Page 70 of Dark Therapy
“Careful,” he whispered, his voice a low rasp as he squeezed my hand tighter. “I might start to think you actually enjoy this.”
I didn’t answer. We both knew what the silence meant.
Together, we walked into the shadows, each step a dark promise, the walls closing in tighter around us as whateverawaited me pulled us forward. And then, Ifeltit—a sickening thrill that clung to me like the sweat on my skin.
CHAINED TO THE PAST
Amelia
The air thickened as we descended into the basement, each step echoing in the hollow silence that enveloped us. The walls here were raw, exposed brick, stained with the grime of years—decades, perhaps—of neglect. It smelled like rot, like something old and forgotten, clinging to every surface. My heart pounded in my chest, and yet, in some sick, twisted way, I found myselfdrawnforward, as if the darkness below had always been waiting for me.
Damien’s grip tightened around my hand, his fingers cold and steady. His presence was suffocating, and for a moment, I wasn’t sure if it was him or the place itself that made the air feel so thick, so oppressive.
We reached thebottom, and my eyes slowly adjusted to the dim, flickering light above. It hung from a single wire in the center of the room, casting long, twisted shadows that danced along the cracked concrete floor.
The room was small, the walls barely visible in the half-light. There were no windows,no escape. The only things that stood out in the darkness were the three chains hanging from the ceiling, each one anchored in place like some grotesque invitation. The chains swayed slightly, as though something—or someone—had recently been bound there, suspended in time, awaiting something more.
In the corner, there was a small wooden box, the kind you’d find in an attic, covered in dust and cobwebs. It sat there, insignificant at first glance, yet somehow it screamed with the promise of something far worse, far moredangerousthan any of the walls could contain.
Damien let go of my hand and walked toward the chains, his eyes scanning the room as though it were an old friend. His smile never faltered. “Welcome to my playground, Millie,”
I felt my pulse race, every instinct in me screaming to run, to escape, but my feet stayed glued to the floor.
I didn’t move.Couldn’tmove.
Damien turned to face me, his eyes gleaming with that same hunger, that same twisted delight. “It’s time, Millie,” he said, his voice low, maddening. “Time to see what you’rereallycapable of.”
And as the shadows pressed in closer, I realized something sickening: he wasn’t just here to break me. He was here toreshapeme. And I was too far gone to stop it now.
Damien’s eyes never left me as he stepped closer, the weight of his gaze pressing against my skin like fire. “Take this off,” he said, his voice a velvet command, smooth and relentless. The words hung between us, thick with anticipation. “Let me see what’s underneath.”
I hesitated, a small part of me screaming to stop, to turn away. But the rest of me—thatpart—was far too gone. The gown clung to me, too thin, too fragile against the crushing weight of his stare. I could feel the heat of his eyes tracing everyinch of my exposed skin as I slowly tugged at the fabric, letting it fall to the floor in a heap.
His lips curled into a twisted grin as I stood before him, bare and exposed. He circled me like a predator, his steps slow, deliberate, savoring every moment. “Just like I remember.” he murmured, his voice a low, rasping whisper that made my skin crawl in a way I couldn’t deny.
I could feel the heat rise in my chest, my heart pounding harder than ever, a mix of terror andexcitement. His eyes darkened, almost hungry, as he took a step closer, and I realized, with a sick, thrilling rush, that I was no longer just terrified. I waswantingit. Wanting whatever he had planned.
Damien’s grin stretched wider as he picked up the wooden box, placing it carefully beneath the chains, the sound of it scraping against the concrete sharp in the silence. His eyes flicked to me, full of twisted expectation.
“Step on it,” he commanded, his voice cold as ice.
I obeyed, stepping forward with trembling legs, but I didn’t dare look away from him. His gaze never wavered, his eyes following my every movement.
He reached for the straps hanging from the chains, his fingers deft as he fastened them around my wrists, securing me in place. I could feel the cold metal digging into my skin, the pressure a constant reminder of where I was—andwhoI was with.
“Stay still,” he ordered softly, his voice like a venomous whisper.
I didn’t have the strength to resist as he moved behind me, fingers brushing through my hair with unsettling tenderness. He pulled it tight, lifting it with a practiced ease before securing it to the third chain above my head.
“Perfect,” he murmured, his voice dark with satisfaction.
Damien smirked, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement as he slowly knelt before me, his fingers grazing the edge of the wooden box. With a fluidmotion, he pulled it from beneath my feet, and I gasped—my body jerking as the chains yanked hard at my scalp, the raw pull forcing me onto my tiptoes.
“Steady yourself, Amelia,” Damien purred, watching me with twisted delight. “Use the chains.”
I shuddered, rolling my hands around the chains, the raw metal biting into my skin as I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, desperate to keep myself from collapsing. The chains held me in place—each one a tether to the nightmare he was weaving. Every move was calculated, every struggle futile.
“Good girl,” he whispered. “Let the chains teach you control.”