“There are wounds that never show on the body that are deeper and more hurtful than anything that bleeds.” -Laurell K. Hamilton
The beautiful woman’s warmth radiated off her body, nestled in the Warren’s arms as she slept. When she stirred, he leaned in to place tender kisses on her neck. “Are you waking up, now?” he asked, murmuring against her soft skin.
She groaned playfully in protest but turned around to face him, her large eyes fluttering open. Warren’s smile disappeared almost instantly. Julieta Jimenez, the woman who haunted him day in and day out, was staring up at him. “Amor, what’s wrong?” she asked him, her voice though soft, sent chills down his spine.
He let go of her immediately, sitting up to remove himself from the bed. He climbed out frantically, taking a step back and rubbing at his eyes. This couldn’t be real.
“Amor, stop,” Julieta ordered, her shrill voice now cold and demanding as she sat up, allowing the duvet to slip from her slender frame.
Warren shook her head. “Where is she? What did you do to her?” he asked, his voice breaking as he searched the room, trying to find the woman he had gone to bed with.
Anger rippled across Julieta’s face, grabbing her robe after slipping out of bed. She tied it and closed the distance between the two. “Who?” she asked, her voice sharp. Her eyes narrowed to slits, clasping her hand around Warren’s neck and pulling his face down to hers.
How was she this strong? Warren stared down at Julieta, his hands attempting to remove hers from his neck but failing miserably. He struggled to breathe, falling to his knees before the woman.
Before his very eyes, he saw as her fingers turned into chains, wrapping around his neck and anchoring him down. He fell to all fours as everything began to fade to black.
“You’re mine and I’ll never let you go,” Julieta said in a deadly whisper, ushering the words into Warren’s ear as he faded into nothing.
Warren’s breathing was erratic when he woke up, his hand grabbing at his aching chest. Covered in cold sweat and unable to catch his breath, Warren removed himself from his bed. He paced the dark room, placing his hands in a clasp behind his head as he closed his eyes. “Fuck,” he breathed out, attempting to slow down the anxiety left in his chest.
It took half an hour for him to calm down but the ache was still there. Staring at his phone, he contemplated whether he should send the text he had written.
Hey, I miss you. I just wanted to tell you that.
Shaking his head, he deleted the text and tossed his phone onto the patio table. The sun was rising, filling the sky with beautiful shades of oranges and pinks but Warren couldn’t enjoy the view.
His mind was still reeling, his chest aching. He just didn’t know how he’d ever be able to escape the nightmares that haunted him. It was the lies he had to tell, the love he had to fake, the physical intimacy he had to endure…the trauma he harbored in his soul, it was all too much. It was pulling him under, deeper underwater with every passing day. He couldn’t reach out for help knowing all he would do is drown them too. Warren was utterly alone.
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