The Beast In Me (The Beast And Me Book 2)

by D. S. Wrights

There was nothing more that I wanted to do than ripping this tube out of my throat which made me feel like I was suffocating, although it probably had kept me alive until then.

  I was about to lose it right then.

  I knew it.

  I couldn’t remember that my heart had ever beaten that fast. The rapid beeping of my monitor started to irritate me, and I could feel anger, far beyond any enragement I had known before, rising up from within.

  That was when all of the sudden, the machine next to me turned silent.

  I could hear a movement, a slow, blurred shadow that turned into a hand being placed gently on my forehead.

  “Relax, Lieutenant Flynn", a female voice that was oddly familiar spoke softly and my eyes began focusing on its source.

  It was Dr. Valerie Winters smiling at me warmly.

  You can see why I am worried. Just let me be wrong.

  Day 117

  Were your days just like mine?

  Were you trying to get them over with until you saw me again?

  Can I even compare that?

  For all I know you knew that the only thing that was going to happen to you was me molesting you.

  What did you think of me?

  I caught myself holding your diary in my hands. I wasn’t even really thinking about it, only thinking of you. There wasn’t any conscious intention of reading what you wrote, and still I kept staring at this tiny nondescript book wondering. Wondering what you had thought, wondering how you could ever have found the possibility to feel for me, to care for me, to fall in love with me.

  I don’t have any explanation.

  I don’t.

  Even the theory of you somehow recognizing me is... inconceivable. You were too young, it has been so many years, how could you possibly remember me?

  Does instinct run that deep?

  I, of all people, should know because my instinct is a creature inside of me. That Beast is nothing but that.

  And that Beast didn’t want to hurt you either.

  It just... it wanted you, all of you. The Beast wanted you to be his, to be safe, to be loved by you. And that is exactly what I want.

  Accepting this, admitting it feels like tearing down a wall, neglecting a line that I have drawn ever since I woke up to finding myself a prisoner in my own body.

  I have fought it, battled it, with all I had and I always lost, always made it more furious than it already was.

  So now, I blame myself for hurting you that first time. I know that I already wrote about it, already said it. You know I will never truly forgive myself, even though you forgave me, but maybe I will be able to accept what had happened and leave it behind me.

  For you.

  * * *

  I remember more clearly now.

  Maybe it’s your scent, still lingering on your diary, faintly clinging to your shirt, or probably seeing you lying there, unconscious, which reminds me of how I must have looked like being in a coma.

  The thought that they might do the same to you, terrifies me in a way I never thought be possible, but then again, to trigger that transformation, you have to be close to death, they have to pressure your body into fighting for survival.

  Why else would they have waited for me to lay there dying to ask me if I wanted to live?

  But right now, I just can’t think of this, I just cannot go there, it would drive me mad and out of control. And control is the only thing I have, the only thing I might have left of use for me and for White, that one thing you gave me without knowing.

  I owe you so much and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to tell you. I wish so badly that I could tell you. That’s what will help me get through this.

  I’ll find a way.

  Like I wrote before: I remember more clearly now, and even though a huge part of it turns the blood in my veins into liquid guilt, I am trying to relive it.

  Maybe, one day, we will be able to talk, and tell each other how we felt, how we lived through this. It’s not that I doubt what you’ve told me, I just have to understand how you can feel like this for me, when what you went through was that horrible...

  I’m doing it again.

  It won’t help me to save you, drowning myself in guilt. It won’t give me any strength or determination for what I might have to do. There’ll be a lot time left for wearing myself down.

  * * *

  That time, that moment, when I got to see you again, after I had injured you, wounded you that badly, I remember it.

  That clanking of the chains, of your cuffs, they already had conditioned the Beast in me.

  I can feel my hairs standing up straight just by the thought of it. Just like then. And my pulse speeding up a bit.

  Just like then, like every time.

  I know I comprehended the words that were uttered. The Beast did, and so I remember them. Yet, I can’t recall entering my side of the cage, or closing in on you, but I still can hear your pounding heart, your shallow breath, your tongue darting out to wet your lips, as if you had intended to answer a ‘yes’ to that question whether you wanted them to remove the wall.

  That wall made of steel bars, which was separating you from me, and us from each other, us from you.

  I remember my body reacting instantly.

  My muscles twitching into movement, as the Beast was yearning to touch you again, my chest tightening, my lungs aching, my nerves burning. And I keep wondering if it was solely longing, yearning for you, or rather if it was worry, concern, guilt. I’m not sure if it has just been wishful thinking, or if that memory is true that it wanted to make sure that you were okay, to see if your wounds were mended. However, no matter how strong, how painful that longing to touch you, to make sure you were okay, the Beast didn’t touch you, I didn’t touch you.

  I cannot see a clear line between the two of us anymore, the Beast and me, I mean. Because of all that I remember, these emotions, as raw and primitive they are, when it comes to you, I just know they are what I would feel, if I were in my state of mine.

  It’s terrifying. But it is true.

