June’s POV:
Hours pass—I think.
The overhead lights flicker again. Then cut out completely.
Ergency red floods the space, glowing like blood.
I hear footsteps.
I bolt upright, heart hamring.
Justin.
But the door doesn’t open.
The cara above pans slightly to the left.
Whoever’s watching is still watching.
Still waiting.
Still feeding.
I pace now. Back and forth. Whispering numbers to keep the voices down.
One. Two. Three.
Justin.
One. Two. Three.
Justin.
"Where are you?" I cry.
"I know you’re looking."
I press my palm to the wall, forehead resting against it.
"Please."
Tears slip down my face again. Silent. Bitter.
"I don’t want to be crazy again."
I can feel her—the other .
The one that ca out when they pushed too far.
The one that stopped being afraid and started to enjoy the pain.
She’s pacing too. Inside my head.
Let out.
No.
I beat her before.
I survived.
I built a life.
With Justin.
I can’t lose him now.
The door creaks open.
I spin.
But it’s not him.
It’s a tray of food—slid in quickly, silently. I catch a glimpse of white shoes before the door closes again.
They’re still treating like property. Like a test subject.
Like... Number Twelve.
I don’t eat.
I don’t sleep.
I just stare at the tray until it’s cold.
Until I’m colder.
Flashback: Justin’s Escape
It was night.
Sirens screaming in the distance.
Chaos in the halls.
He ca for , blood on his face, hand outstretched.
"Run," he said.
No hesitation.
He’d already killed two guards.
He was a boy—but he looked like a monster.
Like mine.
I ran with him.
Even when they chased us.
Even when he carried when I couldn’t run anymore.
We jumped the fence and never looked back.
I whisper now: "Do it again."
"Co get ."
"Please."
I sink to the floor again.
My body trembles.
My hands are bloodied.
The tray is untouched.
The light still red.
And the cara still blinking.
Watching.
Always watching.
They’ll co for again soon. Strap down. Try sothing new.
They always do.
They’ll call "it."
They’ll try to find the monster again.
I won’t give them the satisfaction.
I’m not Number Twelve.
Not anymore.
But I’m also not safe.
Not yet.
And Justin?
Still hasn’t co.
I lower my head to the ground and whisper one last ti:
"Please... please co get ."
No one answers.
Not even the voices.
And that’s when I start to cry.
I don’t know how long I stayed there—alone with the voices in my head and the white walls looking at . The silence pressed down on , thick and suffocating, and it was ssing with my mind, making everything feel jagged and raw.
The need for human interaction was overwhelming. Heck, even a goat would’ve been appreciated at this point. Anything, anyone, to break the silence that clung to my skin like dust.
I could feel my sanity fraying at the edges, one thread at a ti. Every mont felt like an eternity. My hands shook as I pressed them against my face, feeling the warmth of tears that had dried long ago. It wasn’t just the coldness of the walls; it was the emptiness in my chest, the way everything felt so far from , like I was disconnected from everything that used to matter.
The voices were louder now, not speaking words, but echoing emotions—whispers of desperation, of rage, of a hunger that gnawed at my insides. I used to push them down, to silence them with thoughts of Justin, of the life I had started to rebuild with him. But now... now it was just too much. They were all I had left in this sterile cage of a room.
The silence would stretch for hours, and then, just when I thought I was going to snap, there would be a rustle outside the door. My heart would race, my ears straining to catch any sign of life. But each ti it was nothing. Silence again.
I was losing my mind. I knew it. The room didn’t feel real anymore. It was like I was floating in a dream, stuck between two realities—one where I was free, where I had a future with Justin... and one where I was just a test subject, discarded and forgotten.
I pushed myself up from the cold, hard floor, pacing the room in tight, frantic circles. I couldn’t stay still. I couldn’t breathe. I needed sothing, anything, to remind that I was still human, that I wasn’t just a lab rat, waiting for so cruel experint to take my last shred of sanity.
Every step felt like it was crushing under its weight. But I had no choice but to keep moving, to keep trying to survive. If I didn’t, I’d be swallowed whole by the emptiness, by the hunger.
A muffled sound reached my ears—a creak, a soft shuffle. My head snapped toward the door. Is soone there?
I held my breath, waiting, but all that followed was the cold, crushing silence.
I dropped back to the floor, knees buckling beneath . The voices whispered again, clawing at the edges of my mind, pushing further down into the abyss.
