Madness (Madness #1)

Chapter 24

Chapter Twenty-Four

“Are you going to use blood?” Al asks inquisitively.

“Do you want to?” I ask him, not wanting him to feel like he has to.

When I paint, I need every stroke of the brush to tell the story. For some, the paint, pencil, and charcoal are enough, but after having no other choice but to use the blood from my body, it’s become more genuine… raw. The deep crimson of blood carries an intensity any other mediums lack. When I build the liquid on top of the others, layering it until the red turns a deeper burgundy colour, I feel the connection with my work .

I sacrifice for my art just like I’ve sacrificed everything else in my life.

My freedom.

My family.

My sanity.

Al hesitates, then nods, “Only me though.”

Tilting my head, I consider his words, “Why?”

“I don’t want you to get hurt.”

I can’t help it, but I laugh. It’s short and sharp, “Oh, Al, don’t you know that all I’ve ever known in Wonderland is pain?”

He wraps his arms tighter around me, his arm grazing against my soaked bra, and I suck in a breath at how tingles spread from the contact, “If I could take all your pain and turn it on myself, I would do it in a heartbeat. Hurt me instead, Red, so that you can try to find some peace.” Al says with such sincerity that tears gather in my eyes.

“You really mean that, don’t you? Do you want me to hurt you, Al? Make you feel like you are punished for the crimes that got you sent here instead of punishing myself?”

Al sucks in a sharp breath at my words, his cheeks turning red though I can’t tell if it’s from the steam or what I’ve just said.

“Yes.” He whispers, almost inaudibly, “I mean every word. I want to be your shield, your solace.”

His words strike a chord deep within me, and I feel the barriers I’ve built when it comes to him crumble to dust .

I love fast, but I was sceptical of Al, of how detached he can be, but he shows up, and he proved that when he and the others came looking for me while my sister played doctor on me.

I’ve spent so long in Wonderland, surrounded by chaos and pain, that the idea of someone coming in here and wanting to share the burden of my pain is almost surreal.

“Al,” I murmur, my voice quivering as the tears finally spill over, “I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to hurt anyone, but this place… it changes people. It’s changed me, and I’m more of a monster than I am human.”

He tightens his hold on me, “Let me be the one who helps you find your way back,” he says, “We can face Wonderland together with the others. You aren’t alone.”

I look into Al’s eyes, searching for any hint of doubt, but find none, “I don’t know if I can trust myself,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper, but it seems to echo in the tiled bathroom, “What if I become a monster like my sister?”

“Then I’ll remind you of who you are,” Al responds without hesitation, “You entranced me from the moment you stepped out of your room, and I was so convinced that the madness in my mind conjured you instead of you being real, and I didn’t care. You are the one delusion I would have accepted without any hesitation.”

A shiver runs down my spine as memories of the horrors of this place flash before my eyes .

My sister.

Hare’s file.

The patients down in the rabbit hole are drugged so much that they don’t even know what time it is.

Wonderland has become a twisted maze of torment, breaking even the strongest of people.

The men I’ve grown to love and care for in my time here they’re like a lifeline pulling me from the abyss.

“Promise me,” I say, “Promise me you won’t leave me in the darkness alone.”

Al cups my face, his wet hand leaving droplets on my skin, “I promise neither of us will ever be left outside in the cold darkness again.”

I stand from the water, stepping out of the porcelain tub and holding my hand out for Al to take. He doesn’t hesitate, placing his wet hand in mine and stepping out, too, following me to my bedroom.

Both of us are soaked, our underwear clinging to us and leaving nothing to the imagination.

His sizeable ‘problem’ is prominent, and I lick my lips at the thought of having my lips around his thick shaft and how he would taste on my tongue.

I step closer to him, loving how his chest rises and falls as I get into his space, “Do I make you nervous?”

“Yes. ”

“We don’t have to.” I try to reassure him, but he shakes his head. “I want to.”

“Alright then. Let’s paint those roses. I hate seeing the white.”

