Blood trickled steadily from my arms onto my shoulders and in my hair. I tried begging him to stop, but all that came out was wordless screams. My vision was darkening as I watched the deep red liquid pooling on my stomach. I needed to stay awake; I refused to let myself believe I would die like this. Kash would find me, I just had to keep repeating that to myself.
“Not my Rachel,” he repeated again.
His arm moved up, and I gave up on my futile attempt at shrinking back into the bed as he moved the scalpel from my hairline to my jaw, the blade staying close to my face, but never coming in contact.
“You could have been mine. You were always meant to be mine. Why couldn’t you be her?”
Another muffled scream tore through me when the blade pressed into my chest.
“Wake up! Stop—fuck! Wake up!”
“Stop, please! Get off me!” I screamed, and thrashed wildly. Another curse came from him when I connected with his face again.
“Wake up!”
My eyes flew open and blinked quickly against the blinding light in the room to find Taylor directly above me. He’d grabbed at my arms to pin my wrists down above my head, the other was pressing down on my hips to keep me from bucking against him.
“Get off me,” I pleaded hoarsely. Taylor’s form blurred as tears gathered in my eyes, and eventually fell.
When I could see him again, I noticed his dark eyes fixed on my chest, a look of horror on his face. Slowly, his eyes went up to where my arms were being held down. They widened marginally, and bounced back and forth a few times before coming down to rest on my face.
“Please let me go.”
His face morphed into an expression I didn’t understand as he released me and sat back on the ground. I quickly pulled at the large shirt I was wearing to cover my chest. The V-neck collar wasn’t deep and usually hid the scarred MINE; but I knew with it being stretched down, he’d seen it just then.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice gruff. “You were screaming this time, and I—I just . . . I don’t know. I’m sorry.”
“This time? W-what do you mean this time?”
“I hear you beg me to stop. Every. Night. The same words you screamed when I took you and kept you from escaping. I won’t hurt you,” he assured me. “I know you don’t believe me, but all I want to do is keep you safe.”
My body stilled for long moments, and I subconsciously rested my hands over the scars on my chest and stomach. I just stared at him for long moments, watching as indecision played over his features. It wasn’t hard to understand why being kidnapped had brought back continuous nightmares of Blake. I just hadn’t known I talked in my sleep. Kash had never said anything. But, then again, he was all about avoiding anything that had to do with Blake.
Taylor stood and walked over to the light switch on the wall, and my body began shaking. I needed the light right now. I needed to be able to see everything. And I needed to stay awake.
It took me three tries before I managed to blurt out, “Will you tell me something about you?”
Turning, he eyed me warily before walking back toward the mattress, and sitting in front of it. “If that’s really what you want to do to make you fall back to sleep. You know I won’t answer if I can’t, so don’t push those questions.”
I swallowed roughly and nodded my head. Taylor had only talked to me like this twice so far; but both times I’d started asking the wrong questions immediately, and he’d shut down. Right now I just needed my mind to get off Blake and what had happened almost a year ago, so I would do anything if it meant Taylor kept talking.
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-four.”
“How long have you lived in here?”
When he answered, his voice sounded worn out. “Eight years.”
“Don’t you have a girlfriend? Or a wife . . . kids . . . anything?” When he didn’t respond, I asked hesitantly, “Is that a bad question?”
“No to all of the above,” he finally said. “No one should have to deal with my demons.”
“What demons?” I asked quickly, and cringed as I waited for him to shut down our conversation.
“They’re just something I’ve brought on myself throughout the years.”
I studied his face as I replayed his tortured words over and over again. “I don’t believe that,” I said later. “I don’t know why . . . and part of me can’t believe I’m about to say this . . . but I know you’re not a bad person.”
He scoffed, and when he spoke again, the tortured strain was gone from his voice. “If I’m not a bad person, then why are you here? Better yet, tell me why you’ve been having nightmares of me every night.”
My mouth opened, but nothing came out.
“Exactly. Don’t ever let yourself believe that I’m not as bad as your nightmares are portraying me. I assure you, I’m worse.”
I watched Taylor stand again and quickly walk over to shut off the lights. Darkness engulfed us, and all I could hear was him settling down in his spot against the door.
“I don’t have nightmares about you,” I said softly. The phantom pain of Blake’s blades was making it hard to breathe. Each labored breath seemed shallower than the last.
“What?”
“The man who haunts my dreams was evil. You . . . you’re not a bad person.”
The sound of Taylor moving back toward the mattress filled the small room. “What do you mean? Who do you dream about?”