Chapter Twelve

A knock on my bedroom door has me groaning myself awake. I'm not a morning person and Milo knows that.

"Go away, Milo," I grumble, throwing a pillow against the door.

"It is nearly noon. I just wanted to make sure you were alive."

"Barely." I bury my face in the bed and bring the blankets over my head.

He chuckles. "Okay, well, I have to go to work. I'm covering for Minnie. She isn't feeling well so she's at home resting. There's supposed to be a severe thunderstorm today, so just be careful."

"I'll be going to work later. I'll see you there."

"No, you won't. Jake told Demi what was going on. You're off work for the time being."

I'm too tired to argue that right now but I do plan on fighting about how they are making decisions for me without speaking to me. I'm not some feeble victim who can't make decisions for herself. I don't want to be run out of my job. This was supposed to be a new beginning for me.

This town was supposed to be my starting point. Everything in the past was supposed to be forgotten.

Why can't I be free of him? Why can't I be free of the mental torment he has caused? Why can't he leave me alone?

I push myself to sit up, wiping the lone tear on my face.

And that's when I notice my hands.

"What?" I question lightly in confusion. I turn my palms up, then over again, completely lost about how they are so dirty.

"I left coffee in the pot. It's still warm. If you need me call me. Okay? I love you." He taps his knuckles on the door before departing.

"I love you too," I raise my voice so he can hear me, but the rasp to the words is impossible to miss.

The front door shuts, the locks click into place, and the beeps around the house inform me the windows are secured.

Dirt is buried under my nails. A trickle of warmth drips down my legs and I rip the covers off to see a fucking mess.

I jump out of the bed, staring at my ruined sheets.

Blood and dirt are smeared everywhere. I look down at my naked body, showing just how filthy I am. It's as if I trampled through a giant mud puddle. I dash to the bathroom to get a better look.

That was a bad idea.

My hair is tangled with pieces of grass. Mud is dried on my cheek. Long red scratches form down my chest. Bite bruises have me touching my breasts. There are three bite marks, and they don't seem… human.

All over my body, there are marks I can't explain. My toes are caked in dirt, blood is wet and dry between my thighs, and my heart hammers in my chest when I try to recall what happened.

I only remember going to sleep.

"Oh, no," I whisper, knowing what happened even if I don't want to admit it.

I was sleepwalking again. Do I need to put cameras in the house to make sure I don't do anything dangerous?

My sleepwalking has to be because of Ty or the anxiety of starting this renovation that has me losing not just time, but my actions. What if I hurt someone? What if I hurt myself?

I flip the handle of the shower and wait for the water to get hot, plucking grass out of my hair.

"What did you do? What did you do, Mickey?" I question myself, knowing damn well I don't have an answer. I need to try to jog my memory.

There's an ache between my legs too, the kind of ache that women have after they have had sex, and I know for sure that I haven't been doing that. There's no one here I want to have sex with.

Rhett.

My eyes roll when the name rings in my head.

"Rhett. Right," I scoff, chuckling hysterically. "I am losing my damn mind if my own thoughts are telling me to fuck the voice in my head I've made up. Jesus, Mickey." I step inside the stall, sighing when the hot spray lands on my shoulders. "Don't lose yourself. You're okay. This is just a moment. That's all. Nothing you can't fix. You'll be okay," I chant words of encouragement, leaning against the wall in exhaustion.

Every ounce of my body aches. Every muscle is tired. I gather my hair over my shoulder, squeezing the ends. Debris, dirt, and blood tint the white of the bathtub, the water swirling down the drain in a murky whirlpool.

I wash my body, scrubbing my skin until it hurts. I lose track of how many times I've washed, but the water finally runs clear.

Blowing out a breath after I've used half of a bottle of shampoo and conditioner, I stand under the searing water, my skin turning red from the temperature, and focus on what happened to me.

My hand slides down my chest, my fingers rubbing over the scratches left behind. I gasp, my clit throbbing. My mind is blank, but emotion is quick to fill the void in my heart.

Passion, desperation, and need have my hands sliding down my stomach to the soreness between my legs.

A loud, memorable growl has me snapping my eyes open.

Nothing is there.

I place my hand against my chest, willing my heart to slow. That growl in my memory had to have been from last night. It had to have happened. Did I get in a fight with, I don't know, a bear?

Did I win?

I cover my mouth and laugh, throwing my head back as I wrap a towel around my body.

"Right. You, Mickey Bloom, beat a bear. In a fight. What did you do? Kick its knees?" I work another towel through my hair and step out of the stall, then pause. "Do bears have knees?"

Shaking my head, I grab the vanity's edge and allow my lungs to fully expand. Opening the cabinet, I grab a tampon— not trusting my damn cups to stay in— and do my business before washing my hands. I tilt my chin up to glance in the mirror, lift my hand to wipe the condensation off, and drop it to my sides when I see a message written on it.

