I swayed and staggered like a drunk, but it wasn't the alcohol anymore. My head felt like it was being switched to a different frequency like my body was an empty shell while something dark ate into my mind. My bedroom was in shadow. The moonlight filtering through the thin curtains was cold as if it wasn't of this world. I paused in front of the large wall mirror. My reflection looked back at me. And then it wasn't looking back at me. It was Helen.
I was falling. Not physically, not really, but it felt like I was falling into a bottomless blackness while the room around me vibrated in waves. My reflection dissolved, melting into an ugly, rubbery shimmer until only Helen remained. Her features overlapped mine seamlessly as if my face was just a mask and she was lurking beneath it, ready to obliterate me. Her gaze was blank, but her mouth formed a word, silent, barely perceptible. "Help me." The walls were breathing. Or was it my lungs? A shiver ran down my spine, but I couldn't turn away.
The voice wasn't just in the mirror, it was in the walls, the floor, my skull. It scratched at the edges of my consciousness until everything was blurred. Then the world shattered. There was Theo. The air was heavy, and stale, as if no one had breathed here in centuries. The light was wrong, too bright. Shadows crept along the walls, distorting, and twisting into grotesque shapes, and at the center of it all was Kira.
He had her. His hands were too tight, and his face twisted into something that was no longer human. Kira screamed. Her thin arms flailed uselessly through the air as she writhed like a trapped animal. Helen tried to pull him off, but he was too strong. She was too weak. Kira squirmed under his grip. Her small hands gripped the sheets, her face contorted in pain and panic. "Do something!"
I wanted to scream. My breath came in gasps, in ragged, broken rhythms, but no sound came from my mouth. My legs were of stone, my chest of lead. My hands... my hands weren't my own. I didn't even know if I had them. But I wasn't Claire anymore. I was a ghost, a watcher, a shadow on the wall. I was just as powerless as in the last dream, just as useless. Kira screamed. A sickening sound that pierced my flesh like rusty needles. Her legs kicked, her back arched, an empty, desperate twitch, a last, instinctive fight for survival. Theo's face was a grimace. His smile... oh God, his smile. It was wrong.
He pressed himself against her. Helen was raging, but her screams sounded otherworldly. I heard everything muffled, and distorted, as if someone had stuffed cotton in my ears while the rest of my body was on fire. Then I felt Sam behind me. His body was pressed against mine, his hands heavy on my hips, and he whispered hotly into my neck. "You can't deny it," he said, his voice silky, depraved. His fingers slid across my stomach, slowly, possessively. My body froze. "I know this turns you on." I tried to turn my head, to stop feeling him, to wriggle out of his grasp, but I didn't move an inch. "Kira is becoming a woman," he said, biting my earlobe. My stomach lurched with a wave of disgust and... no. No.
"That's what makes men like Theo hot." I felt his excitement, pressed hard against me, demanding, as if he knew exactly how my body would react to this twisted, disgusting scene. I wanted to scream. I wanted to die. I wanted him to let me go. But then - oh God, then - my insides clenched as his grip tightened. As my skin burned, my legs grew weak, not with fear, but with something I wouldn't name. His hand went deeper, his fingers... No.
NO.
I gasped, wanted to say something, push him away, but my body was leaning against him, trembling, shaking, as if it was no longer my own. He laughed. A soft, warm sound that settled inside me. "She must love it as much as you do." I couldn't tell anything anymore. The panic, the heat, the fear, the desire. Sam held me tighter, his fingers slipping under the fabric of my dress, his hand clasping my throat, lightly, just a squeeze, just enough to make me feel his power. "You fall so easily, Claire," he murmured, and I heard the smile in his voice. I was lost. The screams of Kira. Helen's desperate cries. Theo, between Kira's slender legs, his hips pressed hard against her small body. And me - a spectator in my own body. This isn't you. This isn't real. But it felt real. Damn real.
Sam's breath burned on my neck, his hand heavy on my stomach, sliding lower and lower until I could barely breathe. "You want it, too," he whispered. His fingers dug into my flesh, demanding, greedy. "Say it." I didn't flinch. Instead, my knees nearly buckled, my body vibrating between desperation and a burning, damned need. No. No, no, no, no. I forced myself to turn my head, to tear my eyes away from Kira, from Theo, from this nightmare that held me captive. I had to take control. I had to turn this around and make it my game.
