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Chapter 12 (Lou-Lou)
My head is pounding and my vision is so blurry I swear I must be looking into a kaleidoscope.
I close my eyes as another wave of nausea barrels into me and the little troll with a sledgehammer who decided to move into my head at some point starts playing another heavy metal song—using my brain as his set of drums.
Why do I feel like utter roadkill today? Is it even daytime right now?
I feel my entire body freeze with my next thought—Why don't I remember coming home last night?
Panic grips me so hard I almost keel over when I realize that not only do I not remember coming home...I don't remember my night out.
I swallow back the boulder forming in my throat as I think back to what I do remember.
I remember arriving at the bar with Atticus and heading straight for the dance floor. And I also remember dancing to a few songs and laughing and having fun...but that's where my night cuts off...like a story that's not finished because the words aren't written.
No longer caring about the little drummer troll in my head, I open my eyes again and glance at the clock.
A clock that isn't blinking. My blinking clock is the last thing I fall asleep to and the first thing I wake up to in the morning.
My eyes swivel around the room and it becomes abundantly clear that I'm not where I should be at all. I've never seen this room in my life, and nothing in here looks familiar.
And that's when I notice it and my heart clenches.
Except those. Those look very familiar.
Question is...why in the world is there a vase full of dandelions on the nightstand?
I rub my temples and draw my knees up to my chest, trying my hardest to put the pieces of my night together.
I don't remember telling Atticus about dandelions or going home with him. But then again, I don't remember much of anything regarding last night.
Dread fills my stomach when I realize it's obviously his bedroom that I'm in. I mean, it has to be, I know for a fact that I was with him last night.
Which can only mean one thing.
I toss the sheet that's wrapped around me on the floor and say a small prayer when I look down at my work clothes.
He didn't touch me...Atticus is one of the good ones. Right?
I'm not an idiot, I know I'm not...but things are so unclear and foreign right now, I can't seem to make sense of anything.
Logically, I know I should walk out the bedroom door, but there's something terrifying about not knowing what's on the other side of it.
And there's something even more terrifying about knowing you went home with a man but can't remember any of it.
My clothes are still on, I remind myself. If Atticus was a bad guy, I would be naked and sore...not waking up fully clothed, in a nice bed, with a vase full of my favorite flowers beside me.
I hug my knees to my chest and begin rocking myself in an attempt to relax and stop panicking. Hopefully, I'll be able to co
Because no matter how much I try to assure myself that Atticus is good, the fact that I can't remember parts of my night speaks volumes.
Did I drink so much that I blacked out? I know my tolerance must be low since I haven't had alcohol in what feels like forever, but I know it can't be that low. I must have been slamming down drink after drink at the bar to black out to the point that I don't remember anything.
Why would Atticus let me do that in the first place? Why wouldn't he try and stop me?
I guess there's only one way to find out.
“Atticus?” I call out, my voice sounding all kinds of raspy and scratchy.
Silence is my only answer.
I wait a few minutes and call out his name again. When I don't get a response for the second time, I stand up on shaky legs and brace myself by holding onto the nightstand.
My stomach rumbles and my mouth is so dry I have to bite my tongue just to produce saliva.
That alone tells me I've been passed out for much longer than I thought.
Well, that and the fact that I have to pee like a racehorse ru
I sprint over to the small bathroom that's adjoined and after taking care of business, I wash my hands and face, hoping my memory comes back now that I'm up and walking around.
I can't help but notice a dull ache coming from the right side of my stomach as I'm drying my face, and when I look down I'm horrified to find a square white dressing covering my skin.
I rip it off it one swift move and I don't know whether to be relieved or even more alarmed when I see that it's only a small wound.
Because I'm hurt and I can't remember why or how it happened.
I let out a frustrated huff and throw open the bathroom door.
And fight the urge to piss all over again.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I scream at the top of my lungs to a very shocked Marlene.
She opens her mouth but she doesn't have a chance to get any words out because I'm pushing her out of my way and ru
“Stop, Lou-Lou,” she yells, right on my heels. “Let me talk to you.”
No. God...no.
I jiggle the doorknob again but it won't budge...it's locked. I'm trapped inside this room.
Bruno DeLuca's maid and sometimes whore has me locked in a room.
What the fuck is going on?
Pure fright crawls up my spine as one horrible, glaring, profound thought smashes into me faster than the speed of light.
DeLuca's not dead.
He's been hiding out somewhere this whole time, just waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike.
The perfect opportunity being when I was finally on my way to maybe finding happiness with someone and starting to move on with my life.
I knew it. God, I knew it.
I felt his presence all around me...suffocating me, refusing to let me go.
I felt his spirit in my fucking bones and now I'm ensnared...because he wants his payback.
DeLuca's not dead...because monsters never truly die.
Sweat slicks over my skin and my heart beats rapidly against my rib cage as all the air gets sucked out of the room again and again and I'm clawing at my throat because I can't breathe.
He's alive and he wants his revenge...but how? I pulled the trigger and I watched him die with my own eyes.
Monsters never truly die—my mind taunts again.
Fuck me, I'm trapped in a nightmare. That's the only explanation I can come up with...and I need to wake the hell up and get out of here.
I need to escape.
Every cell in my body shifts into self-preservation mode when Marlene starts walking toward me.
I quickly side-step her and walk over to a large dresser instead.
“Lou-Lou,” she shouts but I tune her out because I'm too busy looking for a weapon of some kind.
I don't want to kill the bitch...I just want to make her pass out so I can grab the set of keys she must have on her and leave.
Her eyes go wide with fear when I hold up the fairly large ceramic lamp and bare my teeth.
“I know you're scared right now, the doctor said you would be a little—”
I launch it at her head and watch as she starts swaying and staggering before she falls on the floor.
I fish through the pockets of her uniform for the keys and practically sing with glee when I find them.