Stumbling backward, I hit the wall, my throat becoming dry.

"You taste so good when you bleed."

And a small heart is drawn underneath it.

I wipe the message away with my palm, squeezing my eyes shut, and then clutch the counter again. A pounding begins to form in the middle of my forehead.

"It isn't real. No one is here. No one can get in the house." I'm talking to myself again. I need to get out of this house.

I've traded one prison for another.

I swing the door open and take one step out of the bathroom when I notice an odd amount of light coming from the entryway of the house. An unnerving sensation sets in, my stomach flipping, my instincts screaming at me not to take another step.

A creak in the living room has me holding my breath. I clutch the towel against my chest, the tips of my fingers digging into the semi-soft material. My middle knuckle pops and I gasp, shutting my eyes in hopes that whoever is in my house didn't hear it.

It can't be anyone. Milo has this place on lockdown. No one is here. It's all in my head.

Just in case, with gentle and slow ease, I open the cabinet under my sink. I might have hidden a gun in every single room. I haven't told anyone. Milo nor Minnie know, and I guess I need to be honest with them if they are going to be here.

I pull the hammer back, wincing when the loud slide of the bullet slides into place.

"I have a gun!" I take a deep breath and stretch my arms out, gripping the simple nine-millimeter like how I was taught.

All those late nights when I was supposed to be in therapy— I was— but I didn't go to therapy every single night like I told Milo and Minnie. I was determined to never let a man take advantage of me again. Ty wouldn't win my resilience to live again.

And I won't let him take it now.

With therapy, I took self-defense classes and shooting lessons. I'm not perfect. Even with all the training, I'm shaking. I'm scared. I don't know if I remember a day when I was not petrified at one point or another.

"I'm not afraid to shoot you!" I yell from the bathroom, sliding my foot across the floor to get out of the bathroom.

Who am I kidding? I've never shot anyone. I'm terrified.

My entire body trembles as I step into the living room, aiming the gun in every corner. Nothing is there. Only the ridiculous half-dead plant I bought the other day.

"I won't call the cops if you get out of my house now. I won't cause a scene. I won't shoot." I might shoot.

On accident.

Because my fingers are shaking so much, I might pull the trigger.

"Please," I beg the intruder, spinning around when I think I hear a noise.

The front door is wide open, spilling in the light. Milo would never leave it open. He's too protective of me. I know him. He probably checked the lock three times before leaving.

Out of nowhere, the front door slams shut and all the lights in the house turn off.

My breathing becomes fast and heavy. I turn four different times, aiming the barrel of the gun in every direction possible, but nothing is there.

What closed the door?

"I don't know who you think you are, but this isn't fucking funny!" I scream, reaching for the light switch in the kitchen.

I flick it over, again and again with no luck. The electricity is out. There's no storm that could have done this. It's a sunny day.

My cellphone is in the bedroom. No one will be able to get here in time if someone is in the house.

"Listen, I don't want anyone to get hurt. I'm only trying to move on with my life. Please, just leave me alone." I hate begging but I'll do anything at this point to be left alone, to save myself, and what other choice do I have if it means Ty is alive?

He has to be. Although, this is unlike him. He typically is loud, demanding, and uses his brute strength against me before I can do anything.

The silence around me is screaming in new volumes I didn't know existed.

I put one foot in front of the other, taking my time, and careful not to step on the floorboards that creak.

My towel is ripped from my body when I take my next step. I swing the gun, hoping to aim it at the intruder's face but no one is there.

Did the towel fall?

I swear I felt the tug as if someone grabbed it and ripped it from my body. I bend down to pick it up when a force grabs me by the hair and yanks it back. The gun falls from my hand, and it's kicked across the floor. The metal slides until it hits against the opposite wall where I can't reach it.

"Look how fucking pretty you are on your knees for me."

My mouth parts when I hear Rhett's voice. I know I'm not asleep. Am I? I fall backward, crawling away from the delusion.

"You have no idea what you do to me." Something snags me by the ankle and yanks me across the floor. "I'm desperate for you, Beloved. Every craving I have, only you can sate."

He's saying all the things I wish a lover would say to me. This is how I know it's all in my head. Men like this do not exist and my wish to be treated as if I'm the most important person in the world to my significant other has now damaged me.

I'm imagining Rhett. I've made up his voice.

"You aren't real." I crawl away again, tears forming in my eyes when the reality of needing more help than a therapist can bring, has my emotions breaking free. "Nothing about this is real. Nothing about you is real. How you make me feel is just a dream."

I kick him away and stand, running down the hall to my room. I slam the door, locking it for good measure, and cover my face with my quaking hands.

"You're okay. He isn't real." The words are a broken sob as they escape me. Folding my hands into a steeple position, I stare at the door as if I'm waiting for it to burst open.

