Seared Into My Brain Novels & Stories

The memories were hazy, like fragments of a shattered mirror, but I tried harder, straining my mind. With each passing moment, the pieces randomly fell into place like every time I tried to recall, the memories forming into a cloudy narrative that only sent shivers down my spine. I remembered the flames licking at the sky, the acrid scent of smoke filling the air, the screams of anguish echoing through the night.

I exhaled and slipped my shoes off at the door and made it to my room in twelve steps that I'd had memorised since I was sixteen. The room closed around me and I leaned against the door and looked at my ceiling, replaying the last four hours in the specific way your brain replays things it hasn't finished processing. The green. His hand at my jaw. Say yes. The car. His hands. Fuck his dick, fucking me! My own voice in his ear, close enough to feel him react before I pulled back. Yes. The word that had been sitting at the front of my brain since morning, finally given its exit.

The memories were seared into his brain now, every single one of them crystal clear. The door creaked open. Lydia walked in.

I hold myself, the residue of pain still locked in my brain. Crazy woman. What the hell did I do?

Lizzy The whole day after our little sex drive, I was tired as hell but it was a good kind of tired and the smile on my face never left even for a minute. Every memory from last night was carved in my brain with so much precision, it was like a DVD being played in HD quality and my stupid brain kept playing it over and over again making me blushed every half an hour, it was quite embarrassing really, ‘it was just sex Lizzy’ I remind myself, why does it affect me so much then?

“What I was before? I’m still ” But the words caught in my throat. Because suddenly… A memory hit me. Hard. Like someone slapped it into my skull

My mind raced, struggling to piece together the fragments of her warning. She screamed louder this time, “Run.” “Run.” The word pounded in my head, reverberating through my skull with a force that made me want to tear my hair out. It was suddenly too much. My brain hurt, the intensity of the moment overpowered my senses, and then it all shattered into a single memory—the moment I had stood up to Carmine Moreno. Tears slid down my face, hot and unchecked. I clutched my head, desperate to silence the noise. “Please, stop it. Stop it.”

I stated, my towering six-foot-four frame rising slowly from the leather chair. My long shadow stretched across the concrete floor, geometric and severe under the blue light of the terminals. I looked down at the violet smudge on my chest, my heart hammering a sudden, intense thoracic variance of ninety-four beats per minute as the memory of her small, bare chest pressing against my tactical top flooded my conscious processing field. She had branded me. She had altered the core code of my machine brain with her wet, pigment-stained fingers, and there was no algorithm in existence that could purge her presence from my architecture.

The memory was etched into my mind like a scar, a constant reminder of the terror I had faced. As I sat in the dimly lit room, I couldn't shake off the feeling of dread that had been building up inside me. What if he comes for me again? What if he tries to hurt me again? The thought sent a wave of panic crashing over me, my mind racing with worst-case scenarios.

That man’s face lingered in my head for days. I tried forgetting about it, but I just can’t seem to erase his face from my memory. It was really bothering the hell out of me. But it was like his face was painted in my head. Whenever I think about it, it gives me goosebumps.