Summer
Dear old Frank Herbert once wrote:
“Knowing where the trap is—that’s the first step in evading it.”
Yeah, Frank, you never had to deal with a psychopath, did you?
I should be wiser and adhere to those words, but then again, where would the thrill of the game be if I played it all in safe mode? There’s nothing remotely safe in my endeavor, anyway.
Until Friday night is over, I should consider myself a Schrödinger’s cat, but instead of both dead and alive, I’m both trapped and not in whatever depravity Atlas has in store for me. Whatever it is, I can handle it.
Tonight, he doesn’t come to my room, making me nod off in the bathroom, hugging the hard bat instead of my pillow. It’s past 2 a.m. when I move to my bed, accepting the reality that he isn’t joining me. The moment I get a whiff of my pillow, I drift off immediately, but that doesn’t mean I’m well-rested when the morning comes.
My eyes might be barely open, but my resolve is wide awake and ready to let Atlas know that sleep-deprived me is the worst version of myself, second only to hungry me. I type and delete about five different messages before settling on one I deem good enough toembody my frustration.
My bat missed your head last night.
His reply doesn’t take more than a few seconds.
Atlas
Is ‘bat’ a code name for your pussy?
I grunt, rolling my eyes so hard that I catch a glimpse of my brain misfiring signals, triggering laughter instead of anger. That fucker knows how to evoke mixed emotions.
When I don’t answer in the next ten minutes, setting my phone aside to brush my teeth and get dressed, it chimes in once more from my nightstand.
Atlas
You missed me last night. All you have to do is ask, and I’ll be there.
I stare at the screen for a second too long before replying.
Don’t hold your breath.
I’m about to leave my phone again, thinking the conversation is over, when another text pops up.
Atlas
You didn’t deny it.
No. I didn’t miss you. Don’t project your delusions onto me!
Atlas
Was it a delusion when you came on my fingers, cutting off their circulation, or the way you worshiped my name in between your moans? Your cunt missed me for sure.
He’s never letting go of this...with his skilled fingers.
Don’t flatter yourself! Even the worst fuck can feel good if you’re starved for it.
Atlas
Don’t worry, my little Succubus! With me, you’ll always be thoroughly sated.
With him?
An idea springs to mind. I might be able to force some form of commitment out of him.
