Shifter Rape: Second Victim - 03
Shifter Rape | Noncon | Hetro | Mind Break | Furry
Vixen
I felt off. Not sick, not exactly. Was it stress? Relief? The interview seemed to have gone well. Michael said he would have an offer letter for me by the end of the day. God, I hope that was not a polite lie. Job hunting sucked. I just wanted it to be over.
Cold, clammy skin. I pulled over and felt my forehead. I could not get sick now. A walk might help. Standing up left me gasping for breath, half hanging onto the car door, heart racing. Something was wrong. Very wrong. I fumbled out my phone, barely able to dial the three numbers required to save my life.
“911, what's your emergency?”
My mouth moved, but no sound came out. My phone clattered to the ground. A few moments later, I joined it. As the world faded away, I prayed that they would send an ambulance for me. I couldn’t die. I had barely begun to live.
***
A stranger's voice, a woman, comes from far away. What was she saying? V-tach? Defibrillation? Couldn’t they tell I was trying to sleep? Strange scissors sliced my shirt open. Rude. Leave me alone.
My foggy mind slowly cleared. I had been on the ground, hadn’t I? Next to my phone, the 911 operator’s voice had sounded distant.
Then nothing.
Until now.
As quickly as it had begun, everything returned to normal. Except I was in a hospital room surrounded by a half dozen people. Mostly ignoring me. No, that is not right. I have their complete attention, just not in the way I need it. My questions need answering, not theirs. At least for a few minutes.
Eventually, I received a complete picture, or at least as complete as they could give. When the ambulance arrived, my heart rate had been 220 beats per minute. Dangerously high. More than dangerous, at least going by their constant stream of questions, and number of doctors that talk to me. They called it ventricular tachycardia. A fancy way of saying that my heart had been beating far too fast. They used a defibrillator on me, just like I had seen on television. Apparently, it is good for more than starting a stopped heart.
After that, everything went back to normal. What had caused it? They didn’t know. Bloodwork. Tests. It was a serious issue and needed to be treated as such. My father and I rarely spoke, but at least I was still covered by his health insurance. At least he cared that much. Unlike mother. My phone, screen cracked but still usable, rested by the bed. I should probably let him know, but I didn’t want to talk to either of them. So, I waited in the room. Nearly empty, except for a single med student sitting in the corner playing with his phone. ‘Supervising’ me. At least they returned my phone and purse.
My phone chimed.
Unknown: You are unable to speak or move.
Just like that, I could not. My heart hammered. I tried to cry out. Not a sound escaped my lips, other than my frantic breathing. I could not move my limbs. Could not turn my head. Another chime.
Unknown: Your heart rate is now 40.
My heart slowed. In the corner of my eye, I saw the monitor displaying my heart rate. The lines slowed, spaced further apart. 40. Blood pressure dropped, 82/43. Terror thrummed through me, but I could not make a sound. My heart just kept its new slow and steady rhythm.
Unknown: Do nothing to attract attention to yourself. You may move again.
Just like that, I could move. Could tremble. But I couldn’t cry, I didn’t dare. I almost yelped when the phone chimed again.
Unknown: Your heart rate is now 130.
A few moments later, the monitor displayed a steady 130. My blood pressure showed 180/120. After a few seconds, another text came. Another number. 80. Followed by several more. 111. 65. 99. It was not a trick. I could feel the difference in the hammering of my own heart.
Valerie: How are you doing this?
Valerie: Why are you doing this?
Unknown: Disconnect yourself from the monitors and lock yourself in the bathroom. Text me when you are alone.
For a long moment, I stared at the screen. Then I did what it said. I was far more scared of the power they had over my heart than the doctor's orders. The med student who hadn’t noticed anything unusual over the last few minutes objected. Still, I insisted and soon was behind locked doors.
Valerie: I am alone.
Unknown: Sit on the floor.
I hesitated for a few seconds, then sat on the cold tile floor. My flimsy hospital gown hardly provided protection.
Unknown: Your heart rate is now 0.
Horrified, I stared at the screen. Death. I am about to die. I could not breathe. Agonizing bands of steel crushed my chest with silent brutality. I toppled forward, face-first into the tile. My death, my doom, loomed over me. For an eternity, nothing happened. Not a movement. Not a breath. Not a heartbeat. Unable to do anything but endure the agony in my chest, and my slowly deadening limbs.
Then a beat. Another. I drew in a shuddering breath. Everything returned to normal. Like nothing happened. Only the memory of pain, and my body tingling at the return of life giving blood.
Unknown: You have a 5:00 appointment back at my office for your job offer. If you tell anyone, or do not arrive on time, you will die. I suggest you hurry.
Michael? He did this. How? No. First, I needed to go, then I could worry about the rest. I didn’t have long. Not long enough to convince the doctors to let me leave. I had no choice. Sneaking out was the only option. At least my purse and phone were in my room.
A little fast talking convinced the med student that I just wanted to go on a walk. He just turned back to his phone, not noticing that I took my purse and slacks along with me. Apparently, my blouse and bra had been destroyed.
Pretending as though I have every right to be there, I walked down the hall, taking my IV with me. Eventually, I found a restroom and locked the door. First, the IV and that damn huge patch of tape holding it in place. Carefully, I peeled the tape up and gently pulled the needle, or whatever it was, from my vein. Ten sticky pads, where leads once attached, came next. They were difficult to remove, but fear was an excellent motivator, and I soon was free. With a sigh of relief, I pulled on my slacks, and pressed a folded paper towel against where the IV had been. Escaping from the ER is a little harder, but a confidant unhurried stride worked. No one questioned me.
Fifty-seven minutes until my damned appointment. According to my phone, it was a thirty-minute walk, so what else could I do? Uber or a taxi might ask uncomfortable questions. Better to walk. The further from the hospital I am, the less likely someone is to notice my ‘blouse’ is an all-too-thin hospital gown.
I hurried on my way, trying to figure out what his game was and how he did this to me.
Dark Fantasies