Cute but psycho paranorm.., p.4
Cute But Psycho: Paranormal Asylum Reverse Harem, page 4
“What’s that mean?” My fingers rubbing the sides of my journal in an anxious tick.
“The police wanted to arrest you but Doctor Orson insisted he didn’t want to press charges,” my uncle said.
“You’re being committed, Bree,” my aunt blurted out, as if too excited to keep it in any longer. My mouth dropped open.
“Committed! You can’t do that against my will!” This wasn’t right. This day was going all wrong. Orson… he was trying to get me committed? He wanted me locked away apart from him? I didn’t understand. This didn’t make sense.
“Oh yes, we can commit you without your consent in this case,” my aunt said, showing a little satisfied smile. My chest ached. Orson said he was coming for me, didn’t he? That I was his forever. Was that a lie?
With my freedom slipping through my fingers, I finally stopped holding my cards to my chest. I was desperate and if he wanted to play this game, I could play it too. Soulmates didn’t have to be nice and our love didn’t have to be pretty.
“He’s a murderer!” I blurted. “Doctor Orson. I saw it. Inside, in the basement, he had bodies and buckets of blood—”
“Stop. Just stop,” my uncle said, shaking his head. I looked at them both in confusion. They weren’t even considering what I was saying could be true.
“I’m being serious!” I screamed loudly, making their eyes widen. They were giving me a look that said I was disturbed and unhinged. Talk about overreacting. A girl can’t raise her voice without someone looking at her like she’s insane. I grit my teeth. “ I found him and he… I don’t know. He said I was going to be his and forced me…” I trailed off, frowning as I recalled the strangest moment of all from last night. I had yet to process it because it was just too big for me to deal with right now.
“Forced you?” My uncle asked, for once sounding like he might take me seriously.
“Forced me to drink his blood,” I admitted. Why would he have done that? I snapped my teeth together as my gums itched.
My uncle's mouth formed a tight line and he shook his head in disappointment.
“Bree,” my aunt sighed with an eye roll.
“I’m fucking serious!” I roared and my aunt’s bright, blue eyes widened.
“Stop cursing in front of me,” she hissed and you know what? I’d just had enough of her prissy fucking attitude. Before I could open my mouth and say something mean and sarcastic the doorbell rang and my head whipped around. My uncle sighed and got up.
“Who’s that?” I asked, swallowing down nerves.
“Please don’t make this difficult. We’ve been through enough,” he mumbled. My mouth fell open. They’d been through enough? Oh wasn’t that peachy.
“Sorry my existence is so hard on you,” I said through my teeth as he walked towards the door. The sky was darkening quickly—now a purple twilight. There was a uniformed police officer and a bald man in his thirties wearing white scrubs. Behind them, I could see a big white, windowless van parked out front. Oh my god.
“Hello, sir. We’re here to collect Bree Hamilton?” The police officer poised it as a question as the bald guy in scrubs looked past my uncle to me. His brown eyes sparkled in amusement to see me standing there in utter shock. He was big and ugly. Despite not being defined, I could tell that he had a lot of muscle.
This is who the mental hospital had sent to collect me. A brute that could overpower me. No, I thought while shaking my head at him.
“Please come in,” my uncle said and panic reared inside me. I looked over at my aunt and she looked relieved to see the men here. I didn’t like my aunt and uncle but they were all I had. The only family I had in the world and they felt relief to lock me away.
I turned and ran for the backdoor, snatching up my keys as I went. Everything was closing in on me. I bolted around the outside of the house then I slipped into my car and sped off, not bothering to look back to see if that policeman or that ogre were hot on my tail.
Drive, I told myself, just drive. My fingers flicked on the radio and turned the notch up so loud that it drove my thoughts from my head. Not that I needed the music to help, it was just a nice bit of noise to calm myself down with. I was very good—too good—at pushing overwhelming thoughts far away from my conscious mind.
Except, thirty minutes later I was swerving off the road into a 7-11, my heart beating outside my chest. The sky was black, the stars not even visible. That’s when all those thoughts I’d pushed down pressed back up. The blood, the fangs, the strength. My brain was offering me a strange conclusion but vampires couldn’t be real, right?
