EroticReverie

This is Part Two to Devils Hallow 

Jinx …..Three months later 

Getting dressed for work my eyes go to the healed engraving on my skin. My lips tight with the renewed anger I get everytime I look at it. 

He’d drugged me. Marked me. And sent me away. I’d woken up in the backseat of the car with four pissed off friends. That car was silent the whole way home. Regan never spoke to me again. As expected the rest of them haven’t either. Regan told them what I’d done. To them, it didn’t matter that THEY had been the ones that decided to go to Devils Hallow. Apparently my being an accomplice to Regan’s new chest piece , made ME the shit friend. 

I pull on my long sleeved black shirt and try to lie to myself as I do everyday , every fucking moment, that I’m not mad. Even though I clearly am. Mad at my friends. Mad at HIM. 

I’d given that motherfucker my virginity. Turned into a different person because of him. While I wasn’t proud of what I’d done to Regan. I WAS proud that I didn’t care all the much when they’d dropped me off home and never spoke to me again. I hated that Butcher was right. That I didn’t need them as friends. But now, I had nobody. It was kind of fucking lonely. But I’d rather be lonely that be their source of entertainment by “forcing” me into doing things I didn’t enjoy. I wouldn’t allow myself to be stepped anymore. 

I’d gone back to Devils Hallow last month. Drove up to the gate and pressed the stupid buzzer about a million times. No answer. 

When I’d pulled up the website to call, to demand that Butcher show his fucking face , demand he fucking apologize, or demand he do anything at all, the website was wiped. Just a black screen. 

“Devils Hallow is closed until further notice.” 

My stomach dropped and my eyes had looked through the gates. He wasn’t there. Nobody was there. I’d even posted outside the gate like a psycho for the rest of the day and all night , waiting to see anyone enter or leave. Nothing. 

I’m not proud of how hard I cried once I got back home and realized I had no fucking way of contacting the man that I would be better off just forgetting. But I couldn’t. I’d tried. For two months. Then knew I couldn’t. I need closure, something for what he somehow made me feel. So that’s why I’d gone. And when he wasn’t there. I’d spiraled. Got drunk four nights in a row and tore apart my apartment in a fit of rage that I wasn’t proud of.  He’d made me fucking crazy, just like him. 

I’d spent days trying to search for anything, any other tales of others experiences from Devils Hallow. But nothing came up. As if it was wiped clean. And when I went to visit the website again , it was gone entirely. As if it never fucking existed. 

I pull my hair up into a ponytail and grab the pocket knife I bought last week. No, not because it reminds me of him and makes me feel closer to him. I’m not that crazy. But there isn’t any other reason for it. And I’m just continuing to lie to myself. 

I go to work. And as always my entire day is spent daydreaming of my worst nightmare. Of those twenty four hours. All that happened. How I’d pissed myself. How Butcher has forced

His hands and mouth on me. How he’d made me that shirt. How I’d been his Mouse. I replay everything over and over , and endless loop in my brain. I know I should be grateful that he sent me home, that he disappeared. Because I didn’t belong with someone like Butcher. 

So why did I feel like I did?

——-

The area I live in is relatively safe. Also, the darkness that used to scare me, doesn’t anymore. At least not as much as it used to. 

Even though I have a car, I often walk to work. Because it’s only a few miles from my house. A small coffee shop on a cozy little street filled with a bunch of other shops. I close up for the night and make sure the other barista gets to her car safely before I walk down the street, a few other shops closing up. 

The wind blows my hair , whipping my ponytail and leaves whirls across the pavement and wind into little miniature tornadoes as they circle in spots before blowing across the street and yards. 

I walk up to my apartment steps with an unexplainable sense of panic. My head whipping around , expecting to find someone right there behind me. I feel like I’m being watched. My hands shaking , filled with fear I was so sure I’d conquered. 

I shove the key in the lock and throw the door open and pull it shut quickly to make sure it locks. My eyes peeking out at the dark street. There’s nobody. Other than a woman further down getting into her car. I breathe hard and close my eyes. Then walk into the apartment building and to the elevator. 

I groan when there’s an out of service sign on it. I lived on the fourth floor. And at least once a week the elevator was out of service in the old building. 

I go to end of the hall to the stairs and my heart beats rapidly when I push it open to find the entire stairwell completely dark. 

