closer to a set of doors I didn't know, darker than the rest with leaves resting on the doormat. Outside? Are we going outside? I can hear people shouting, cheering behind the doors, but their words are inaudible and the noise alone is enough to send the niggling feeling through my stomach.

Melina laughs beside me as she pushes open the doors. I study her for a second longer, like I've seen her somewhere before.

The cold hits me first, the air sharp against my cheeks as it blows through my hair as we step out into a courtyard, the noise louder as we walk towards a crowd of people. Some in suits, most in the same clothes the guards wear.

"Stay close, little dove, we don't want you running again." Melina pulls me closer into her side, her fingers pressing deep against my arm as we turn a corner. I spot him instantly, his eyes already burning into me. I look away fast, my eyes wide and mouth open as I spot John chained by his arms and legs in the middle of the yard, his clothes stripped and face bleeding.

Everything in me goes very still, very quiet, the way the world does right before something breaks. No. No, no, no. Not him. Not the one person who was kind, the one who told me most of them were just trying to survive, too, who is now fighting for his life because I was a fool who believed she could ever escape.

"John?" I whisper, chest tight as Vincent moves beside me, his hands finding my waist like they've always belonged there. I don't move my gaze; I can't look away.

"Tell them, miss, please tell them I didn't⁠—"

The crack of the whip cuts him off quickly, Vincent's smug face staring straight at John.

"Speak again and I'll take your fucking tongue." His voice is cruel. I glance at his face to see he's enjoying this.

Of course he is. He loves anyone else's pain.

"Melina." His face shifts into something unreadable as soon as he spots her, his eyes never leaving her face. Her body relaxes beside me. I don't know what it is, but it leaves me feeling uncomfortable.