  Your voice, your words, then, was like rain after a decade of aridity, turning into a flood, washing away everything that wasn’t rooted deeply into the earth. Needless to say that nothing held it back, because you told me that it was okay, that you were fine, and the ‘now’ you added still echoes in my mind.

  Even after you told me for the first time of so many times that it wasn’t my fault. You already had been treasured by me then, but that little sentence tore down absolutely everything inside of me. It still makes me shiver, makes my skin turn to ice, it still makes me want to scream at the top of my lungs, threatens to make me burst into tears.

  With this insignificant phrase you undid me and put me back together and all that had been wrong with me suddenly was right. I know that now, because in that very second the Beast heard those words, and that final word, it was me who started to hear again, to listen again, to think again, and to be me again.

  Right then and there you saved me, and I was yours. I know it’s a cheesy thing to say, I know this sound so romantically thick that it has to sound ridiculous.

  It’s the truth, however.

  All this anger, wrath, hate, and disdain, which had reigned me, and had fueled my feelings of guilt and self-loathing just as the Beast’s blind rage, it was gone, washed away. That firestorm burning my insides extinguished.

  I remember how this excruciating yearning for touching you had multiplied, how the distance between us vanished just like the numbness of my senses.

  I wasn’t just a watcher anymore, a chained prisoner in my own body, I was more than that, because I could feel again.

  And I wanted to touch you, to hug you, to protect you. But still, I was so terrified of the idea of hurting you again. So was the Beast.

  Our emotions were aligned. I know that now. Maybe they always had been and I simply was too blind to see.

  I only dared to pick a strain of your hair, brushing it away, accidentall
y touching your cheek; and then I couldn’t stop myself, couldn’t stop it, to bring the fingers of my clawed hands back to your skin.

  The electric buzz of the speaker was like a current tensing my body painfully, reloading the anger your words had eased into nothingness.

  My hands moved on their own again, carrying out the last order that had taken over my mind clearly: making sure that you were okay.

  As the speaker was killed again, it went totally sideways. My hands continued to investigate your injuries, shoving up that t-shirt, and they found the scars.

  Guilt was drowning me again. I could hear myself hiss in disdain towards myself, and all I felt was the need to make it good again, even though I knew that I couldn’t make these scars disappear.

  And still, there was something else lingering, something it, the Beast, was feeling. You know that truly it’s a side of me. I cannot deny it anymore.

  There was something else in the movement, in the way my fingers touched your scars.

  It was something else than regret entirely. Something about the way you reacted to that touch.

  My head moved and I felt my lips brushing over those cicatrices, scars I had created, from injuries that hadn’t killed you, but marked you.

  Something strange started to rage inside me, hearing you inhale sharply as I tried to kiss those scars away or etch them deeper into your skin, wanting to mark you in an entirely different way.

  Having you that close, your scent was intoxicating and my emotions were still tumbling chaotically through my body. The Beast took control, or rather the purest instinct of them all combined with... I don’t know, so many things.

  Tasting your skin for the first time... I didn’t lose it.

  I let go.

  Sensing that your reaction wasn’t trying to struggle away or tense out of terror, there was nothing really holding me back. I forgot where I was, who I was, what I was, moving up your marked stomach, up to the lower rim of your bra.

  That’s when I realized, rationally, what this was about.

  And that I didn’t mind.

  Even worse: I didn’t care.

  I wanted you, and I wanted you to be able to forget it all as well: where you were, what you were, what I was.

  These thoughts gave me a kind of control I hadn’t felt for a long time. And even though it didn’t go that far so that I was still able to push the Beast beneath the surface, I realized that as long as we wanted the same, it was more agreeable to my intentions.

  It wanted to make everything alright again.

  And so did I.

  I cannot say who it was, but it surely was my hands, my clawed hands that pulled down the fabric covering your hips and all beyond. My mouth, my tongue were quick to follow and the sound you made... it was more than just music in my ears, it was a symphony to my body: it was encouraging me.

  You made me forget. No, more than that, you made me realize that despite it all it was okay. I was okay. You didn’t despise me and so I didn’t either.

  I didn’t worry. I wasn’t afraid to let my instincts take over, only your reactions to guide me. Your whimpers, your shrieks, your moans, which weren’t the results of horror or pain, but longing, were sending waves of caressing shivers down my back.

  Like this, I could make it alright, and through this, I could give you back what you had given me. It was so easy to forget about myself just through listening to you.

  Still, what the Beast wanted, what I wanted, was lingering, smoldering, growing more demandingly until it protested as your weight was only supported by me holding you, by your body begging for mine.

  That’s what it felt like.

  You were breathing heavily, shivering, and your body was covered in a faint glow, shimmering from sweat, your cheeks bright red, your blood rushing through your veins in a fast beat.

  You were so beautiful, you are still, but right then I knew that a part of you was already mine.

  I just had to look at you for a moment, so I had moved away from you without realizing, cautiously touching your hip with one hand. Your reaction was instant, but for no one to see. Yet, I could feel it, I could sense you being electrified, because I simply had touched you.