You’re not scared. The building is old. Shit is always broken. This is what you get for the cheapest rent you can find. 

The only lights are the dim glow of the of one that’s apparently still lit on the sixth floor. I let the door shut behind me and tiptoe over to the stair case and peek up through the different levels of the stairs. The one light up top flickers. I swallow hard. 

I’d just have to run. There’s nobody here. Stop being so fucking scared. You’re not that girl anymore. 

I grip the railing and go as fast as my small legs can take me. Ashamed of the way panic makes my eyes water. My heart racing with fear that was close to what I felt that first night at Devils Hallow, being chase to the point of pissing myself. I feel my bladder grow heavy with the urge to release as my shoes slap against the steps. I scramble up the stairs. Tripping and falling onto my knees as I scream. Then pushing back up and continuing to run.  The light flickers out from the sixth floor and I scream as I freeze. The entire hall pitch black. What floor am I on? My hands slip to the side and I feel my way in the dark. My bladder trickling slowly as I fight it. Panic seizing me harder than it did that night. No. I didn’t want to be scared. But I was. I was fucking terrified. 

Warm urine spreads down my pant legs as I cry with anger and shame and fear. My cheeks soaked with tears. 

I finally manage to get to my floor and suck in a breath when the lights of the hall greet me as I open the door and collapse to the floor. K hands and knees, sobbing quietly. 

I push up and shamefully run to my door so none of my neighbors can come out and find me smelling of piss and see me crying like a baby. 

I feel my lower lip trembling as I try to unlock my door and fit the key in the hole through my tears. 

I push the door open and fall in , against the wall. Feeling like I’ve crossed some kind of safety line by having my feet planted inside of my apartment. 

But the false sense of safety is crushed when I feel it again. The sense of being watched. Being hunted. Was it just trauma of what happened at devils hallow , finally manifesting ? I go to reach for the light. 

But as I do, my front door is slammed shut and I suck in a breath. A scream leaves my mouth, but not before a large gloved hand muffles it. I nearly collapse with fear.

A large body behind me , their other arm wrapped around my middle. Their face hits mine from the side and presses into the side of my head. I can feel it. The plastic. The curve of a devils grin against my cheek. Or was I imagining it?

I fight. But it’s useless. Tears soak my eyes and cheeks and I scream into the hand that holds me. This wasn’t him. It felt like him. I wanted it to be him. But this wasn’t devils hallow. It couldn’t be him. There was some man in my apartment about to make me a story on the news. I beg into his hand.  My pleads for my life muffled still. 

“Shhh.” I hear him hush me as his arm loosens and my heart thumps loudly. It’s just a whisper. But I stop screaming. I know that soft sound. 

The hand that was around my middle slides down and right between my legs. 

“Adorable.” He groans. His hand pushing over my pussy and piss soaked leggings. 

“you gonna scream again?” He asks and I shake my head. 

He was here. Butcher. Was here. In my fucking apartment. I couldn’t decide if I was pissed off, or relieved. Couldn’t decide if I should try to kick him in the dick or beg him to fuck me. My brain had several conflicting feelings. 

“Miss me Mouse?” He asks as he drops his hand from my mouth. 

I’m shaking as his hand between my legs slides up and both hands go to my pants and he pushes them down. I whimper feeling the fabric roll down my legs as I stand there with my hands to the wall. 

“Butcher” I moan. 

He grabs me and takes me right to my bed and throws me atop it and I watch him as he pulls down his pants. His cock and all of its piercings , just like I remember it. 

Then his hand lifts up to the mask, his fingers grabbing the bottom of it ..lifting …that jaw, that mouth and his teeth, all of which I was able to see once before, my heart pounds and I’m staring. Waiting. Needing to see him. Finally. 

But that’s where it stops. That’s where the dream always stops. Or nightmare however you look at it. 

——

My eyes fly open and stare at my ceiling. Feeling how wet I am between my legs as they shift and I whimper.

It’s the same dream. Everytime. Different locations. But always the same. Him coming back. Finding me. Hunting me down and promising to take me again. Going to lift off that mask , showing what I already know of his face, before I’m thrown awake. 

I close my eyes as I cry in frustration.  I needed some kind of fucking therapy. Not one night has gone by where I’m not dreaming of him. 

I roll over. And bury my face into my pillow and scream.