People went in and out of the 7-11, sipping big gulps or munching hot dogs before jumping back in their cars. My mouth was dry and hunger was pinching my stomach. My gums itched too. It was distracting, which was peculiar.
I rarely felt much hunger and when I did I ignored it easy enough until my body grew weak and tired enough to prompt me to choke down some food. They called me anorexic but it didn’t quite fit in my opinion. Not that anyone cared. They cared about bullet points, not intricacies.
Eating felt like a chore to me and food never really tasted very good. What had tasted good was Orson’s blood. That thought swam in my mind, joining the others that had floated to the surface. Blood buckets, drinking blood, murder. Could Orson really be a vampire?
I went into the store with a handful of mangled bills and forgotten coins I’d fished from my car. My eyes zeroed on the slushies. A hit of sugar and ice might help. It was better than trying to munch through crunchy, over-salted chips. God those things were gross. So much salt it felt like I was bleaching my tongue and all the little crunchy pieces turned to mush and tried to stick in my teeth. I didn't like chewing things.
A moment later I pushed a rainbow slurpy onto the register counter. The guy behind it eyed the cup apathetically, pressed a button on his register’s screen, and then told me a number.
There was something sort of attractive about the guy. I had no idea why either. He wasn’t handsome, sexy, rugged, or anything but a guy who needed a bath. Oily hair, bad complexion, bags under his eyes.
His neck though... it had a nice curve and I liked watching his artery jerk its beat. The sound of his heartbeat filled my ears, louder and louder. I thumbed through the change, holding it out. Our fingers touched as I dropped the money in his hands. He didn’t smell that great, the faint stench of old sweat hung around his body. Yet I found myself leaning forward and taking a deeper breath as my stomach growled fiercely.
His attention came back to me as my stomach roared and he curved an eyebrow.
“Do you want a receipt?” He asked and I wondered what the hell I was doing.
“No thanks,” I snatched up the slurpee and pushed past someone while going through the door. Thump, thump, thump—I imagined their heart’s sound even though I knew I couldn’t possibly hear it. I visualized that little pulse in their neck, flirting with me.
And that conclusion that had swirled in my brain, that Orson could be more than a man, got louder and louder. The reason why he had fangs. Why he drank blood. Why he was so strong and perfect.
My ass smacked the leather seat in my car and I snapped the door shut, watching people go in and out of the store as I sipped my drink. It was too sweet but I was dying of thirst and hungry for some reason, so hungry. My fingers pressed into my teeth and tried to see if my canines were sharper and bigger. If what I was thinking could possibly be true.
The memory of his long fangs flashed in my mind, of him groaning as I drank, of the burn in my veins. I had never in my life had visual hallucinations. Sure, finding a bunch of dead bodies was probably the perfect time to have a break from reality but I was a more seasoned person to mental abnormalities than most.
I knew visual hallucinations weren’t like what happened last night. They weren’t crystal clear and easy to recall. They weren’t anything like last night and my head felt clear yesterday and good today.
Which meant that it all had really happened. Orson had fangs, Orson drank blood...Orson might very well be a fucking vampire.
“Ugh,” I groaned, gently bumping my head on the steering wheel over and over making the car give little horn beeps. This was crazy! Also, I was crazy. Which probably meant I shouldn't trust this conclusion as much as I was but, well, I was.
“Am I a vampire now?” I asked as I pulled my head back up. That’s when I realized the 7-11 was dead. Not quiet and empty… literally dead. The gross guy I’d just sniffed behind the counter was laying on the counter in a puddle of blood, his eyes and mouth wide. The person I’d bumped on the way out was also laying in a big puddle of blood halfway back out the door. I looked around and saw two more bodies, people who had been pumping gas.
“Oh shit,” I said, realizing shit just got real and I had pissed off a vampire serial killer. My finger dove for the push start but my passenger door opened at the same time and none other than Orson himself smoothly sat down inside with a blank face.
