Am I A Prisoner?

Am I A Prisoner?
Lucy’s POV

Morning light filtered through the curtains when I woke. 
The same deep, bone-weary ache greeted me. Thighs sore, hips protesting, neck marked from last night’s passion. 

I reached for him instinctively, but the bed was empty. Cold on his side.

As usual.

I sat up with a groan, spotting the note on the bedside table. I didn’t bother reading it. I already knew the words by heart…something sweet, reassuring, promising to be back soon. 

Breakfast would be waiting on the kitchen table…coffee made just right, toast, peeled oranges arranged neatly, mail collected and sorted. Same routine. Every single time. Like clockwork. Like a script he followed perfectly after nights that left me wrecked.

The only thing that ever felt different, alive, and unpredictable…was the sex. Where the hell was he learning to do all that? The precision, the stamina, the way he knew exactly how to break me apart and put me back together.

I shook the unwanted unease away, refusing to let it root. Not today.

I padded to the bathroom, still half-asleep, and sat down to pee. A sharp stinging pain flared in my vagina, making me squeeze my eyes shut and hiss through my teeth. It faded after a moment, but the discomfort lingered.

I stood after I was done, moved to the sink, and began brushing my teeth, splashing water on my face to freshen up. As I straightened, my eyes lifted to the mirror.

And I almost screamed.
The woman staring back at me from the mirror was a stranger.

Hahaha! That is not me!

I leaned closer, toothbrush still dangling from my fingers, foam dripping unnoticed into the sink. 

What the hell?

My cheeks had hollowed out, skin stretched tight over bones that seemed sharper than they had any right to be. 

Sunken eyes gazed back…hollow, shadowed by deep, bruise-like circles that made me look like I hadn’t slept in weeks. Or months. 

My complexion was deathly pale, almost translucent under the harsh bathroom light, veins faintly visible beneath the surface like fragile blue threads. 

I had become so thin like someone on drugs. Not the kind of thin from skipping meals or stress dieting, but the shrunken, wasted kind…as if something invisible was draining me from the inside, sucking out vitality drop by drop while I slept. 

My collarbones jutted prominently while my wrists looked breakable. Hair hung limp and dull around a face I barely recognized.

This wasn’t me. Or was it? I touched the glass, fingertips trembling against the cold surface. The reflection copied the motion perfectly, but the eyes…those eyes held a haunted glint that sent ice crawling down my spine. 

When did this happen? When did I become this person?
Last night I felt sore, satisfied, alive in Ethan’s arms.

Now I looked like a ghost haunting my own body. 
Worry coiled tight in my chest, squeezing until breathing hurt. Something was very wrong. Terribly wrong. I couldn’t wait for Ethan to come back and take me to the hospital. I needed answers now…before whatever was hollowing me out finished the job.

I moved quickly, ignoring the usual slow morning routine. A fast, scalding shower that did nothing to warm the chill inside me. I threw on an oversized hoodie that swallowed my diminished frame and loose shorts, then grabbed my bag, ID, wallet, and phone. No makeup. No lingering over coffee. Just out.

I slipped on a nose mask before stepping into the hallway, pulling the hood low. People might still talk.
About the affair. About me being called a slut. The whispers that had followed me for weeks after that nightmare unfolded…until Ethan stepped in, shielding me, steadying me when the world wanted to tear me apart. I kept my head down as I left the apartment complex, shoulders hunched against invisible stares. 

The morning air felt heavier than it should, carrying a faint, damp scent that reminded me too much of river silt and decay.

Outside, I stood near the curb, phone in hand, waiting for the cab I’d booked. A small group of women had gathered a few feet away near the complex entrance…neighbors, judging by their familiar faces…speaking in hushed, urgent tones as their voices carried on the still air.

“…another one last night,” one said, arms crossed tightly. “Seventh woman this month. Just vanished. They found her two days later by the river.”

“Why are the cops not getting any leads? Every woman around our radar is scared out of their mind. There have been countless deaths in such a short time,” another whispered, voice trembling. 

“It’s not normal. The police are barely saying anything. But the shocking part…when they find the bodies, the only organs missing are the kidneys and ribs. Cleanly removed like some kind of harvest. They are always found bloated and pale like they’d been in the water for days. So does the killer drown them before harvesting their kidneys and ribs?”

Fear gripped me hard, a cold fist squeezing my lungs as their voices and speculations continued.

Disappearances? Mutilated bodies? Bloated corpses?
Does that have anything to do with my nightmares?

I wrapped my arms around myself, pulse racing. Thank goodness for Ethan. He protected me. He kept the nightmares at bay, kept me safe when the world outside turned monstrous. Without him, I’d be lost. Vulnerable.

Without him, I might end up as just another name on that growing list of the missing.

The cab finally pulled up, tires crunching against the curb. I slid into the back seat with relief. “Central Hospital,” I told the driver, voice steadier than I felt.
Only then did I pull out my phone and call Ethan.

He answered on the second ring, his voice low and sexy, wrapping around me like warm honey. “Hey, beautiful. How you doing this morning? You all pretty and waiting for me like a good girl?”

I smiled despite everything, a small bloom of happiness cutting through the fog. “I’ll be pretty when I get back. Promise.”

There was a beat of silence. Then his tone shifted sharply. “Get back? Where the hell are you going, Lucy? Did you leave the house?” He asked coldly.

I blinked, confused. “Why are you shouting at me? Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do? Go out when I need to? Am I a prisoner now?”

“You’re not a prisoner and I’m not shouting,” he said, forcing control into his words, though I could hear the strain. “I’m just worried. You might run into someone who’ll make you remember the past. You know how fragile that is.”

I smiled weakly under the mask, trying to soothe him. “I’m in disguise. Hoodie, mask, head down. So don't worry about me. I just want to go to the hospital and get checked out. It’s fine.”

His breathing grew heavier on the line. He sounded inches away from exploding, reining it in by a thread. 
What is his problem? Possessive much?

“I promised to take you. Why didn’t you wait? Why are you so stubborn? Why are you always doing this?”

Did he just say always? 

Confusion deepened as I asked. “What do you mean by that? I haven’t done anything like this before. This is the first time I’ve left the house in a while.”

Right?