My legs become jittery while I stand here.

"You'll go check yourself into a mental health facility. Nothing to be ashamed of."

"You really think locking yourself away from me will work?" The depth of his voice travels up my spine. "Do you really believe I won't follow you everywhere? No amount of help. No amount of medication. No amount of therapy will be enough to keep me away from you." The phantom touch of his hand wraps around the back of my neck and I gasp. "No matter where you are, I'll find you. You belong to me, Mickey. I'll always be in your head." His finger taps on my temple. "I'll always be in your heart." The same digit slides down my chest causing me to inhale sharply. "And you better believe I'll always be inside you."

I gasp when his hand cups my pussy before two fingers slip inside me.

"If there is one person you don't need to be afraid of, it's me, My Timid Little Bloom."

I try to back away from him— it— whatever is controlling me right now— and I'm slammed against the wall. His long thick fingers slide deeper, and I whimper.

"You aren't real." I squeeze my eyes shut and count to five.

"Oh, I'm real. Feel this?" He slides his fingers in and out, ever so slowly, curling them in a come hither motion.

I practically climb up the wall with how good it feels— even with how sore I am.

"That's fucking real, Mickey. And does it matter if it isn't? As long as you feel good, that's all that matters." Rhett begins to move his hand faster, fucking me harder.

I glance down and I see the same thing that helped me swing the sledgehammer. I'm able to see more of his body this time. My mind truly decided to make the man of my dreams a monster.

My delusion has come to life.

And he is beautiful. At least, the parts I can see are. Some areas are completely invisible while others have a faint outline and I'm able to see what my broken mind has conjured up.

One arm has me caged against the wall. His bicep is huge, flexing and showing the strength and definition of his form. His bottom half is too blurry to see, but his chest is wide, triple my size, and there are scales on his shoulders.

I understand my hallucination now. He's part crocodile, like the one I met by the lake, and from the cracks across his chest, he is a gargoyle too, just like the one in my front yard.

How sick am I that I would prefer a beast to a man because nothing in my mind could be more monstrous than a human being?

"You can try all you want to escape me," he whispers followed by a purr, a trill that vibrates in my own chest. "But I know where you will be. I can smell you. I'll hunt you down if you ever leave me."

Flashes of what Ty did when he hunted me down have me denying every word this… hallucination is saying.

"No need to be afraid, Mickey. My sweet, sweet Mickey. I'm going to find the man who did this to you." The claw dragging across my scars is a stark reminder of how this moment isn't real. "I know he's alive." He runs those long claws through my hair before gripping it, forcing me to look at his face by tilting my head back.

He's so tall. His face is blurry for certain parts, truly ghostly and I'm unable to see all of him, but from what I can, he has a very square jaw and a strong defined nose. His eyes are reptilian, the same shade and shape as the crocodile in the lake.

I'm so fucking sick for dreaming up this man— beast— person. I'm horrified for myself and turned on because he hasn't stopped stroking my g-spot with his skilled fingers.

"I'm going to hunt him down and bring you his body. I'm going to kill him in your name, for your name, and we will fuck in his blood to celebrate our victory."

My eyes roll to the back of my head as Rhett speaks my deepest, darkest desires.

I have more. More that I've only shared with my therapist. A fucked up deep craving I've had ever since I escaped Ty.

With someone I trust, with someone who will allow me to control the situation, I want to be forced. The sick need has been building inside me, nearly breaking me without understanding why I'd want something so vile when that was one of the main reasons why I ran from Ty.

My therapist said I have a "force" fantasy which is very different than rape since rape holds violence and harm. Most women who want this want to replace the fear with pleasure that comes with the haunted term.

I'm still learning what it means, and I don't know if I'll ever have the strength to take my control back, but Rhett makes me want to try.

He isn't real. He is a figment of my imagination, so wouldn't I be safe?

"Stop."

"Stop?" he tsks, inserting another finger. "You don't want me to really stop, do you? I feel how wet you are for me."

I shove at his chest and with each push, I'm able to see him solidified for a moment. His chest is made of stone, and he has abs that have been carved to last forever.

His fingers slip free as he stumbles. I take the opportunity to run, but he grabs me by the back of the neck and throws me on the bed. I go to open my mouth to yell at him. Before I can speak though, his cock fills my mouth and hits the back of my throat.

A cock I can't see.

"Is this what I have to do to shut you up, Mickey? Do I need to fuck this pretty mouth? Do you know how hard it has been to be stone throughout the day and not see you? But now we are mated, and I can come have you any time I fucking want."

Whips of small stings on my chin and cheeks have me whimpering.

"Those are my jellyfish tentacles. Don't mind them."

Don't mind them? I love the slight pain. I want more. I cough and gag, slapping his thigh to get him away from me all the while I'm sucking him deeper.

Truthfully, I don't want him to go anywhere.

