Slow Comfortable Screw Up Against The Wall Novels & Stories

The sound of chains moving as they registered footsteps coming. Dominic went through the door first. He crossed to the nearest man, gripped the chain with both hands and pulled. The wall ring held for three seconds. Then it did not. The bolt tore out of the concrete and the chain came free and the first man stumbled forward. Dominic was already at the second chain before the first man had found his feet. Same grip. Same pull. The concrete around that bolt was older, softer. It gave fast, a chunk of the wall coming with it.

I had called the local handyman service out of frustration, but I hadn’t expected someone like him to show up. “Should be an easy fix,” Lucas said, his deep, slightly raspy voice filling the quiet room. He tightened a bolt with a wrench, his biceps flexing visibly. “The joints are loose. I’ll reinforce them and make sure it’s sturdy again.” I leaned against the doorframe, my thin white tank top clinging to my body and my short denim shorts riding up my thighs. “Take your time,” I said softly, a small smile playing on my lips. “I’m in no rush.”

I sensed that he was about to betray me. I stood on the toilet, carefully inspecting the area around the window next to the sink. I quietly raised the pane as far as it would allow, making an effort to minimize any sound. I hoisted myself up to the entrance, which was conveniently positioned six feet above the ground. I utilized the rubber sole of my sneakers to gain traction and pull myself up against the smooth tile wall. My diminishing upper-body strength made this seemingly simple task even more challenging. A sharp, intense ache throbbed across my stomach, where Gray had left his mark and constant reminders on my flesh.

It’s dull, but it has a flat edge. I kneel in front of the vent. The linoleum is cold against my knees. I dig the tip of the knife into the screw head. Scrape. Twist. The paint cracks. The screw turns. It shrieks in protest, a high-pitched metal-on-metal sound that sets my teeth on edge. I work fast. My hands are shaking, but my movements are precise. I am operating on pure adrenaline. One screw. Two screws. I pull the grate off. Behind it is a dark, dusty tunnel. It smells of old air and mouse droppings. Dust motes dance in the shaft of light from the window, swirling like tiny galaxies.

I had been wrong about all three of those things, and I had known I was wrong since the first game when I pulled her behind the table, and her shoulder hit mine, and I understood with a clarity I could not argue with that this was not something I was going to be able to put down by deciding to. But saying it out loud was different. Saying it out loud made it real in a way that thinking it did not. The water hit my knees... I moved faster. My hands found a pressure point on the third wall, different from the last chamber but with the same underlying design logic. I pressed it in sequence. Three, pause, two, hold. Nothing… I adjusted—two, pause, three, hold. The ceiling mechanism clicked. I wa

The wound throbs in time with my heartbeat, every pulse a little aftershock that threatens to split me open again. I try to sit up and the world immediately disagrees. Everything tilts forty-five degrees and the walls slide sideways before snapping back. I manage to wedge myself upright, bracing against the headboard, which is just two planks nailed to the wall and a sticker that says “Suck Less.” The room is exactly as I left it: cramped, ugly, and somehow smaller than it was yesterday.

*Boom* Ray rolled out of the way as Mane crushed into the wall, fist first. That section of the wall broke apart as easily as a knife cutting through cake. But the damage wasn’t extended beyond that. A pale blue barrier covered the entire wall and supported it. So, although it had a section broken off, the hall was still fine. However, through the broken part of the wall, Mane could see the happenings in the adjacent room. It just so happened that the part of the wall he had broken down was where the door was fixed. That meant the next room was

He moved quickly and dropped one with a kick to the knee and slammed the other against the wall so hard the drywall cracked. In less than ten seconds they were all neutralised, and the apartment was quiet, except for Grayson's loud, fearful breathing.

Mister was in a panicked tizzy, frantically trying to make sense of what was happening to him at the moment. He tried to get away from the presence and out of the bedroom door, but it was no use. There was something or someone holding him in place. He tried to fight it off but it seemed to be wrapped all around him. He couldn't move, hell, he could barely breathe, as the presence slowly moved him across the room, pushing him hard up against the wall behind him.

Carefully, she ascent the staircase using the wall to support her movement from falling. Marsha's fingers grazed the cool, worn surface of the wall as she began her ascent up the creaking wooden stairs. Each step seemed steeper than the last, and her heart raced in her chest, a wild rhythm that seemed to echo in her ears. The air was thick, and every inhale felt strained as if her lungs were struggling to keep up with the demanding climb.