I pressed harder against Sam and felt him inhale harder. His weakness. His damned need for me. "We both know how this works," I breathed, grinding against him. His fingers dug deeper into me. I gasped a mixture of pain and something far worse. But I had him. I could feel that he was losing control.
And if he fell, this would be mine again. I slowly lowered myself to my knees. Sam stood over me, his dark eyes fixed on me, breathing heavily, his lips parted slightly as if he couldn't believe how easily I gave myself to him. But I didn't give in.
I took over. I wanted control back. I wanted him to do my damn bidding. My fingers slid over his belt, unfastening it with a confident tug. I leaned forward and let my lips brush his skin. "Good boy," I murmured against him, savoring the tremors that ran through his body. "You want it too, Claire." I wanted control back. I wanted him to beg me. To tremble for me, to be driven to the brink because I wanted it that way. I wanted - "Look at me." I did.
Theo's face stared back at me, his jaw clenched, his eyes black with... God, no. I jerked back, my body slamming into the floor. My heart was racing. Blood rushed to my ears. Theo's mouth curved into a smile. A cold, cutting smile that sliced through me like a scalpel. "Come on, Claire. Show me what you can do." I choked. Air. I needed air. "What's wrong, Claire?" His voice was soft, dripping with false pity. "Are you afraid? Or do you like what you see?" My hands dug into the floor. The room flickered. Sam's and, Theo's hands grabbed my hair, gripped me tighter, and pushed me forward again. "You like it this way." I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. The room tilted, spun, swayed, and somewhere in the distance deep inside my head screamed. Helen was begging. And I... I didn't know who I was anymore. All I could hear was the blood rushing in my ears.
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I awoke drenched in sweat as if I had been swept away by an ominous storm. My skin clung damply to my body, and my heart pounded incessantly in my chest. I lay in my bed, the covers in disarray, a cold shiver running down my spine as I tried to piece together the painful fragments of my nightmare. It was as if someone had stamped the dark scenes of my nights into my consciousness - images I'd rather forget.
Helen stood at the end of my bed, her brow furrowed in concern as she gently touched me. "Claire, you need to wake up," she said softly, almost pleadingly, placing her hand on my shoulder. "Why... why didn't you call first?" I stammered, feeling my voice shake with suppressed desperation. I could barely form the words because every touch, every word Helen said reminded me of the nightmare - of Theo, of Kira, of what I couldn't stop. She sat down next to me, took a deep breath, and said, "I've been trying to reach you a lot today. You didn't answer your phone. I was worried. You were so weird on your livestream."
Her voice was concerned, but there was also a hint of anger behind the words - as if she'd had enough of finding me so helpless. I stared into space, my fingers clutching the covers as if trying to hold on. My eyes wandered restlessly, searching for an anchor in the dim morning light. I could barely remember the night before, just a hazy fog of alcohol, smoke, and horrible images. I didn't want to talk about it, didn't want to show Helen all those scars that threatened to eat away at me inside if I continued to give in to the thoughts.
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Each sip of coffee I took tasted more bitter than the last. Helen watched me with cautious concern, and over and over she asked, almost pleadingly, "What happened, Claire? Please tell me you're okay." I only answered with a gruff smile and a shrug, as if I could dismiss her questions with a thoughtless comment. "I work too much, you know. Too much stress. It's all just..." My voice trailed off and I pushed my coffee aside. I didn't want her to see how fragile I was, how the darkness kept knocking on my door.
Helen shook her head and squeezed my hand gently.
"Claire, you have to take care of yourself. You look like you could collapse at any moment." Her words were soft, but I felt a sharp sting inside of me as if she was reprimanding me for not being strong enough. I glared at her, my eyes burning with unspoken aggression. "Maybe it's not that I'm not strong. Maybe it's just... maybe I don't want to try so hard," I said dryly, my voice more defensive than responsive. I felt like I was being watched - the shadows of my nightmare haunting me, even in the sober clarity of the day.