The white walls closed in. The hunger inside grew.
*******
Just then, the door creaked open with a soft chanical hiss. I scrambled up so fast I nearly slipped, heart slamming against my ribs. My breath caught.
And then I saw him.
"Nate?"
Relief hit like a freight train, ssy and loud. My knees gave out with the force of it, and I let myself collapse to the ground, laughing—no, gasping—like soone who’d just breached the surface after drowning.
"Thank God," I choked. "Nate—quick—help . Please. Get the hell out of here."
He stepped into the room slowly, his familiar figure bathed in the sterile overhead light. White coat. Clipboard. I blinked, confused for a mont. But I was too frantic, too shaken, to register what I was seeing.
"I knew—I knew soone would co," I rambled, eyes stinging. "You have no idea what they’re doing here—what they’re doing to . I thought I was going insane—Nate, please."
I tried to crawl toward him. My voice cracked. My legs trembled beneath . I felt like I might throw up again, but I didn’t care.
"Hey," I whispered, clinging to the edge of hope. "Co on. Help ."
But he didn’t move.
He didn’t kneel.
He didn’t offer his hand.
He just... stood there.
Watching .
Expression unreadable.
A knot of confusion curled tight in my chest. "Nate...?"
Then he smiled.
Not kindly.
Not comfortingly.
It was... clinical.
Cold.
Detached.
Like a man admiring his subject.
My blood went cold.
"What... what is this?" I whispered, my voice splintering.
He took another step forward, his eyes scanning from head to toe—not with worry or concern—but with observation. Like I was a living report.
"I always knew you’d be fascinating under pressure," he murmured, scribbling sothing on the clipboard. "Isolation’s doing its job faster than expected."
I froze.
A sharp ringing filled my ears.
"What... what the fuck are you talking about?"
He tilted his head, as if amused. "It’s really sothing—seeing you like this. Raw. Unfiltered. It’s better than the initial projection reports."
My throat closed.
No.
No no no no no no no.
"You’re... part of this?"
Nate smiled wider. "You’re smarter than you look when you’re not trying to seduce your way out of everything."
The words hit like a slap.
I stumbled backward, my spine hitting the wall.
"You were watching ?" My voice cracked, barely above a whisper. "All this ti?"
He gave a soft laugh. "Observing, June. Clinical assessnt. Behavioral data. Watching is what stalkers do. I’m a professional."
The betrayal made the room spin. My stomach turned. "You... you were hired before the sester started."
He nodded casually. "Six weeks before. Embedded under a behavioral psychology fellowship. They brought in as part of the secondary arm of the project."
"You’re one of them."
"Not the grunts in the lab coats, no," he replied with a smirk. "I was field work. Social integration. Real-world feedback. But you—you were the jackpot."
My lips parted. Nothing ca out.
"You weren’t supposed to be so charming, though," he added, crouching just far enough to look at from a new angle. "I admit, you were... morable."
That one night.
That one fucking night.
My skin crawled. I wanted to tear it off, scrub it raw, scream until it bled.
"You slept with ," I rasped.
"Had to assess all interaction trics," he said, unapologetically. "And you’re not exactly hard to get into bed."
I lunged.
But my body betrayed —weak from dehydration, disoriented from god knows what cocktail they’d pumped into .
I collapsed halfway across the floor, a sob choking in my throat.
Nate didn’t flinch. Just calmly took another note.
"You were doing so well out there, June. The boyfriend, the normal life. You almost convinced you’d stabilized."
"Justin," I whispered, tears streaming down my cheeks now. "He’ll co for ."
"Oh, I’m counting on it," he said, eyes gleaming. "They want to see what happens when a monster falls apart. When he loses his reason to behave."
"No," I whimpered, shaking. "No. He’ll kill you."
"Maybe. But not before we get what we need."
I stared up at him, vision blurred, heart thudding in broken, uneven beats.
The pieces clicked slowly.
Too slowly.
He’d been there during the week I felt watched. The strange texts. The shadows at night.
He was always just close enough.
The clipboard. The coat. The quiet precision.
He was never trying to help .
He was studying .
The laugh that left my throat was ragged and hollow, a wounded animal noise.
"You’re fucking sick," I hissed. "You all are."
He stood and walked toward the door without another word.
Before he left, he paused—just long enough to glance over his shoulder.
"Sleep tight, Number Twelve."
The door clicked shut.
And then the screaming began.
Reviews
All reviews (0)