I didn’t know whether to scream or moan. He didn’t look much different than last night. Still wearing a button-up and suit pants. Still wearing his leather gloves and holding a knife. Still wearing blood, except this was fresh from the bodies that decorated the ground around us.
“Fancy meeting you here,” I croaked, my fingers shaking as I gripped my steering wheel. My mouth instantly watered, like a pavlovian dog trained to salivate when its treat arrived. Here was my avenging angel of death with that knife in his hand dripping blood and those delicious leather gloves. I liked it. I like it a lot because I could imagine the sort of things a man like that would do to me. No gentle thrusts, but brutal and cruel in a way that would leave me satisfied beyond belief.
Also, screw him for calling the police and trying to lock me in a mental hospital.
“Bree, Bree, Bree,” he said with a sigh, tapping the pointy tip of his knife against his strong, clean-shaven jaw. “We really need to work on your ability to appreciate risky behavior.” He smiled tauntingly and it did things to me. Amazing, horribly wet things. He looked like sin itself. Like an incubus who promised to eat my soul but was just so attractive I was going to let him. Damnit, I always liked the wrong type of guys. Guys who had murder coolers and wanted to have me forcibly committed, for example. I’d certainly leveled up my taste in bad boys.
“Did you turn me into a vampire?” I asked.
“No,” he answered simply, his violet eyes on me. There was no surprise or humor from my question. He looked patient and calm as if he had all the time in the world.
I looked around at the dead bodies just to try and get my head out of this stifling car. The air was thick with so many thoughts I could barely pluck out a clear one. Orson’s presence filled up every inch and sucked the space out. He made me tense with all that coiled potential for destruction. One fast movement and he could overpower me. Slice my neck like that man last night. Or push between my legs, hold his knife against my skin, and pull my panties aside so he could sink deep inside me.
“But your blood…” I trailed off. He was smiling at me but it didn’t reach his eyes. I wondered if he felt anything at all or if he was a true psychopath. We looked at each other. I knew this man, had seen him for years in his office. Weekly therapy sessions since I was seventeen. When I’d walked in his office for the first time it felt like Cupid had stabbed me, making a gory mess of my chest.
Yet despite all that, it also felt a bit like a stranger was sitting in my car because he’d never once taken off his mask of sanity in all those years. Not until last night.
What lay underneath made me feel jittery and excited. I must have sensed his true self from the first moment. That’s what had attracted me, even if I wasn’t conscious of it.
The sound of crickets and the hum of the gas station lights were loud. He said I wasn’t a vampire… but I was his. Also, he wanted me committed. My eyes bugged.
“You want me to be your Renfield!” I cried out. Renfield was Dracula’s little human pet who Dracula constantly liked to tease with immortality. I was well acquainted with most vampire movies. It was a natural interest for a girl obsessed with blood.
“Hmm, rather accurate actually,” Orson said, tipping his head slightly. My mouth popped open. Things were off to a very rocky start with him and me. I suppose that was to be expected with people like us. A messy connection filled with blood and fighting.
“Well I’m not going to eat bugs in a mental hospital for the rest of my life,” I hissed. Anger was burning in my head, eating the concern and fear. My fingers wrapped around the car door handle. Before I could pull it, Orson’s steely grip was on me. He lowered my chair back and quickly pushed me down against the leather.
His body loomed over me, lithe muscles under refined, blood-splattered clothes. He smiled tauntingly, making me pull in a deep breath.
I felt excitement build like a rolling wave as his signature smells caressed me. My shoulder blades pressed into the cool leather of my chair and the lingering taste of berry slurpee was in my mouth. I was still aware of how dangerous this man pressing above me was and how much he wished to collar me.
His killing knife was still clutched in his hand just a few inches from my face, feeling like a threat whether he intended it or not.
Orson’s violet eyes were dark in my car as he looked down at me. His knee pushed between my legs as he bent over my body. Two gloved fingers pushed in my mouth, invading my body to feel the softness of my tongue and pry my mouth open.
