Page 14 of Dark Therapy
WhereamI?
The silence pressed down, heavy and suffocating, broken only by the faint, echoing drip of water somewhere nearby. Each drop felt like a reminder of how real this was—or at least how real it felt. I shuddered, closing my eyes tightly, willing myself to wake up.
Just a nightmare. It has to be.
But as I opened my eyes again, nothing had changed. The damp, stale air clung to my lungs, thick and suffocating. I shifted my weight, feeling the cold seeping through my clothes, making my limbs tremble involuntarily. This was different—more vivid than any nightmare I’d ever had. It was as if my senses were amplifying the horror, forcing me to feel every nerve-ending, every pulse of fear coursing through me.
I bit down hard, grounding myself, forcing myself to breathe steadily. I’d been trained to handle fear, to confront it head-on—butthis? This felt foreign, as if my mind and body had betrayed me, trapping me in this relentless fog ofpanic.
A faint scuff of footsteps reached my ears, drawing nearer, each step deliberate and measured. My heart hammered as I tried to make out the figure approaching in the shadows.
The footsteps grew louder, echoing against the walls, each step sending a jolt through my nerves. I strained to see through the darkness, my vision disoriented and blurred. My body tensed as I caught a faint silhouette—broad shoulders, an effortless gait. But it was the energy in the room that was unmistakable, a presence that seeped into the air like an icy mist.
“Millie…”
The word cut through the darkness, low and smooth, almostaffectionate. My blood ran cold. I didn’t need to see his face to recognize that voice.
Damien.
The realization struck me like a wave of nausea. My instincts screamed for me to move, to run, but I was bound, helpless. I bit back a gasp as he took a step closer, the faint glint of something metallic catching the sparse light—aknife, perhaps, or maybe just a tool to make me squirm. Whatever it was, it was deliberate, chosen for effect, to remind me how out of control I was at this moment.
“Funny how dreams work, isn’t it?” he murmured, as if we were sharing a quiet conversation over coffee. His tone held a disturbing calm, laced with a twisted amusement that made my skin crawl. “One moment, you’re safe in your bed. The next, you’re…here.”
I pressed my lips together, refusing to let him see the fear rising in my throat. But he seemed to sense it anyway, his laugh low and dark. The sound wrapped around me, thick as smoke, making it hard to breathe. He moved closer, and though I couldn’t see his face, I could feel his breath just inches from mine, lingering in the space between us.
“What’s wrong, Amelia? You look… rattled.” His words dripped with satisfaction, savoring every bit of my discomfort. “And here I thought a psychologist like you would understand the power of the mind. How easily it blurs reality and illusion. How…fragileit all is.”
A sharp chill spread through me as he spoke, each word crawling beneath my skin. He was right. This nightmare was too vivid, too tangible, and my senses felt heightened, each flicker of darkness alive with dread. I tugged against the tape aroundmy wrists, feeling it bite into my skin. I was trapped, completely at his mercy.
Damien’s hand brushed against my cheek, feather-light, and I flinched, the warmth of his touch cutting through the cold. I hated the way he seemed to linger there, as if savoring the shiver that ran through me. “I’m not here to hurt you,” he whispered, the softness of his voice somehow more menacing than anything else. “Notyet.”
I clenched my jaw, forcing my voice to steady, “What do you want, Damien?” The question came out sharper than I intended, but I didn’t care. My heartbeat pounded in my ears as I waited for his response.
He chuckled, a slow, calculated sound that reverberated through the silence. “To understand you, Amelia. Completely.” His fingers traced down to my collarbone, a ghostly touch that seemed to linger long after he’d pulled away. “You fascinate me. More than you know.”
A gasp caught in my throat as two strong arms wrapped around me from behind, pulling me to my feet. The grip was tight, firm, inescapable. I felt his chest pressed against my back,his steady heartbeat a chilling contrast to the chaos racing through my own veins. His breath was hot against my ear,tooclose, each exhale crawling across my skin and sending chills down my spine.
“Millie…” His voice was low, dark, like velvet brushing against steel. “Why do you shudder when I get close? What are you afraid of?”
I clenched my fists, feeling the tape still biting into my wrists, the reminder that I was trapped, at his mercy. I tried to twist away, but his grip tightened, fingers digging into my arms with a possessive force, holding me in place. The scent of leather and something sharper, more dangerous, filled my senses, overwhelming me, making it impossible to think clearly.
He leaned down, his lips brushing against my ear in a way that made my stomach lurch with fear, and something else. “Tell me about your past, Millie,” he whispered, his voice soft but laced with a cruel curiosity. “What was it like? That precious, broken childhood you keep buried so deep.”
My heart pounded, each beat a frantic plea to wake up, to escape, but I was rooted there, paralyzed, his words slicing intome with surgical precision. Heknew—he knew about the scars I’d hidden, the memories I never wanted to revisit. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to stay silent, to deny him the satisfaction.
But he didn’t stop. His fingers trailed up my arm, slow and deliberate, and I felt his mouth curve into a smile against my ear. “Did it hurt, Millie? Did ithauntyou?”
His words slithered into my mind, scraping at the walls I’d so carefully built over the years. I felt the memories flicker, like ghosts, just at the edge of my vision, the flash of cold rooms, blurred faces, harsh voices—all the things I’d tried to bury. And he was pulling them out, one by one, exposing them, turning them over like toys to play with.
“What did you do to survive?” he murmured, his voice almost gentle, as if he cared, as if he understood. But I knew better. There was a dark thrill beneath his words, a hunger that fed off my silence, my helplessness.
“Shut up,” I managed to whisper, though my voice trembled, barely audible.
He chuckled, his hold tightening even further, making it clear that he had no intention of letting go. “Oh, Millie. It’s far too late to stop now.” His lips brushed against my neck, a feather-light touch that was somehow colder than the floor beneath me, colder than any nightmare I’d ever known.
The cold bite of metal brushed against my skin, sending an icy shiver up my spine as his knife traced down my arm, slow, deliberate. I could feel the edge of the blade, grazing along the length of my wrist, trailing down to the tape binding me. With a precise flick, the tape snapped, freeing my arms. My wrists burned, blood finally rushing back, but I dared not move. Every instinct screamed to stay still.
Then his hands moved down, brushing over my legs with an unsettling familiarity as he cut the tape around my ankles. I felt the rough fabric of my shirt graze my thighs, realizing with a sickening awareness that I was exposed, vulnerable. My heart pounded in my chest, each beat a hammering echo in the silence.