Helen sighed. "Claire, you know I'm just worried. You have to at least tell me what's wrong." I wanted to tell her, but the words stuck in my throat like an insurmountable knot. Instead, I took another sip of coffee, which burned my dry throat, and let my eyes fall to the floor. I felt my body tremble with nervousness - not only from the memory of the dream but also from the crushing weight of my mind. I remembered the voices again, the whispers that hung on the walls - those ominous words that told me I was helpless.
I couldn't erase them, no matter how hard I tried. And as Helen tried to calm me down, I could feel the memory of the scenes from the night making my heart race. "You need to get some rest," Helen finally said as she poured me another cup of coffee. "You're working yourself to death, Claire." Her voice was loving, but also demanding. I said nothing in response, just stared into the cup. Each sip seemed to cloud my thoughts, to whitewash the memories, as if trying to wash away the pain - or at least push it into the background.
The conversations that followed revolved around our shared past, childhood memories that had once been so warm and comforting. But in my mind, all these images mingled with the dark whisper of the dream, with the constant question of whether I was still in control of my own life. Every moment of nostalgia was overshadowed by an ominous shimmer as if the shadows of the past wouldn't leave me. I could feel Helen's gaze boring into my eyes as if she wanted to fathom the truth I was trying so hard to hide.
Her face was etched with worry, but there was also a spark of determination - as if she knew I couldn't hide forever. "Claire, please... I want to help you," she finally said, her voice soft but insistent. I remained silent, pressing my lips together and muttering, "It's nothing. I've been working too much and not sleeping well, that's all." But I knew that wasn't true.
It was all so much more than I wanted to admit - the darkness that haunted me, the voices I couldn't get out of my head. My hands were shaking and I couldn't get the bitter taste out of my mouth. Helen took my hand, squeezing it as if to tell me she wouldn't let me go no matter what, but I couldn't help but pull away. "You have to trust me, Claire," she whispered, and I felt my anger and desperation rise.
I wanted to scream that I'd had enough - but I couldn't say anything, as if my voice had been lost. Instead, I lowered my eyes, drank in deep gulps, and forced a weak movement of my lips. While Helen assured me that we would find a way, no matter what, I knew deep down that I couldn't save myself - not as long as those shadows lived inside me.
Helen finally said goodbye, and the morning dragged on endlessly, every minute an eternity, as I tried to organize my thoughts and overcome my inner turmoil. But I knew that despite Helen, I was alone with these demons. And those demons wouldn't go away so easily, no matter how hard I tried to mask the pain with coffee, memories, and a half-hearted smile.
Maybe I had overdone it. Maybe it was the stress. Maybe it was Sam. Or Helen. Or all of the above. My head pounded dully as I sat in my darkened apartment, trying to piece together the previous night like a loose puzzle. My skin felt sticky, my stomach queasy, my thoughts a chaotic whisper of guilt and desire. I had to get closer to Levi. I had to get rid of Helen and Sam. Then I could breathe again. Then I could play my game again without anyone interfering. The dull vibration of my phone made me jump.
I reached for it, my thumb hesitating a moment over the screen before I read Sam's name.
"I want you to come over tonight. Help yourself first because I want you to sit on my dick right away without a word of argument." When I cum, I'll take you to Levi's private party."
My mouth went dry. My heart rate increased in a way that worried me. Not because of his words. Not because of his vulgar, smug way of treating me like I was his property. But because my own body was telling me, with a slight tug in my lower abdomen, that I wanted him. That his dominance, his sense of entitlement, turned me on. And that was disgusting. And that was dangerous. And that was what drove me to the edge. I swallowed. I should ignore him. I should ignore all of this.
But Levi. Levi. I could imagine Sam's hands on me, his rough skin, his relentless grip. I could imagine how he would take me, how it would feel when I sat on him without resistance because I couldn't wait to get to Levi. How my body would tighten around him, how he would hold me, controlling me as if I were his toy. I felt my fingertips on my thighs, almost unconsciously, a fleeting touch that felt like a premonition. Sam knew me too well. He knew I would love it.
I threw my head back, my mind wavering between disgust and excitement. It was like a curse, this urge, this damned lust for control - whether it was mine or his. I stared at his message. My breathing quickened. I hated that he knew me that way. I hated that I knew me.
I hated that I thought about it.