The white roses stand in their vase on the table where I left them, their pristine petals mocking me. I reach into the drawer, pulling out the knife, its blade catching the light as I hold it tightly.

The pale skin of his forearm is unmarked, unlike mine, and I hesitate for a moment, not wanting to mar his skin as I’ve done to mine.

He takes my hand in his, leading the blade to his skin, and I take a deep breath, pressing the blade to his flesh and slicing with a practised hand.

He hisses in pain, but his cock juts in his boxers, and his breath hitches, “Fuck.”

His eyes never leave mine as he dips his fingers into the blood pooling on his arm, then touches it to the first rose.

The red stain spreads quickly, turning the white petals a deep crimson.

“Beautiful,” I murmur, utterly entranced as he coats each petal delicately. Each stroke of his finger leaves a trail of blood, transforming the flowers from pure to art.

I take the knife from him, needing to feel the slice of the blade on my skin, and the weight of the blade in my hand feels like home.

The blood flows freely, warm and sticky, and I dip my finger into it, mimicking Al’s actions .

As I paint the second rose, I can’t help but feel a thrill run through me, wetness blooming between my legs.

This is what I needed – what keeps me sane in Wonderland where I don’t belong… have never belonged.

The blood, the pain, and the beauty of the crimson liquid have me wanting to paint the mural on my wall again.

“More,” I breathe, my voice husky with desire, “I need them all to be red.”

Al nods, his fingers squeezing the skin around the cut and smearing the blood across the petals messily.

The room seems to blur around me. The only thing that matters is the flowers becoming red, and Al.

“Red.” Al’s voice breaks through my trance, his hand reaching out to touch mine, “Look at me.”

I meet his gaze, seeing the same hunger in his eyes that I feel in my own. Without a word, I lean in, my lips brushing against his in a soft, almost reverent kiss. The taste of blood mingles with our saliva, making the feel of him on me even more intoxicating.

“Do you feel it?” I ask when we finally pull away, my voice barely above a whisper, terrified to break the trance we both are in.

“Yes. ”

His hand slides down to my waist, pulling me closer and kissing me again, this time with more urgency.

Our bodies press together, the heat between us almost unbearable. I can feel his arousal against my thigh, and I know he can feel how wet I am for him.

“Bed.” I manage to gasp out between kisses, “We need to move to the bed.”

Al nods, his hand gripping my hips as he guides me towards the bed in the corner of the room, tearing the remaining clothes from our bodies as we go.

We fall onto it, the mattress creaking under our weight. He pins me down, his body heavy on top of mine, and I can feel the blood from our cuts mingling as we press together.

“Red.” His lips trail down my neck, “I want you… I need you.”

“Then take me,” I reply, arching my back to meet his thrusts, “Take me, Al.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice, his hands roaming over my body, exploring every curve, every inch of skin.

I moan as his fingers find my nipples, pinching and twisting them until I’m gasping for breath.

“Please.” I beg, my legs wrapping around his waist, “Please, Al.”

He positions himself at my entrance, his cock hard and ready. With one swift movement, he pushes inside of me, filling me completely. I grasp his arm tightly, and we both cry out, the pleasure and pain blending together.

“Fuck,” he groans, his hips bucking, “You feel so fucking good, Red.”

I dig my nails into his back, urging him on. “Don’t stop.” I pant. “Don’t you dare stop.”

His thrusts grow harder, faster, each one driving me closer to the edge. I can feel my orgasm building, the tension coiling tighter and tighter inside of me.

“Al!” I scream, my body arching off the bed as I come, “I’m coming!”

Al follows right after, his release spilling into me as he collapses on top of me, our breathing ragged and uneven.

“That was… incredible,” Al says, resting his head against my shoulder.

“Yeah,” I agree, “It was.”

We lay there in silence for a while, and the only sound was the hum of the light above me and the other patients in the ward. Finally, Al lifts his head, his blue eyes meeting mine, “What now?”

I smile, running my fingers through his hair. “Now, we finish painting the roses.”