Raw

Two weeks passed. The bandages came off, revealing skin that was smooth, pale, and incredibly tough.

Elena—because she had to believe that was her name—spent her days wandering the Glass House. It was a masterpiece of modern architecture, cold and sharp. There were no photos on the walls. No clutter. It was less a home and more a display case.

She felt wrong.

It wasn't just the memory loss. It was the physical sensation of being in her own body. Her hearing was too sharp; she could hear the hum of the refrigerator from the second floor. Sunlight gave her migraines, forcing her to wear dark glasses even indoors.

And the hunger.

She sat at the long marble dining table. Julian had prepared a salad and grilled chicken.

Elena stared at the cooked meat. It looked grey. Dead.

"Not hungry?" Julian asked. He was watching her. He was always watching her. He didn't work in an office; he spent his days in the basement, which was locked with a biometric scanner, but he emerged every hour to check on her.

"I... I want something else," Elena said.

"What do you crave?"

"Steak," she said. The word made her mouth water. "Rare. Blue."

Julian smiled. It was a proud, almost paternal smile. "Protein. Essential for the metabolic shift."

He took the chicken away and returned ten minutes later with a slab of beef that was barely seared. Blood pooled on the white porcelain plate.

Elena didn't use her fork. Before she could stop herself, she picked up the meat with her fingers. She tore into it. The taste of the iron-rich blood hit her tongue, and a wave of euphoria crashed over her. It tasted like life.

She ate voraciously, juice running down her chin.

When she finished, she looked up, panting slightly. She felt ashamed.

Julian was staring at her. He wasn't disgusted. He was aroused. His pupils were dilated, his breath coming faster.

"You are magnificent," he whispered.

Elena pushed the plate away, wiping her mouth. "I’m going to bed."

She fled to the master bedroom. She needed to get away from his eyes.

She opened the nightstand drawer to look for a sleeping mask. Her hand brushed against a false bottom in the wood.

She frowned. She pried the panel up with a fingernail—which was surprisingly sharp.

Underneath lay a small silver locket. It looked old, tarnished by salt air.

She opened it. Inside was a tiny, water-damaged photo of a young woman who looked vaguely like her, laughing on a hiking trail. She had her arm around a man.

The man was not Julian. He was rugged, bearded, wearing a flannel shirt. He looked kind.

A sharp pain lanced through Elena’s head. *Sarah,* a voice whispered in the static of her mind. *Look at the view, Sarah.*

"What is this?"

Elena jumped. Julian was standing in the doorway. He moved silently, like a ghost on the carpet.

He saw the locket.

The transformation in his face was terrifying. The doting husband vanished, replaced by a mask of cold, reptilian fury. He crossed the room in two strides and snatched the locket from her hand.

"Where did you get this?" he hissed.

"I found it," Elena stammered, backing up until her legs hit the bed. "Who is he, Julian? Who is the man?"

"He is nobody!" Julian screamed. He threw the locket against the wall. It shattered. "He is dead! He couldn't save you! I saved you!"

He grabbed her shoulders, his fingers digging in hard enough to bruise.

"He let you fall, Elena! He let you break! I am the one who put you back together! I am the only one who matters!"

He was shaking her. Elena gasped, the smell of his cologne suddenly overpowering, choking her.

"You're hurting me," she said.

Julian froze. He looked at his hands, then at her terrified face. He blinked, the rage receding as quickly as it had come, smoothed over by that terrifying, clinical calm.

"I'm sorry," he said. He stroked her hair. "I'm so sorry, my love. It's the trauma. It makes us both emotional. You need your medicine."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a sedative pill.

"Take it," he commanded softly. "Sleep the confusion away."

Elena took the pill. She put it in her mouth.

She let him kiss her forehead. She let him tuck her in.

But she didn't swallow. She held the bitter tablet under her tongue until he turned off the lights and left the room.