Page 68 of Dark Therapy

“Run, Millie! Run faster!” he shouted, his voice echoing like a twisted symphony of madness. “You can’t outrun me. You never could. But isn’t itfunto try?”

I rounded another corner, only to skid to a halt. A dead end. My heart plummeted as I turned, my back pressed against the cold wall. The shadows in the hallway shifted, andthere he was.

Damien stepped into view, his silhouette monstrous in the dim light. The sharp edge of the metal he’d been dragging glinted menacingly in his hand. His whiskey-colored eyes burned with something feral, something that sent a shiver down my spine.

“You’ve always known how this ends,” he said, his voice a low, almost tender growl. “You running. Me catching you. And the moment where I decide just how much I’ll let youbreak.”

And yet, as terror gripped me, a dark, forbidden part of me whispered the truth I refused to admit. Iwantedhim to catch me. Icravedthe chaos he brought. I…I think I’ve lost my mind.

He took a step closer, the scrape of metal against the floor sending sparks of dread and anticipation through me.

“Go on,” he whispered, tilting his head, his smile sharp and predatory. “Run again. Make meworkfor it, Millie. I like whenyou make me work for it. It makes my cock twitch with anticipation.”

I darted to the right, my hand grasping the cold handle of a metallic door. I yanked it open, threw myself inside, and slammed it shut behind me. The heavy clang reverberated through the small room, and I fumbled with the lock, my trembling fingers barely able to twist it into place.

My breath came in short, shallow gasps as I pressed my back against the door, my eyes scanning the room—and then I froze.

The air inside was stale, suffused with the acrid scent of disinfectant and something fouler—decay. A rusted psychiatric chair sat in the center of the room, its leather straps worn and cracked, yet still terrifyingly strong. Thick, metal restraints dangled from the armrests, and the seat was stained with dark, unidentifiable blotches that looked far too much like dried blood.

All around the room, macabre instruments were laid out on steel trays, their sharp edges gleaming under the dim, flickering light overhead. Scalpel-like tools, jagged saws, and twisted clamps, their purposes too horrific to imagine, sat waiting as ifthey’d been used recently. A crumbling shelf held jars of murky liquid, with shadowy, preserved things floating inside. I couldn’t tell what they were—human or otherwise—and I didn’t want to know.

The walls were lined with cracked mirrors, their surfaces smeared and streaked, distorting my reflection into something monstrous. A faint buzzing sound filled the room, like the distant hum of electricity, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched.

Then came the first bang.

I jumped, my body slamming back against the door as Damien struck it from the other side.

“Millie!” he roared, his voice dripping with fury andexhilaration. “You think this door can stop me?” Anotherbang, louder this time, the metal groaning under the impact.

I scrambled away from the door, my eyes darting to the horrific chair in the center of the room. My legs felt like lead, but I couldn’t stand still, not with the door rattling behind me, not withhimout there.

Bang!

“You’ve trapped yourself, darling,” Damien growled, his voice muffled yet still cutting through the thick metal. “Do you even know where you are? Hmm? A room like this has history. Can you feel it? The screams, the pain, themadness—it’s soaked into the walls. It’s been waiting foryou, doctor.”

I backed away, nearly stumbling over one of the trays of tools. A scalpel clattered to the ground, its sharp edge glinting as it spun to a stop. My heart pounded harder, a mix of terror and something darker, something that made me hate myself.

“Do you want to know the best part about this room?” Damien’s voice was almost conversational now, his tone a grotesque parody of calm. “It doesn’t matter how strong the door is. Because eventually…” Another bang shook the door, making the lock groan. “Eventually, Ialwaysget in.”

I turned, frantically scanning the room for another way out. There wasnothing—no windows, no vents, just the twisted remnants of nightmares past. I was trapped.

CRASH!

The metallic door buckled slightly, a dent forming where Damien’s weapon had struck. He laughed—a sound so unhinged, so full of raw, primal glee, that it sent shivers racing down my spine.

“I’ll make you a deal,” he said, his voice soft now, teasing. “Open the door, and I’ll be gentle. Keep it locked, and…” He let out a low, guttural chuckle. “Let’s keep it asecretfor now.”

Another strike. Another dent.

My breathing hitched as I stared at the rusted restraints, the cracked leather, the bloodstains. I wanted to scream, to cry, but I also couldn’t ignore theheatbetween my legs, the way my pulse raced not just with fear but with the twisted thrill of his pursuit.

Bang!

The door wouldn’t hold much longer. And deep down, I wasn’t sure I wanted it to.

The next crash against the door sent me stumbling backward, the metallic clang vibrating through my chest. My gaze darted tothe blood-streaked chair in the center of the room, and suddenly, it wasn’t this room I was seeing anymore.

It wasthatroom.