It was never effortless to love Aaron Warner. He was a difficult teenage boy who seemed to forget a lot of the time that that was what he was-a teenage boy. He'd always felt that loving or even caring for him would be impossible for all the world to...
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mara lockhart.
"COME OUT THEN, YOU BASTARD!"I should know better. I should know better. I should know better.
He's taken me somewhere new. Anderson filled the room with some type of aroma or gas last night and the next thing I know I'm waking up on a steel table, wearing nothing but my underwear and bra. White. Clean. I have a feeling that won't last long.
This room is so strange. It's like a lab. I can't move my head to look around, I'n basically paralyzed. As if torturing my yesterday wasn't enough, he had to tie me to this freezing table and make sure the bright, cold lamp from above beams down on me. This room is numbing, that's how low the temperature is.
My breath is so heavy. I just want to go home. I just want to go back to Aaron. I've cried so many tears since I awoke. I can't tell what time of day it is—if simple hours have passed or days—I'm so exhausted. I'm just so tired. I need a break. From everything. I've never been kidnapped before. Never experienced this kind of suffering or agony.
"You're very interesting to observe, you know?"
My heart plummets. "Anderson,"
He chuckles. He's in the corner behind me, I can hear him but I can't turn. "You're finally awake, goodness. Only took you around ten hours,"
"What do you want now? Wasn't it enough to lock me away?"
"Oh, no," Anderson approaches me, steps slow and stabbing. "Sure, I had my handy little button to press in order to make you feel like you were being burned alive but. . .well, Mara, what can I say? I wanted in too. I wanted to make you feel that way with my own hands,"
"When Aaron gets his hands on you—"
Anderson cuts me off with a laugh. "What, you can't defend yourself?"
"Oh, I can," I spit. "But I think unleashing your son on you like a wild dog will be much more fun,"
"Don't worry," His fingers graze the side of my stomach as he places his hands on the table, looking down at me with striking, lightning-blue eyes. They're just as stormy as his personality. "I'm not the slightest bit concerned about him. And you won't get to watch either way, Lockhart—you'll be dead,"
And for the first time ever, I don't doubt it.
No.
No, I can't think like this.
Stop.
I will live. I will.
He moves away and panic encompasses me like a snake, slithering around every inch of me, both inside and out. Anderson picks up what I can only assume are tools by the sounds of it. Just breathe. All I have to do is breathe. But breathing is so hard when you're being suffocated.
