A Different Pain (part II)

[Continuation]

Leila

“Leila!” a shout from below paralyzes me. The hair in my arms stand as I hear my name repeated several times. The familiar voice doesn’t bring solace to my heart but alarm. Adryan keeps shouting my name and his footsteps echoes loudly around the house. I walk slowly to where Drey and his demon stand and see him mouth orders to his creation.

“Kill him,” I am able to decipher from his lips. The demon slowly descends the steps, eager to carry out Drey’s brutal orders.

Emotion wins over reason and I shout out desperately, “Adryan, get out of here!” Before an answer reaches my ears, I hear the frantic stomping and trampling of feet coming in my direction. The shadow of Drey grows nearer and nearer, I leave that place and run past several closed doors, neither of which made me feel safe. I just wish Adryan had followed my advice and leave this place immediately. Despite the perilous situation I found myself in, I couldn’t suppress a smile forming in my lips. Adryan isn’t the sort of person who would normally listen to reason. He’d never walk out on me. That single thought urges me forward and floods me with determination, forcing me to hold on to the idea of seeing him again. I run pass a window and my eyes chance upon a small tower protruding from the roofline of the house, I found myself directly underneath the tower. To my left, a dilapidated wooden door is ajar. Quietly, I slip inside and close the door behind me. The room looks inhabited and untouched with pile of dusts and long, white fabric covering pieces of furniture. I bolt the door and haul an armchair to block the entrance. I look up, searching for means of accessing the tower. The grandfather clock in the room strikes midnight and an eerie sound emanates from the enormous clock, left to rot in this dingy place. A subtle breeze brings odors of old days to my nostrils.

There must be an opening, I walk around the room searching for it. When I walk past the clock, I notice the side against the wall grazed and slightly separated. Tentatively, I slip my fingers in between the crack and pry it apart. The grandfather clock slowly swings aside, revealing a spiraling staircase. Without second thoughts, I start climbing up the staircase. At the top of it, I push open a trapdoor and climb out; the windy night congratulates me on my successful escape. I emerge from the narrow space and found myself in the flat concrete rooftop of the house.

I walk to the edge of the building and look down, it is a long distance from here to the ground below, but I can run to the roof of the adjacent houses and call for help once I am away from this manor. What a foolish thought, I can’t leave Adryan alone and even if I call for help, nobody would believe me let alone come to my aid. I turn back and crash into a broad figure.

A rough hand seizes my throat; a force drives my body down and smashes it against the cold concrete of the rooftop. A splitting headache dominates my senses and the blurry vision returns once again to cloud my eyes.

“You thought you could escape,” a repugnant breath fills my nostrils as Drey’s face comes closer to my own. He buries his thumb and index finger under my cheekbone on each side of my cheek and jerks my head to meet with his face. A mad gleam rises in his eyes as he stares at me with longing desire. “I am becoming feeble, why won’t you cooperate in satiating my only desire?” The pain in his voice is veiled with cynical laughter. “I promise I will treat you and your last moments of life with the dignity and respect you witches deserve.”

“I’d rather die than let Zahira into my body,” I seethe, yanking my head from his grip. I scream as a slicing pain glides through my thigh, I look down and witness how my crimson blood taints the concrete with a lively color. My watery eyes travel the length of Drey’s arm and his hand holds the handle of the dagger which Murdson wanted to use against me in the basement, the blade perforates my dress and pierces ever so slightly against my skin. There is a long, bloody line running the length my thigh in which blood is slowly escaping.

“Pain is what you deserve,” he murmurs and dislodges the blade from my thigh. I let out a faint scream and absentmindedly watch as he hover the blade over my forearm. To watch someone in pain and to experience pain yourself used to mean the same thing to me, one suffered in both cases, but now I feel the difference.

The End

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