The floor beneath me swam in and out of focus. I stared, trying to get my eyes to settle, to make sense of the shapes. My head throbbed like something was knocking against my skull from the inside out. Everything felt off. Like my body wasn't quite mine anymore.
I only tried marijuana once when I was fifteen — one stupid night with kids I don't even remember — but this wasn't like that. I didn't feel high. This was heavier. Almost painful. Almost like I was drowning. The world around me tilted, dipped, then corrected itself in jerky movements. I was hallucinating.
The drug Dylan gave me was clearly more than just a sedative — it hit like a tranquilliser on steroids.
And I was terrified.
Even in the thick fog, the fear came through strong. It coiled low in my stomach and made me ill.
Beyond the door, I could just about make out the sound of movement. Footsteps. Shouts. Muffled screams. Panic, pain, pleading. Sounds I'll never unhear.
I wanted to believe I was dreaming. That I'd wake up soon, safe. But the pain told me otherwise. Not just in my head, but in my back, my arms and legs.
I was tied to a chair.
I shifted slightly, trying to move my arms. Rope dug into my skin. I blinked, forcing my eyes up and around.
The room was dim and cold — bare brick walls, cracked concrete floor, and a single lightbulb dangling from a frayed wire overhead. The air was damp and metallic, like blood, rust and wet stone.
I tried to scream, to ask where I was, but my voice caught in my throat. That's when I noticed the tape over my mouth. Duct tape. My breathing quickened. Shallow. Panicked. I couldn't get enough air in, and every sharp inhale made the pain in my head worse.
'God. What the fuck is this place?'
I don't know how long I sat there. Minutes? Hours? Time didn't exist in that room. In that place. All I knew was that I was exhausted. Bone-deep, mind-numbing exhaustion. The kind that claws at your sanity until you're a shell of yourself. The fear kept me wired, but my body begged for relief.
And then, suddenly, the door clicked.
My head jerked up.
A man stepped inside.
Brown hair. A black, formal suit and tie. Calm. Controlled. My stomach dropped as recognition hit me like a slap.
It was Tyler .
I froze.
Held my breath.
And then he looked at me.
Cold, onyx eyes gazing back at me. Emotionless. Uncaring. Dark.
"Emily."
There it was. That deep, recognisable voice. Just like that, he had me in a vice.
He saw the fear in my eyes and smiled. A smile that gave me goosebumps, had no warmth behind it, and hurt to look at. Him coming here meant something terrible. It meant this wasn't a mistake. It confirmed my worst fears. That I was here for a reason. And I was about to find out.
I tried to lean back, to get away — but the chair was tucked in the corner. There was nowhere to go. Stupid to even try.
He tilted his head, watching me closely.
"How are you feeling?"
He took a slow step forward, closing the distance between us, and crouched before me. His hands rested on my knees. I pressed back harder against the chair, eyes widening, heart hammering against my ribs.
I wanted to scream, kick, spit at him. But I couldn't. Despite the tape over my mouth, even if I'd been able to talk, I'd have been just as paralysed.
For a moment, his features softened, more human. I saw a flicker of a smile. A genuine one. But it didn't last long.
I looked up at his hair. Something clicked in my head as I realised it wasn't the blonde I saw in the nightclub. His eyes changed as soon as he recognised my gaze.
"I dyed it to evade the police... if you were wondering. You'd be surprised how many countries I'm wanted in." He chuckled, like it was amusing to him.
He opened his mouth to say something else, but the sound of the door opening stopped him. His expression suddenly darkened, a hint of annoyance crossing his features. He inhaled deeply through his nose and scowled as another man entered the room.
Jack — the man who helped Tyler kidnap me. Same raven-coloured hair and dark features, also dressed in a suit and tie like it was uniform. He stood stiffly by the door, hands behind his back.
Tyler's lips curled, a disappointed tut sounding in his throat as he stood.
"Jack," he said over his shoulder. "You're late."
He straightened. "Sir?"
"I told you to follow me in here. What kept you?"
Tyler turned slowly. The tension in the room thickened, the air crackling with something unspoken. I watched the scene quietly, confused.
Jack's eyes flicked to me for the briefest moment, his face unreadable.
Then he spoke.
And my confusion worsened.
"226973 was acting up, sir. I had to sedate her."
Tyler hummed in response and turned his head slightly to gaze at me as he continued.
"Hmm... Remind me what she's here for again?"
His eyes were fixed on mine, gauging my reaction to every word.
There was a slight pause.
"Erotophobia."
The chuckle from Tyler answered every question I had. This was something sadistic.
"Thanks. I remember now."
My heart lurched as Tyler suddenly walked up to me. Before I could react, he reached for my chin and tilted my head up. I tried to jerk away, but he held me still.
We made eye contact. Those black eyes locked onto mine and he slowly licked his lips. Teasingly.
"You look scared, princess," he whispered, voice like ice. "Do I scare you?"
The question was cruel. Deliberate. Like he was daring me to answer. I didn't move, didn't blink. But I shivered. I couldn't help it. He made my skin crawl.
He took the involuntary movement as confirmation. He frowned and let go.
I failed to catch my breath behind the tape. I started to hyperventilate, tears already welling up in my eyes. My body thrashed, rocking back and forth in panic.
'What the fuck is going on? Where am I? What does he want from me? I want to go home!'
