Welcome to Hell (by Williane Kassia) novel Chapter 243

Chapter 243

Adrian Kael

“My only son… getting married. I’m feeling old,” he laughs lightly.

“Are you going to give me grandchildren?”

I let out a loud laugh.

“Grandchildren?” I repeat mockingly. “If you want one, adopt. I don’t

share my god’s attention with anyone, much less a child.”

He sighs, resigned.

“Fine. I’ll do everything exactly as you asked.”

I end the call and hand the phone back to the warden, who takes it

with trembling hands, avoiding my gaze.

Without saying anything else, I walk out of the room with firm steps.

My heart vibrates with anticipation. In a week, Magnus and I will be

free.

Free… and together.

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I walk to the door that leads to the courtyard and lean against the

wall, crossing my arms as I wait for him. My chest vibrates with

expectation; I can hardly contain my smile thinking about the news.

In a week, we’ll be out of here.

Anxiety consumes me from the inside, and a sting of doubt arises.

Maybe I was too hasty in mentioning the wedding? But I quickly

shake my head, pushing the thought away. He likes me–maybe he

doesn’t admit it yet, but he loves me. And if he loves me, then

everything is fine. Marriage is just the next logical step.

Seconds crawl by. Then, entire minutes pass. No sign of Magnus.

I furrow my brow, impatient.

“Where did you get to, love…”

I push off the wall and head toward the cafeteria. As I enter, the buzz

of the place irritates me instantly: inmates talking loudly, laughing,

and eating as if the world were normal. I roll my eyes, ignoring

everyone, as my eyes search for Magnus.

Nothing.

I run my tongue over my teeth, feeling the discomfort grow. I circle

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the hall, examining every corner, but he isn’t there. A restlessness

begins to grow inside me, a bad feeling.

I rush out and head down the hallway. As I pass the communal

bathroom, a metallic sound echoes from inside–something between

a muffled groan and the sound of something being dragged.

My heart hammers.

I throw the door open without thinking, with so much force that it

slams against the wall. And then time stops.

The air vanishes from my lungs.

Before me, hell: Magnus is lying on the floor. Inert. His face covered in blood, his body covered in marks and bruises. His uniform was torn, stained red, and dirty with grime. The boot prints stamped on his chest scream of the horror; they kicked him until they nearly

snuffed out his life.

A ringing fills my ears. The floor seems to spin. The whole world

becomes a blur.

I feel my chest tighten, my heart pounding out of rhythm. No air comes in, and my vision darkens at the edges.

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“L–Love…” The word comes out through sobs, trembling, broken.

“Baby…”

I fall to my knees beside him. My hands shake as they touch his

bloodied face. His skin is still warm. The blood, fresh. My throat

closes up, despair suffocates me, and tears burn even before they fall.

I place a finger under his nose, my entire body begging for a sign, any

sign. Then I feel a faint breath, almost non–existent.

Relief explodes inside me, tearing through my chest along with the

crying.

“Thank God…” I murmur, my voice failing, as I hug him carefully, as if

I feared he would crumble in my hands.

I pick him up in my arms with extreme care, and he lets out a groan of pain, even unconscious. Rage and fear mix’together–a storm about

to explode inside me.

I leave the bathroom with firm steps; every step to the cell feels

endless.

When I finally arrive, I lay him down carefully on the bed, adjusting him with all the tenderness possible. My heart is still racing out of

control, and my throat stings.

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I run my hand through his hair, brushing away the strands matted

with blood and sweat.

“I’m going to take care of you, love,” I murmur, my voice choked. “And

whoever did this… is going to pay dearly.”

I stand up and go to the shelf. I find the scissors, return to the

bedside, and begin to cut open the uniform with trembling hands. As

I reveal his skin, I see his body covered in deep purple bruises and

cuts.

I bite my lip hard, tasting the metallic flavor of my own blood; the

fury of someone having touched my Magnus burns within.

I take a deep breath; now is not the time to explode. First, the

wounds.

I strip him completely and throw the clothes on the floor. I run to the

shower, fill a bucket with warm water, and return with a clean towel. I

kneel beside the bed, dampen the cloth, and begin to clean him, slowly, measuring every movement to avoid increasing the pain.

He groans even while unconscious; the sound pierces my chest. I hold his arm gently and slide the cloth from his neck to his chest, removing dried blood and dirt. I wring the towel into the bucket and repeat the process over his abdomen, thighs, and groin.

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