Skinned Deep: A Dark Horror Omegaverse (Cursed Flesh Book 1) by Ivy Chapman

Author:Ivy Chapman [Chapman, Ivy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ivy Chapman
Published: 2018-10-28T05:00:00+00:00

Eleven

My heart pounds as my stomach threatens to empty itself for the third or fourth time in twenty-four hours. I shake my head frantically, hoping to clear the sight from my mind. Eyes pinched shut, I rock back and forth, fighting the feeling of something clawing up my intestines. Suddenly, it’s like I have bugs crawling under my flesh.

Bile burns like acid in the back of my throat. I heave once or twice before forcing deep breaths in and out. I grip the sides of the tub tightly as a lightheadedness passes over me.

My eyes fly wide as the bathroom door slams open.

Mom frantically drops to the floor by the bath. Hands flitting everywhere, she peruses my body as she half screams, “What happened? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

There’s no chance for me to speak through my panic and her word vomit. My head feels dizzy, like I’m not getting enough air.

“Breathe. Breathe! Raina, look at me.” Mom’s voice is shrill and piercing.

Her words penetrate slowly through the fog in my head. With a sharp gasp, oxygen floods my lungs too quickly, causing a cough to seize my shivering frame. As the black spots fade from my vision, the first thing I notice is the cold. Goosebumps climb over my flesh as I’m slowly rocked back and forth in Mother’s arms.

“Shh, sweetheart. You’re okay. Tell me what happened.” Her soft breath brushes the top of my head, and I feel her words echo through her chest. Mom’s hand gently runs over my hair.

I sigh into her touch for the first time in years, allowing myself to be comforted.

Mom gently pulls away to look at my face. I avoid her eyes, and keep my gaze looking steadily over her tear-stained shoulder. It’s then I realize I’m crying.

Real tears.

The shock shakes horrible images of my foot away. Now able to process everything without the fog, I answer the questions Mom shot off in rapid fire.

“Can you see it?” My blue eyes connect with her brown one’s. “The ... mark on my foot?”

Lines around her eyes are now the only outwardly sign of her distress. With a steady hand, she pulls me out of the tub, quickly wrapping me in a towel. Gesturing me to sit on the closed toilet seat, I do so without looking down at my toes. I watch her mousy hair as she kneels at my feet.

“Which foot, sweetie?”

“The left. It’s right there on the top of my foot. Can you see it?” She can’t miss it. Mother shouldn’t have needed to ask. The mark encompasses the whole top portion of my foot. She should have gasped with shock or let lose a scream at the sight of it.

The rising panic swells, but I grab it by the throat and make it submit to my will. The emotion dissipates like smoke.

Mom gently touches my foot, lifting the left with care. Seconds pass in tense silence as I wait for her to speak. She can’t see it, therefore it must be in my head.

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