His fingers slid over my tongue, grabbing and petting it. His eyes burned with desire as I let him explore the warm, wet insides of my mouth.
“Such a good girl, Bree,” he purred. I couldn’t help but lay still for him and enjoy this moment.
This was everything I’d ever wanted. Him strangling my space, breaching my body. My heart sped up as he ran a finger over my teeth as if testing to see if I did have fangs despite his protest against turning me into a vampire.
My body tingled and I squirmed. It made me achingly aware of his knee pressured between my legs, pushed against my sensitive center. I couldn't tell if he was trying to confuse my body or it was unintentional.
"Show me those little fangs," he whispered then his bloody wrist was suddenly between my lips just like last night. A groan rumbled up my throat as the taste hit me. Perhaps this was poisoning me, making me into a slave of some kind but thought left me as everything focused in on his blood—the texture rolling around my mouth and painting my teeth, the taste settling into my tongue. And when he groaned as if my greedy pulls felt just as satisfying for him, I broke down and feasted.
This time he let me lap and suck to my heart's content. Until my head got woozy and my body felt weak and I could feel his blood from the chipped tips of my toenails to the dead ends of my hair. It slipped from the corner of my mouth and dripped down to the collar of my shirt.
I didn’t care if we had an argument to work through. That he had plans to betray me. Right now it was just me and his vampiric blood slipping deep down into my belly until I was full of my Orson. Until I could feel him inside me.
When I finally dropped his wrist he shoved his fingers back in my mouth, feeling my teeth. A dark smile smeared over his handsome face.
“There they are, Bree. Good girl,” he purred, complimenting me as if I’d done something good for him. It made my chest ache and for a little smile to curl on my lips. I loved how often he told me I was good. That I’d pleased him.
“Your shirt is dirty,” he said with a frown. That’s when he leaned in even closer and whispered in my ear while the scent of blood and leather twirled in the air.
“Now, little dhamphyr, forget. Forget going to my house last night. Forget today.” I felt my mind swirling like a potion being mixed—memories swept up in a rush and I was unable to hold them in my hands.
I pushed at his chest, trying to get him away. I didn’t want to forget. Not this. It was only because of last night that I realized he was my soulmate, that we were meant for each other, made for each other. He was trying to erase fate. He was trying to steal himself away from me.
I tried to fight him off, to thrash my limbs and hit him. To scratch his exposed forearms and reach for the door handle. I screamed in frustration and desperation but there were only dead bodies to hear me as memories leaked away.
Orson grabbed a wrist in each hand, bruising them in his hold. He shoved his knee harder between my legs making my body grow confused again. He very clearly knew what he was doing, grinding his knee into my sensitive nub, making me even wetter.
My nipples hardened and tingled but my hands still wanted to claw and push. His body was on mine, his mouth still pressed into my ear, his unhurried breaths loud and inducing goosebumps. I couldn't get away, I realized.
“Forget me,” his dark voice purred into my ear. The words bled into my brain, working into all the crevices. A gasp ripped from my throat.
“You bastard,” I whined against his neck. My vision swam and grew dark as he pulled back and looked down at me. His satisfied face swam in my vision as he pulled a thick strand of my deep red hair up to his mouth, sucking on it as he pulled it through his delicious lips. Taunting pleasure twinkled in violet eyes.
Forget me, echoed until they lost meaning and faded away. Then I slept.
Chapter Four
I was wearing nothing but tight boxer briefs as I swung Frank around in my room, a smooth dance between friends—nothing gay. My fingers gently grazed down his cheek, feeling the texture of his skin against mine.
He wasn’t a very lively dance partner but I was willing to forgive him, considering Frank was a corpse.
It was nearly breakfast time here at Verfallen Asylum, which meant night had fallen a little while ago. They ran things backwards here with all the patients awake through the night and sleeping soundly through the sun-drenched days. Any moment now they’d come by unlocking our doors to let us scramble about.
“When marimba rhythms start to play, dance with me, sway with me,” I purred. I was no Dean Martin but I could hold a note when the mood struck.