He reaches between my legs and drives his fingers inside me again before pulling them out, tampon and all. Blood drips down his fingers. I completely forgot I was on my period. He moans as he sucks them into his mouth, the red working its way down his throat.

His cock apparition invades my mouth and with every other thrust, I'm able to see the tentacles, the jellyfish appearance he spoke about. He has ribbon-like sides down his cock, his tip resembles the head of a jellyfish.

I bite down on his shaft and his tail wraps around my throat to stop me.

"Careful mate. That only turns me on more. Bite me, scratch me, fuck me up to the point where I'm bleeding, and I will love every second of it." His hands grip the sides of my head to keep me in place, flexing his hips back and forth as he uses my mouth.

"Snapdragons," he grumbles. "You'll say your codeword to tell me to stop. Won't you?"

I nod to my illusion, curious as to how he knows about the word that saved my life.

"But you won't say it because you fucking love this." He pulls out from between my lips. "Because you know in the chambers of your darkened heart, I would never hurt you." He flips me onto my stomach and pulls my ass up in the air. "But I'll let you hurt me if that is what it takes for you to live the life you deserve."

My visitant rams himself into me, pressing my head against the pillows, the sheets still messy from last night.

"Last night…" I groan when it hits me that he is the reason for how filthy I was.

"You fucked me in my statue form. You can't get enough of me when you're sleepwalking."

"You aren't real," I say more to myself than him.

He thrusts deeper, gripping me by my long hair, forcing me to arch my back, and I cry out.

"Does this not feel real, Mickey? I'm stretching your pretty cunt wide. You feel every inch of my big cock."

"It's all in my head." I grip the sheets as he drives himself into me. Our skin slaps together, his heavy sack slapping my pussy every time he thrusts to the hilt. "You're only in my head. Fuck!" I shout from how good he is making me feel.

I try to kick him away, but it only makes him fuck me faster and harder.

He feels so much better than Ty ever did, filling me in ways Ty never could.

Rhett changes our positions, pulling me to his chest as he lies down on his back. I turn around, unable to see anything other than the messy bedsheet beneath me, but the cock making me squirm and moan lets me know something is there, allowing me to ride him.

Unless it's all in my head.

I jump off him from the bed, more blood smeared across my thighs.

I can't do this. I'm insane. I miss Rhett's cock inside me. I'm empty.

I'm sick.

I dash to the door again and Rhett is there, slamming me against it.

"You can't get away from me. I know what you want. I hear your thoughts, Mickey. I know you want more than this." He fills me again, effectively stealing my breath. "Tell me. I'll make it happen."

He growls into my throat, banging us against the door with every long stroke. My orgasm is close, pathetically close due to the circumstances. I never had an orgasm with Ty because I knew with him, it meant violence.

Rhett means pleasure and my body knows that— my heart knows that.

"You love being fucked by what you can't see."

I do. I love it so much, but there is a part of me that believes I'm asleep and everything about this is living in my fantasy world, my dream escape.

"We are going to have so much fun, My Timid Little Bloom."

I slap my hand against the door, taking every brutal inch and thrust Rhett gives me. His claws dig into my sides, and the familiar vibration that led me outside sounds again.

"I'm losing my mind. I'm insane." The door slams against the trim, the hinges rattling and threatening to break.

"It feels so fucking good, doesn't it?"

I shatter, tightening around my imaginary lover. "Rhett! Oh, fuck, yes, more." My head thuds against the door, and I gasp as the orgasm tingles my entire body.

And then he slides out of me, forces me onto my back, slams me against the door again, lifts my leg onto his shoulder, and his face is between my legs.

He snarls as he feasts, and I roll my hips against his face.

"I'm— I'm— on my—" I pinch my nipples, rolling them between my fingers tightly until it hurts.

I want the pain.

"I know. And you taste so fucking good, Mickey. You feed the vampire. Don't ever waste your period when I'm here." His tongue warms my channel, tingling the muscles and threatening another orgasm as it builds.

He stands, wraps my legs around his hips, and thrusts in.

We moan together and he plunges his tongue into my mouth. I'm able to taste myself and my blood, and it is disgusting.

Yet, I don't mind as he kisses me as if he is trying to possess me.

"Take my fucking cock, Mate. I'm going to fill your cunt with so much come, you'll have no choice but to carry my child. You'll be bound to me."

I barely have a warning before he comes and the electric shock of it latches onto my g-spot, shocking it with every stream he burdens me with. I orgasm, the electric current causing multiple orgasms back-to-back.

"Don't move," he warns, his cock becoming harder and thicker. "You take my stone knot so well, Mate."

My eyes fall shut and I know when I wake up, this will all have been a dream and I'll have no reason to believe a ghost fucked me.

My torment reminds me of all the pain associated with my trauma, but so much more haunts me now than ever before.