  And there was no holding back, no doubt, but caution. The only emotion stronger than desire right then was my fear of hurting you again and I didn’t care if it was tormenting me, going slowly.

  You were my reward, your reaction, your sounds, were my reward and all I needed, almost more than what you made me feel by feeling you around me.

  And still, holding myself back was torture, even more when your sounds whipped through me, ordering me to lose it.

  I could hear myself growl in protest and you were reacting instantly, and so differently from what I expected. You lifted your hips to meet me and all my restraints were gone.

  I barely remember the details. There are just raw feelings left in my memory. It would have been like a dream, relieving, freeing, perfect, if it hadn’t been for them to order me to back off, turning me back into a monster, not giving me a chance to hold you, to make sure that I really didn’t hurt you, to comfort you.

  Who can really imagine how it must have been for you?

  How it still is for you? Knowing that you’ve been abused, raped by a monster, a beast.

  I can’t.

  Returned to my cell I was... lost, in chaos, conflicted. So many emotions were rampaging through me that I tried to relieve myself by going through the wall, breaking my furniture. It wasn’t like it really was comfortable anyhow.

  I hated them even more now for making me do this to you, I hated myself just the same. Although I knew that what had just happened was the only reason for you being here. You’re leverage, but by now you already know that. You’re an experiment yourself, and I guess you know that as well.

  I don’t know if they have planned, or ever thought of giving you the serum as well. That’s something I can’t think of. Maybe they want to see if it’s catching, if the virus, they injected me is only dormant in my blood.

  And of course these thoughts raced through my head, but were silenced by the shock of what I had just done.

  I still ask myself if my memories are wrong, if what I experienced, what I had sensed, wasn’t correct, if I just hallucinated due to the rush I was in, due to what I was feeling.

  I can’t stop but ask myself if you really wanted it somehow, or if I brutally raped you. Then I remind myself of what you told me and how you treated me.

  It is almost soothing, if it wasn’t for the doubt that everything you said, everything you did, everything you felt was just your mind protecting you.

  I know what the Stockholm syndrome is.

  I don’t need White mentioning it to me on my way back to my cell today, to think of it. There is the possibility that once you wake up, and once your mind is clear, that you cannot understand that you ever could have talked like that, did things like that, felt like that. I don’t need him to be terrified of this possibility.

  I already am.

  And I wouldn’t blame you. I wouldn’t expect you to keep true to your promises. I can’t know, I can’t expect you to be the same once you wake up.

  And the reason why you are in a coma at all is simply and absolutely unimportant.

  Of all the possibilities of losing you, I never have thought of this one. And of course it’s going to be this one. You are going to wake up and be terrified of me, you’ll scream and cry just seeing my face, no matter which one. You will not understand, or comprehend what you yourself did, said and felt, because all of it was just an illusion of your own mind.

  How will I ever be able to sleep?

  I can’t wait for the moment you wake up, but I wish that moment would never come. I’d rather live with the illusion of the past, than risk facing reality and ending up with even less than I ever had.

  I never had you, really. You gave yourself to me.

  And you can take it back, just like that. But it will never be as if it ne
ver happened.

  That’s what love is.

  That’s what life is.

  Yes, I wish I could fall back into the pit that the Beast kept me in. But I can’t go back. I have to fight for that tiny spark of hope, hidden somewhere inside of me. Even if you’ll never wake up to love me again, I still have to fight for the hope of saving you, of setting you free.

  Day 118

  Writing anything isn’t easy, but it’s still less difficult than handling everything else. When I write, focusing on one thing is not as hard, and somehow I manage to lock out much, but not enough.

  Today wasn’t any different from those days without you; apart from the fact that they have added more cognitive and psychological tests. It’s still testing and monitoring.

  For whatever reason they seemed to have stopped making me fight, like fight others: people, beasts. Literally fight. Now my opponent more and more becomes myself to them. As this hadn’t been my war right from the beginning.

  Strangely enough I’m at peace with myself.

  Feels like this time I am the one who is one step ahead, and I know I should take advantage of that. Apparently they do underestimate my own composure, my restraint. They seem to expect me to Beast out any time now and they are looking for the trigger.

  Does White need a trigger?

  Or does he hope to not find one?

  That’s what I really need to find out.

  But I’m not good at this. I am not the rational, calculating kind of person. You are the one finding tools, crawling though ventilation systems, obtaining trust through sheer charm, stripping cards from guards.

  I’m still in awe of that.

  Somehow I’ll have to find a way to think the same.

  And yet: this is not one of my strengths. I realize that now. I am not a rational person. Maybe that is the reason why I always have such a hard time controlling myself.

  I am emotional and instinctive, following my guts.

  Maybe that is the reason the Beast inside of me is that strong. Strange, isn’t it? The more I think about it, the more I feel like being in control, because I have come to realize, to accept that this creature inside of me, the Beast in me, is a part of me and not some implanted parasite.