Chapter 3: Hallucinations
The nitrous was doing its thing. My vision swam, the harsh fluorescent lights above me morphing into swirling halos of gold and white. A giggle bubbled up in my chest—everything felt weightless, like my bones had dissolved into air. The sterile scent of the lab faded, replaced by something sweeter, almost intoxicating. I exhaled slowly, watching my breath fog the inside of the oxygen mask.
Through the haze, I focused on the glass partition separating me from Emily. At first, she was just a smudge of color—auburn hair, the curve of her shoulder, the faint outline of her smile. Then, like a camera lens snapping into focus, her image sharpened. Except… it wasn’t her. Not the Emily I’d shared shitty vending machine coffee with twenty minutes ago.
Gone was the nervous, fidgeting girl from the break room. In her place stood a fucking vision—black latex clinging to every inch of her like liquid shadow, her hips cocked to one side, a riding crop tapping against her thigh. My pulse kicked up a notch. "Oh, hell," I muttered, the words slurring just a little.
The latex gleamed under the lab lights, so tight I could see the flex of her muscles as she shifted her weight. Her green eyes—usually warm, curious—now burned with a predatory gleam. She tilted her head, studying me like I was prey. A slow, wicked smile curled her lips. "You look like you’re having fun," she purred, her voice dripping with amusement.
The whip cracked—a sound so sharp it sent a jolt straight down my spine. My fingers twitched against the armrests. Logically, I knew this wasn’t real. Knew the gas was messing with my head. But logic had checked out the second that leather had snapped. "Yeah," I breathed. "Fun’s one word for it."
She prowled closer, boots clicking against the floor with deliberate, echoing steps. Each one ratcheted the tension tighter in my gut. When she stopped, she was close enough that her breath should’ve fogged the glass. Her gloved hand pressed against it, fingers splayed. "Tell me what you want," she murmured.
I swallowed hard. My throat was sandpaper. "You know exactly what I want."
The whip dragged down the glass with a soft, sinister scrape. My breath hitched. Dr. Smith’s voice crackled through the overhead speaker, jarringly clinical. "Subject B, are you experiencing any… unusual sensations?"
I blinked, and the latex melted away—replaced by Emily’s usual jeans and fitted t-shirt. But the smirk? That stayed. "Unusual?" I croaked, dragging the mask down. "Doc, you have no fucking idea." The riding crop in her hand flicked playfully against her palm. What the h