Page 18 of Wildling

The room presses in on me. There it is…the raw truth of why he took me.

This isn’t pleasure. He’s fucking with me…He knows my secrets, which is why I’m here to begin with. This is all a calculated game to him…breaking me just to make me obey him. Making me repent all my sins and admitting everything I vowed to myself I’d take to my grave. His eyes darken—his mask firmly in place as he continues to squeeze and caress me.

“Was she your girlfriend or something?” I ask, composing what little left of my dignity I have.

He tilts his head, raw emotion evident in his eyes. His mask can’t conceal it. “Or something,” he says darkly. He shifts his head, giving me a good look at the scars he’s covering on his face. She meant something to him, that much is evident. But that doesn’t give him an excuse to be this psycho. Something else happened to him. Something that caused these scars.

He grabs my neck, but doesn’t squeeze, just enough to show his ultimate control. His eyes are seething. I try to move, but he squeezes harder, nearly choking the breath out of me. “Natalie was so much better than you,” he grits out. “She wouldn’t have just left someone to die, like you did.” I watch myself in the mirror of his eyes, and I don’t like what I see. I’m more of a monster than he is. “Admitting what you did is the first step to forgiving yourself,” he says. “I’ll take it easy on you.”

I can’t control my racing heart. I only need to admit it, and he’ll punish me, dulling the ache that sits in my stomach like a mound of clay. He will expel the poison out of my body. The thought of it is tantalizing even if guilt eats away at me. This reaction is wrong, reminding me I am the monster he sees when he watches me.

I take a few seconds to find my voice. “Her name was Natalie. What was she to you?”

His grip tightens. “You don’t get to ask questions, wildling.”

“Don’t call me that. I’m not your wildling. I’m not your anything.” He presses his body into mine, his erection bulging against his tight pants. He’s as turned on as I am. And this might be the only reason he hasn’t killed me yet.

“Yes, you are. You’ve been mine for a long time, Layla.”

Chapter 7

Present

“Layla.” Regina’s voice brings me back to reality. “Layla, time to wake up. Time to come back to awareness. Follow my voice. You are in my office, not in the bunker. You’re not in danger.”

My awareness gradually returns to the present moment, as if I’m emerging from darkness into the light. Except this reality isn’t much better. My heart is pounding, my muscles are taut, like a coiled spring ready to snap. I run my hands over my face, then dig my fingernails into my thigh, just like I did in the bunker.

A wretched sound escapes my throat, and the darkness overtakes my mind.

“Layla, stop.” Regina’s voice sounds muffled, as if she’s speaking from a distance, and my hands are no longer under my control, digging into my skin. I hurt myself for reasons I can’t explain anymore…It makes me feel alive, but it’s deeper than that. I don’t deserve to be here. I should be in prison for what I did to Natalie.

My eyes pop open…The Archer knew Natalie.

Regina places her hand on mine, which calms me. I blink up at her, and she watches me in a way I’ve never seen before. Her face turns ashen.

I slowly catch my breath and bits of my memory of the Archer come rushing back. Memories—or hallucinations—who knows at this point. I pull my nails out of my skin, admiring the marks I left there as blood instantly oozes out of them. My other hand rubs the soft leather of Regina’s couch. “What happened? What did I say?”

“Does the name Natalie mean anything to you?”

I flick my eyes up to her. “No.”

Lies. Lies. Lies. There is no proof. Nothing connecting me to that night. I got away with it…Regina, however, doesn’t look convinced. “You mentioned a name—Natalie.”

I scrunch my brows. “Did I?”

“I don’t know why I would say that name.” I can’t quite recall the name, but the memories of that night are incredibly vivid.

Burned rubber, smashed glass, blood and carnage.

She tilts her head. “Do you know anyone named Natalie in your real life? This was your memory, Layla. She must have meant something to you.”

I continue running my hand over the couch. “Not that I can remember. What else did I say? What do you think it means?”

She glances down at her notebook. “Let’s get these hallucinations out before we analyze them, yes?”

I sit with my head in my hands and catch my breath before looking at her. “That hallucination at the lake felt like a memory. What if the person doing this is the Constellation Killer? Someone tried to shoot me at the art show.”

“Layla, we’ve been over this countless times, and I deeply understand how upsetting this all is. These thoughts in your head could be triggered from anything. One news article…a clip. A moment. They can create powerful stories in our heads. Creating the Archer while you were isolated was part of your process for protecting your mind. And your memories of him now are part of your healing journey.”