Chapter 7

• Belle***
• My pulse thudded in my ears as I watched Jake, and everything around me felt… wrong. So wrong. Like I had stepped into a world where everything was out of focus—blurry edges, fractured pieces of a puzzle that I couldn’t quite put together. I couldn’t remember. I couldn’t grasp why my body felt detached from the present moment, like I was watching everything unfold from some far-off place, unable to move, unable to think.
• The blood. His blood. On his hands.
• I blinked hard, trying to shake the confusion, but it only thickened, pressing down on me, smothering every coherent thought I had. My head throbbed—pulsing, aching, each beat of my heart like a hammer to my skull. Why couldn’t I remember?
• The blood—his blood—was undeniable. It clung to him like a second skin, so thick, so suffocating. The metallic scent filled the air, overwhelming, sharp, almost burning in my nose. I could taste it. It was as though it coated my throat, leaving a bitter trail that made my stomach twist with nausea. I felt like I was drowning in it, choking on the very sight of it.
• Samuel’s whimper echoed in my mind, sharp and haunting. No. No, it wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. My thoughts scrambled, trying to break free, but the whimper kept coming back, drowning out everything else. I could feel it—his fear, his struggle. It rattled through my bones, an electric shock that jolted through me, dragging my body with it. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t escape it.
• What was happening? Why was everything so—wrong?
• Think. Think. Think!
• I tried to focus, to ground myself in something, anything. But the moment I tried, it slipped further away, slipping through my fingers like sand. The room around me spun. I was spinning.
• Then I heard it again. Samuel’s breath. Shallow. Ragged. As if he were choking on his own fear. Was that real? Was it a memory? My chest tightened. I tried to push it away, but it gripped me. I saw him.
• His face.
• The image came so suddenly, my body jerked as though slapped. Samuel’s eyes—wide, terrified—locked onto mine, pleading. Helpless. The shock of it was like a cold fist to my stomach, and my breath caught in my throat. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him. His desperation reached into me, squeezing my chest, pulling at something deep inside.
• And then the vision twisted. It didn’t stop. I can see an image of myself in his, as if once upon a time I was one suffering and he was my tormentor.
• I couldn’t breathe.
• Samuel’s body beneath Jake’s grip, jerking violently. The crack of bones. Oh God. My stomach lurched violently, threatening to expel everything I had eaten in the last 48 hours.
• I turned away, but the images wouldn’t stop. They came faster, harder.
• I could hear the water—cold, suffocating—dragging me deeper, pulling me under. I was drowning.
• Samuel’s hands—bloody, reaching for me, grasping, squeezing.
• I gasped for air, my lungs burning. I couldn’t breathe.
• The cold seeped into me, and I clawed at the surface, desperate, but it was too late. Too late. My throat closed up, the pressure building until I felt like I might break in two.
• No. No. No.
• I squeezed my eyes shut, shaking my head, desperately trying to force the images away, but they wouldn’t go. They were all I could see. All I could feel. The room. The blood. Samuel. Jake. The grip. The fear.
• The walls closed in on me. I pressed my hand against my forehead, feeling the cold sweat dripping down the back of my neck. I’m losing my mind. My thoughts spiraled faster now, each one twisting, warping, bending under the pressure. Was it the fear that was tearing me apart? Or was it something more? Am I going crazy?
• I felt dizzy, disconnected, as though the world around me was a distant echo, one I couldn’t touch. I couldn’t remember. I couldn’t think straight.
• Jake.
• The word slipped out, weak and trembling, from somewhere deep inside me. My voice barely a whisper. I searched his face—desperate, pleading. Why did it have to be like this? Why couldn’t I remember? The questions swirled, dizzying, and everything felt unreal, distant, like I was losing myself in a sea of confusion.
• I want to trust him. I wanted to believe in him. I had to.
• But the blood. It was everywhere. It clung to him, a confession that I couldn’t ignore, a silent truth that gnawed at the edges of my sanity.
• “Jake…” The words escaped me, ragged. “You have blood on your hands.”
• The moment they left my lips, I wanted to take them back. His eyes flickered with something—anger? Guilt? A flicker of darkness—before they quickly softened. His body stiffened as he wiped his hands, frantic, almost desperate, trying to remove the evidence. But I could see it. I could feel it. The blood wasn’t just on his hands. It was in the air now, pressing down on me, suffocating, choking me. I could feel it on my skin, in my throat, in my lungs.
• Samuel’s breathing—his gasps—continued to echo in my mind. The struggle beneath Jake’s grip. How could he be so calm?
• Why wasn’t Jake panicking? Why wasn’t he desperate to explain himself, to make it right? His eyes—there was something cold in them. Something distant. What was he hiding?
• I whispered, “I don’t know what to think anymore.”
• It wasn’t even my voice. The words came from somewhere else—someone else, broken, lost, unsure of what was real. I couldn’t trust anyone. Not anymore.
• Jake’s eyes softened for just a second. His lips parted, as if to speak, to calm me, to make me believe in him again. But it was too late. It felt like a trick. A mask.
• I could feel it. The control. His need to pull me in, to keep me close, to make everything okay. But it wasn’t okay. It would never be okay again.
• He reached for me, his fingers trembling as he gripped mine, his voice pleading. “Please. Trust me.”
• No. I don't know if I can ever trust again.
• I flinched. His touch burned through me, cold and desperate. I couldn’t handle it. I wanted to pull away, but my body wouldn’t move. The pressure of it all—the desperation in his voice—only pushed me further into my fear, further into the unknown. I couldn’t trust him.
• This isn’t the man I thought I knew. This isn’t the man who held me at night. The man I thought I knew—he was gone, replaced by someone unrecognizable.
• My breath hitched in my chest. I wanted to scream, to run, to get away, but the air was too thick. The blood was too thick. I am scared of what he might do next; scared of the darkness, Jake doesn't seem like himself anymore. His eyes, once filled with warmth, now held a coldness that sent shivers down my spine. The man standing before me was a stranger, and I knew I had to find a way to escape before it was too late.
• Could I be wrong? Could it all be a mistake?
• The questions spiraled, and I couldn’t breathe. The room felt suffocating, pressing in on me from all sides. I couldn’t think straight.
• I heard something then. A sound. Low, almost imperceptible, but it cut through the tension, like a knife.
• The door.
• It was opening. Slowly. Deliberately. Someone was coming.
• I snapped my head toward the sound, my body going rigid. No. Not now. Not when I was this lost, this unsure. Someone was coming.
• “Jake…” My voice barely broke through, cracked and weak. My eyes widened with panic. What if it wasn’t just us anymore?
• The blood on his hands seemed darker now, like it was consuming him. The air felt colder. Someone was coming.
• I couldn’t breathe. My heart pounded as fear gripped me, rising up, threatening to swallow me whole. Please… I begged silently. My mind raced with thoughts of escape, but my body wouldn’t respond. The footsteps—closer. They echoed through the room, each one louder than the last.
• Someone was coming.