He watched me struggle. Silent. I hated how he could control me so easily. As if he took pleasure from my fear.
"Breathe, princess," he cooed, his voice a mockery of gentleness. "You'll make yourself dizzy if you keep fighting like that."
I felt the burn in my chest, but the words barely registered over my panic. I tried to scream, but the tape choked my voice. My limbs felt weak. I kicked, pulled, I did everything I could to break free from the confines of the chair, but I knew it was pointless.
Finally, he stepped back. He didn't speak, didn't give any indication, and I finally managed to catch my breath, albeit in shallow, rapid gasps.
After a few more minutes, I looked up. I watched as he tilted his head again, lips curling into a small smirk.
"Have you calmed down now?" It was a question between amusement and boredom.
Jack shifted by the door. A slight movement that broke the tension for a split second. But the moment my eyes flickered back up to Tyler, I wished I hadn't.
He was grinning now — like something unhinged. He snickered.
And then he moved.
He began to pace, slowly, in front of me. His hand reached into his pocket. My eyes followed.
What he did next made my blood run cold.
"You know, I'm glad you didn't run when Isabel told you to."
My heart stopped, the blood draining from my face. The name hit me like a bolt of lightning. I froze, my entire body going cold.
'Isabel.'
My phone. Out from his pocket.
He held it up, unlocked it with my password like he knew it off by heart — don't know how the fuck he knew it — and started scrolling through the messages. Isabel's messages. Dozens of them. More than I remembered.
'Fuck!'
I thrashed again, screaming behind the tape, muffled and pathetic, tears now rolling down my cheeks.
"Look familiar?" he teased. "Such a good friend, isn't she? It's a shame you didn't listen."
He leaned close, his breath hot against my ear as he whispered. "Don't worry about her now. She's not your concern anymore."
He slid the phone back into his pocket and turned away, expression flat.
And just like that, the room went darker. Smaller. The walls pressing in.
He began to pace again, hands behind his back.
"Jack kept her... busy, while I spoke to you at the bar. Did you really think she'd spend an hour in the toilets without some kind of distraction?"
I sobbed. I sat there and fucking sobbed. The pain in my chest wasn't fear, wasn't panic, wasn't anger. It was guilt.
Deep, gut-wrenching guilt.
I should've listened to her. I should've gone with her to the toilets. I should've turned back when I had the chance.
'I shouldn't have fucking gone to the club! I didn't even want to go! None of this would've happened!'
And again. I fell into a fit of panic.
His footsteps echoed in the silence of the room until they came to a stop behind me. Hands on my shoulders brought me back to the present. Then, hot, moist breath on the back of my neck. He inhaled, long and deep.
"Isabel's irrelevant now, Emily," he muttered, hands gripping me a little tighter. "It's just you and me now... and you'll have to get used to it."
I felt his lips against my neck. I trembled.
I didn't know what to do.
And then he stood again, regaining composure frighteningly quick.
He glanced at Jack momentarily and cleared his throat as he returned to the centre of the room.
"Ok... I suppose I should explain what's going on here," he began, voice clear and loud, like a professor starting a lecture.
I watched. Helpless.
"Basically... I help people," he said simply, eyes fixed on mine. "That's what I built this place for. To fix people. Fears, traumas, broken minds."
He turned to me, alight with something twisted. "Some who know of me come willingly. But most don't know they need help. So I go looking. I find people who need me most. Like you."
I wanted to scream. To shake him. Help? Was that what he thought this was?
"I'll admit, though," he continued, "When I saw you, I felt something different. You're not like my usual patients..."
'Patients?' The word echoed in my head, loud and ominous.
"You intrigue me."
Tears streaked down my face. The reality of the situation, where I was, who he was, was finally starting to sink in.
I just wanted to go home. I wanted to curl up in a ball and disappear. But I was trapped. Caught like a pathetic little fly in a spider's web. Like an animal in a cage. To him — a lab rat. Someone to be experimented on. Poked and prodded. Abused. Made to fear.
He noticed, pulled a tissue from his pocket, and crouched down in front of me. His fingers gently brushed a strand of hair from my face and dabbed the tears from my cheeks. His voice became softer, almost emotional.
"There's no need for tears, princess. Besides, you should be happy."
'Happy? Are you fucking serious?' I thought.
"By the time you leave here, you'll be cured! No more fears." He shook his head and smiled softly, gazing up at me, willing me to believe him.
"You know..." he whispered, almost to himself, "you might just be my favourite."
Then the smile vanished. He stood, brushing off his knees, and cleared his throat.
"I think you're ready now."
I watched in confusion and terror as he turned around to Jack, all emotion gone again. As if all that, just then, was nothing but show. An act he'd mastered and perfected, used to disarm his patients before throwing them back down again. As if he'd done this before.
"Boss?" The younger said. Like a puppet, a willing participant, a loyal follower.
"Take her back once Dylan's done with the sedative."
Sedative.
The mention of Dylan made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I shook my head violently and made a muffled noise to get his attention. But Tyler just sighed.
"I've spoken to Dylan," he said. "I heard you two had a little misunderstanding. I've given him a warning. He should be better with you now."
And then, just like that, he walked out.
A few minutes later, Dylan came in, syringe in hand. The same devilish grin.
That's all I remember...