Chapter 2 I Want To Die
Rachel's POV
I barely made it back to my room before footsteps echoed in the hallway.
My heart raced as I slipped under the covers, feigning sleep. The door opened with a soft click.
"She's still unconscious," came a deep voice I didn't recognize. "How much longer?"
"The sedative should wear off soon," replied one of the doctors I'd overheard. "Alpha Blackwood wants to see her once she's awake."
Alpha Blackwood. The name sent chills racing down my spine.
After they left, I waited what felt like hours, my mind spinning with fragments of their conversation. Hormone treatments, injections, the Alpha's expectations—each word echoed in my thoughts like a death sentence.
Was I nothing more than a lab rat to them? The thought sent ice through my veins, and I knew I couldn't just sit here waiting for my fate.
I couldn't stay here!
The room was quiet, and pale moonlight filtered through the elegant curtains. This was my chance—maybe my only chance.
Moving as silently as possible, I slipped out of bed and crept to the window. My fingers fumbled with the latch, and my heart nearly stopped when it gave a soft click. But no one came running.
The window opened onto a second-story balcony. Not ideal, but there was a tree close enough that I might be able to reach it.
You can do this, Rachel. You have to.
I climbed onto the windowsill, the cool night air hitting my skin through the thin hospital gown. The branch looked sturdy enough, but the gap between the balcony and tree seemed to stretch wider in the darkness.
Taking a deep breath, I jumped.
My fingers barely caught the branch, bark scraping against my palms as I scrambled for a better hold. The rough texture bit into my skin, but I held on, swinging myself closer to the trunk.
Branch by branch, I made my way down, every muscle in my body screaming from the effort. When I finally dropped to the ground, my legs nearly gave out beneath me.
But I was free!
The estate stretched out before me like something from a fairy tale—perfectly manicured gardens, stone pathways, and in the distance, what looked like a gate. If I could just make it to the gate...
I ran across the lawn, my bare feet silent on the dew-wet grass.
The gate loomed ahead, tall and imposing with ornate iron work. But as I got closer, my heart sank. It was locked, and the walls on either side stretched high above my head, topped with what looked like security wire.
"Shit," I whispered, looking around frantically. There had to be another way out.
That's when I heard them—voices, calling out in the distance. Flashlight beams cut through the darkness, sweeping across the grounds.
They'd discovered I was gone!!!
Panic flooded my system as I ran along the wall, searching desperately for a weakness, a hole, anything.
The voices were getting closer.
"Fan out! Check the gardens!"
"She couldn't have gotten far!"
I pressed myself against the wall until the rough stone bit into my back, willing myself to disappear as the flashlights carved through the darkness.
Each sweeping beam felt like a predator's gaze, hunting, searching... getting closer.
Then a beam of light found me.
"There! By the east wall!"
I ran then, abandoning any hope of stealth. My feet pounded against the stone pathway as heavy footsteps thundered behind me.
Please, please, please...
But there was nowhere to go. The garden was a maze, but it was still a cage. Every path I took led to another dead end, another wall, another barrier between me and freedom.
Strong hands caught my arms, lifting me off my feet despite my struggles.
"Let me go!" I screamed, kicking and clawing at my captors. "Please, I just want to go home!"
"Easy there, little one," a gruff voice said. "Nobody's gonna hurt you."
But they were lying. I knew they were lying. They were going to take me back, and then...
"I won't do it!" I sobbed, still fighting even though I knew it was useless. "I won't be your lab rat!"
The man carrying me—a guard, from the look of his uniform—exchanged a glance with his partner. "Doc's gonna want to sedate her again."
"No!" The word tore from my throat. "Please, no more drugs, I'll be good, I'll—"
But even as I begged, I felt the sharp prick of a needle in my arm. The world started to go soft around the edges, my struggles becoming weaker and more uncoordinated.
"Shh," someone said, though their voice seemed to come from very far away. "Just sleep now."
Darkness rushed up to claim me, and I fell into it like a stone.
I was sixteen again, standing in the kitchen of our old house.
"Look what you've done now, you clumsy little bitch," Isabel scolded. "You stupid, worthless piece of trash. No wonder your father can't stand the sight of you—I'm surprised he hasn't thrown you out on the street where you belong."
I was on the floor, copper hair spilling around me like blood, my stepmother's handprint burning on my cheek.
The dishes I'd been washing lay shattered around me—punishment for dropping a single plate.
"Please," I whispered, tasting salt and shame. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"
"You always manage to fuck everything up," Daniel sneered from the doorway. "God, you're pathetic. Can't even wash dishes without making a mess." He was eighteen, all muscle and cruel smiles.
The scene shifted, blurred at the edges like watercolors in the rain.
Now I was in my bedroom, the lock Daniel had broken months ago still hanging useless on the door. His weight pinned me to the mattress, his hand clamped over my mouth to muffle my screams.
"Shut the fuck up," he hissed in my ear, his breath hot and disgusting. "You know you want this, you little tease. Stop acting like you're innocent—we both know what you really are."
"No, please—I don't want this! I'm not—" I gasped, tears streaming down my face.
"Yes, you are," Daniel snarled, his grip tightening. "You've been asking for it, walking around here like you own the place. You're nothing but a dirty little slut who's been begging for this."
I fought harder, my voice breaking. "I'm not! Please stop, Daniel, please—"
"Stop lying to yourself," he growled against my ear. "This is exactly what sluts like you deserve."
I fought, clawed at his face, but he was stronger. So much stronger.
Another shift, another memory.
Father stood over me, belt in hand, his face twisted with rage and grief and alcohol. "You look just like her," he spat. "Just like Marie. Why aren't you dead yet?"
The belt came down again and again, each strike accompanied by words that cut deeper than leather ever could.
"Worthless."
Strike.
"Burden."
Strike.
"Should have drowned you when you were born."
I tried to curl into a ball, tried to protect myself, but there was nowhere to hide from his fury. Nowhere to run from the pain.
"I'm sorry," I choked out, my voice breaking as sobs wracked my body, tears pooling on the cold floor beneath me. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." I repeated desperately, each word a shattered plea, my heart crumbling under the weight of despair.
I woke to gentle hands checking my pulse and the soft murmur of concerned voices.
The room came into focus slowly—the same cream walls, the same elegant furniture.
But now there was a woman with kind eyes leaning over me, a stethoscope around her neck.
"You're finally awake. Did you have a nightmare?" she said softly, gently wiping my face. "I'm Dr. Emma Carter. You had us worried for a while."
I tried to sit up, but she placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. "Easy. The sedative can leave you feeling disoriented."
I looked down and saw several soaked tissues already in the trash can.
The memories of my dreams—my nightmares—crashed over me in waves. Daniel's hands on my body. Isabel's cruel words. My father's belt.
And underneath it all, the crushing weight of knowing that this was my reality now: trapped, used, discarded.
Just like before.
Only this time, there would be no escape. No hope of things getting better.
My failed escape attempt proved that. They had me locked up tight, and soon they'd start their treatments, their injections, their process of turning me into nothing more than a vessel.
"I want to die," I whispered to the ceiling, tears sliding silently down my cheeks.
Dr. Carter's face crumpled with sympathy, but she didn't try to offer empty comfort.
What comfort could there be, after all?