CHAPTER 9
"Despite my ghoulish reputation, I really have the heart of a small boy. I keep it in a jar on my desk." ~ Robert Bloch
It was nearly 3 a.m. when she finally blinked her eyes open, feeling as if she had emerged from a foggy dream world.
She tried to sit up quickly, trying to remember the events of last night, when a sudden head rush compelled her to lie back down.
Physically, she felt fine. Nothing was missing from her limbs or her body, but mentally, she felt like she was wading through a swamp of confusion and despair.
The weight of anguish pressed down on her chest, threatening to suffocate her. The agony that was eating at her was more than she could tolerate-more than anyone should have to tolerate. She squeezed her eyes shut and willed herself back to sleep. But sleep did not come.
The flashes of the previous night imposed themselves on her: the image of the reflective door, the chilling sight of the long table, the grip of a cruel hand on her neck, the violation she had endured, her futile attempts to free herself from her torment, the toothbrush, the final slash to her wrist, and the profound sense of relief she had felt.
Prisoner 112 gasped as her throat hitched. Raising her left arm, she traced the faint line where she had wielded the toothbrush as a desperate tool of liberation.
There was a thin, faint horizontal slash trailing across her wrist to couple the scars of her captivity in Alt Dənyə. She stared at it without remorse.
It looks old.
There was no sign in the room or on her body that she had attempted suicide.
She vaguely remembered the blood flowing down her arm and forming a small pool around her as she let herself go.
But there was not a droplet of blood visible in the room, as if Məhv Edən had made sure to remove all traces of her horrendous crime.
Məhv Edən...
She shivered uncontrollably. The feel of him was still strong on her skin. The smell of him lingered on her body. She gagged involuntarily.
The all-consuming rage she felt towards him was extinguished completely.
All the anger she had harboured towards him had vanished, leaving her feeling utterly defeated. She couldn't summon the strength to stand up to him anymore.
Not now, not ever...
All she felt was a deep sense of sadness that seemed to press down on her chest, making it hard to breathe.
There was an ache inside her that refused to go away. It was as if a piece of her had been torn away, leaving behind a gaping hole.
A hollow emptiness, a void, seemed to have formed where her heart had once been. It was a bottomless pit that fed on her psyche, eating it away slowly.
She was wearing the skirt that she had worn the previous night. She could feel the thick crustiness between her legs, though the ache inside her lower abdomen had subsided to a degree and she could move without wincing.
Prisoner 112 knew she should be screaming or raging at someone, but she just did not have the heart for it anymore.
The fire within her had dimmed, replaced by a numbing emptiness. She lay there, unmoving, her gaze fixed on the ceiling as if searching for answers in its blank expanse.
Fortunately, her eyes were dry. But they were so dry that they stung. Her throat burned with the effort to contain her emotions.
Is this what it feels like to be dead?
A few minutes of violence with a man had been enough to kill her. In her mind, she was no longer alive.
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WHISPERED SINS 👑❤️🔥
Romance"I used your blood to bind you to me. There's no escape. You're chained to me until your last breath." She hated him so much that she wanted to poison him, rip the mask off his cruel face, and stare into his eyes as she plunged the dagger repeatedly...
