The set up part 22

“And they had tails like unto scorpions, and there were stings in their tails: … that serpents and scorpions are symbols of Satan and his power.”

Hours spent in solitude can play with the mind. They say the insane, when put in solitary confinement, can be damaging to both mental and physical health. For Gypsy, it was a time where the ghost came to play. Funny how when you don’t need them, they always find a way to scratch the surface of a tired mind. 

“Are you going to sit there all day?” He asked. 

Gypsy looked up. Her heart pounded once again. How the hell could he get in? It’s a safe room—heavy on the safe part. There was never a face, only a presence. He once told her that he would always find her, and she could never hide from him. Little did she know he walked the earth just as she did, but there was nothing human about this man. He was the definition of what she evil should be. 

“Why are you here? Get out,” she said. Her voice was stronger than ever before. She had grown since his first visit. She would never allow herself to fall again. Giving in to the sins of the flesh had scared her for an eternity, her body holding marks that no man could ever see, but she could. On her hip, if her fingers traced the flesh, a small scorpion could be felt. At times in her life, she swore the spot came to life. Was this how he was watching her? Her hand moved to her groin area, nails scratching over the mark that only she could feel. Digging into her flesh like a junkie picking scabs, she wanted it gone from her. His memory she could never wash from her mind. She swore at that moment she would make sure he never touched her again. 

The exhale of smoke came from the corner. His form dark and disturbing. There’s a power behind his voice, and the threat of the unknown robbed Gypsy any sense of peace. “This room was made to keep people,” she said. Stopping for a second to think about what she said, was he a person? Or was he a figment of her imagination? Closing her eyes, pushing her body back against the wall as her hand held tight to her hip, “Out.” Her voice was hostile, or was that fear? She didn’t know the difference at this point. With everything life brought her, the only thing she could confirm a fact was that she was tired. Not in the physical sense, but the mental kind. At times, that can do more damage than anything else. 

Boisterous laughter echoed from the walls of the small room, the male stretching his legs out as he listened to her plea’s. It was the first time she could see part of his physical form. His shoes, not those of a poor man, the light in the room danced on the toes. They were expensive Italian leather kind. The kind that a man would pay to have polished on a random street corner in any affluent city. Her mind was painting a picture. For a second, she wondered if this man was someone she had crossed paths with in her daily life. Maybe one of those men from her younger years. God, what if her father had sent him to damage her even more than he already had? 

“For someone so attractive, your voice is like nails on a chalkboard. All you do is beg and scream. When the truth’s told, you will never be without me,” he said. “Well, let me rephrase that. You will never be without me as long as you walk the earth’s surface. If you decide to give up your life, well, let’s not think about that just yet. I still enjoy toying with you,” his voice laced with acidic sarcasm. Cold and callous, he was without remorse from the torment he placed on the young blonde. “As long as I allow you to live, that mark on your hip,” he said, his arm stretched out so she could see his finger pointing her hip, “Will remind you that I am always a nightmare away.”

Standing, she ran at the corner where he sat only to be stopped by the wall. The male was gone, like a thief, he took part of her mind along with him. 

“WHO ARE YOU?” she screamed. Hands pounding on the wall, her heart raced with fear. Was she losing her mind? Or had she gone mad? It was at that point that the laughter filled the room, dropping her down to her knees. It was her own voice making the sounds, yet she hadn’t laughed in days. Gypsy crawled to the door, her knees scraping on the cement floor, the moment fresh air enveloped her with sweet kisses all over her body.

She rolled around on the floor, her sanity questioned. All she could remember was the line from her favorite fairy tale. 

“We’re all mad here. I’m mad, your mad, we’re all fucking mad!”

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