Taylor’s Time

Happy days are here again, Taylor’s back with another post!

Today she has a creepy little introductory chapter to a novel she’s worked on. No spoilers, but there’s a lot of potential with this. I’m excited to see where it goes!

My advice is to watch the video first, then read the chapter. But that’s just me.

Adam

D-O-L-L-H-O-U-S-E

“π‘―π’†π’š π’ˆπ’Šπ’“π’, 𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒏 π’šπ’π’–π’“ π’˜π’‚π’π’π’”, π’‘π’π’‚π’š π’˜π’Šπ’•π’‰ π’šπ’π’–π’“ 𝒅𝒐𝒍𝒍𝒔, π’˜π’†’𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒆 𝒂 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒇𝒆𝒄𝒕 π’‡π’‚π’Žπ’Šπ’π’š.”– π‘΄π’†π’π’‚π’π’Šπ’† π‘΄π’‚π’“π’•π’Šπ’π’†π’› 

πΆβ„Žπ‘Žπ‘π‘‘π‘’π‘Ÿ 𝑂𝑛𝑒:

π‘‡β„Žπ‘’ π‘†π‘šπ‘’π‘™π‘™ 𝑂𝑓 π‘ƒπ‘™π‘Žπ‘ π‘‘π‘–π‘

A string of white lights. That was the first thing I saw when I finally opened my eyes. They hung from the rafters above us; little did I know they’d be one of the few dull trickles of comfort and warmth in this new fucked up life we’d been tricked into. 

Lessons For The Naive:

Lesson One: 

When your car breaks down on the side of an icey raod, call a toeing company. 

Lesson Two:

When a soft spoken man with a smile lined face asks if you need a hand, just say, “No!” 

Lesson Three: 

Never trust a man in plaid. 

The air surrounding the bed had grown deliciously warm, not at all like the night before when it was frigid and icy. I didn’t know if the lights changed the atmosphere of the room so drastically. Hell, for all I knew it could’ve been Kain’s sudden show of mercy. He possessed enough mercy to turn the power back on so we wouldn’t freeze; or, maybe, he preferred his victims alive. Either way I was appreciative of the warmth. Mucus crusted at the corners of my eyes, making them itchy and irritated. My tired body begged me to wipe it away and let myself drift off. But I didn’t. I simply stared up at those lights and allowed the memories to flood in.  

πΏπ‘Žπ‘¦π‘–π‘›π‘” 𝑖𝑛 π‘šπ‘¦ 𝑏𝑒𝑑 π‘Žπ‘‘ β„Žπ‘œπ‘šπ‘’. 𝑀𝑦 π‘π‘œπ‘¦π‘“π‘Ÿπ‘–π‘’π‘›π‘‘ π‘π‘’π‘Ÿπ‘™π‘’π‘‘ 𝑒𝑝 π‘Žπ‘‘ π‘šπ‘¦ 𝑠𝑖𝑑𝑒. 𝐻𝑖𝑠 π‘“π‘Žπ‘π‘’ π‘π‘’π‘Ÿπ‘–π‘’π‘‘ 𝑖𝑛 π‘šπ‘¦ π‘›π‘’π‘π‘˜. 𝐻𝑖𝑠 π‘π‘Ÿπ‘’π‘Žπ‘‘β„Ž π‘€π‘Žπ‘Ÿπ‘šπ‘–π‘›π‘” π‘šπ‘¦ π‘ π‘˜π‘–π‘›. 𝐴 π‘ π‘‘π‘Ÿπ‘–π‘›π‘” π‘œπ‘“ π‘Šβ„Žπ‘–π‘‘π‘’ πΆβ„Žπ‘Ÿπ‘–π‘ π‘‘π‘šπ‘Žπ‘  πΏπ‘–π‘”β„Žπ‘‘π‘  π‘€π‘Ÿπ‘Žπ‘π‘π‘’π‘‘ π‘Žπ‘Ÿπ‘œπ‘’π‘›π‘‘ π‘šπ‘¦ β„Žπ‘’π‘Žπ‘‘π‘π‘œπ‘Žπ‘Ÿπ‘‘ π‘Žπ‘›π‘‘ 𝑏𝑒𝑑 π‘π‘œπ‘ π‘‘π‘  π‘™π‘–π‘˜π‘’ 𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑠 π‘œπ‘› π‘Ž π‘‘π‘Ÿπ‘’π‘’. 

A body shifted behind me, snuggled into me in search of the usually-elusive heat. The bed creaked under my weight as I turned over. Beck stirred in his sleep. His steady breathing reminded me we would be out of this house, this prison, as soon as the sun rose. 

I envied his relaxed attitude and calm demeanor; his effortless ability to see the humanity in the demented, twisted, homicida, psychopath who ripped our lives from us. My fingers clutched the fabric of his jacket which lay balled up beneath my head. His face, dimly lit by the string of lights, bore the evidence of what I’d been spared; the bruise under his eye, the blood on his cheek, the split in his lip. I hated this, the sight of my gentle Beck being forced to fight. It made me want to break down the door and attack the man responsible. I wouldn’t win. I π‘π‘œπ‘’π‘™π‘‘π‘›’𝑑 win. Even if I did manage to tear the gun away from him he would go after Beck, Beck’s ankle would slow him down, and we’d become Kain’s next pair of breathless “dolls”.

It was clear I couldn’t leave the room, even if I wanted to. I needed to stay. I needed to protect Beck. Gently, I rubbed away the dried blood by Beck’s nose. As I did, I noticed  his lip had split again. I cringed, remembering the grinding of cartilage on bone and the bloody gurgle that followed when I pulled his nose back into place. 

God, I couldn’t think about it. Beck’s eyes sprang open as if my trembling had sent up a flare. Silently he reached over and cupped the side of my face with his hand. My skin tingled and came to life under his palm and fingers. His hand smelled like the plastic skin of our new brother and sister. I shivered again. He forced a slight yet reassuring smile and pressed his lips to my forehead. I buried my face into the sweat-scented skin of his neck. 

“I won’t let him hurt you.” he whispered. “I’ll keep you safe.”

 I held onto his voice, his touch, his words. I badly wanted to say it back to him. But all I could manage was, ”I love you too.”

We fell asleep under a sea of floating lights, the smell of plastic lingering on our skin. 

Published by gaffen620

Author of The Cassidy Chronicles. Lives in Colorado with many dogs, cats, and one very patient wife.

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