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He would’ve known how to replicate her messages. He knew exactly how to trap me, and I’m guessing he asked a local about the woods around here. They would’ve mentioned Edge of the World.
Or he could’ve used Google.
“What’s wrong with you, Zoey?” Ashton said like I had some sort of vendetta against him. “I’ve been so nice to you, but you can’t even try to be kind to me? Not for a second.”
I bit back a retort about how tricking me into meeting him is the very inverse of nice. And how I learned to stand up for myself and I’m not going to let him walk all over me.
Instead, I thought the smarter thing would be to ignore the backbone I’d grown, and I just tried to apologize. “I’m really sorry for hurting you, Ashton. I really am.”
He let out a shrill laugh with the shake of his head. “No, you aren’t. If you were, you would’ve come here for me. I wouldn’t have had to pretend to be that bitch.” I must’ve glared because he added, “Yeah, that’s right. You only love her. You’ve only ever loved her. How do you feel stringing other people along? Do you get off on it?”
I shook my head repeatedly.
“How many others have you humiliated? I can’t be the first.”
I couldn’t speak, and I doubt anything I said would’ve convinced him. He made up his mind.
And then he drew a hunting knife out from behind his back. As a power play? To try and scare and humiliate me? To kill me? I didn’t wait to chat and figure out that he hates me enough to hurt me. It’s really, really clear he does!
I bolted.
I’m still running, and I can’t tell how much distance separates us. Not through the fog.
“I wasted years on you! FOR WHAT?!” Ashton screams, his voice an echo through the maze of tree trunks.
Branches rake against my cheek, blooming pain in my face, but I don’t stop moving. Where the fuck am I going? How could I be so stupid? Hot tears scald my eyes, and it hurts to breathe.
I don’t even care if love makes me do idiotic things.
I don’t even care if I die because I love October more than humanly imaginable.
And I hear her icy voice in my head, “Don’t die for me, Zoey. You better live for me.”
Okay.
Okay. I put myself in this horrible position, but I’m not rolling over. I’m not that person. Survival instincts kick in.
I grit my teeth and force my legs higher out of the mud. Running stronger. My pulse thumps so fast, so hard—I think he’s close.
Twigs crack behind me, and I hear his heavy, rageful footsteps. Braving a glance over my shoulder, I see nothing but gray fog.
And then I collide into a tree.
“Fuck!” I stumble back and fall ass-first into mud. Get up, get up, get up, Zoey! I hear October again. Screaming at me, and I pick myself up, clawing into the wet dirt with my fingertips. Globs of mud cling to the white fur coat that I wear.
Just as I stand, his hand wraps around my ankle—and he wrenches me backwards. Ground slips beneath my feet, and I hit the mud hard, gasping for breath.
“This is what it feels like,” Ashton says, his voice distant in my ringing ears. He starts dragging me by the ankle like I’m a dead carcass. My belly skids against the wet earth and soggy brush.
“Stop, stop!” I yell, trying to kick out of his grip. Trying to claw into the mud, but he’s sprinting and the earth scrapes against my palms and fingers at a dizzying speed. “HELP!” I scream, eating mouthfuls of dirt. “HELP!”
“No one’s coming for you, Zoey.” His hateful grip hurts on my ankle. Like an iron vice is clamped against me.
I try to flail.
I try to dig.
His hatred is mightier than my desperation.
My eyes burn and glass with fear. “WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU?!” I yell at him, lungs burning.
“WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU?!” he screams back at my face, pausing long enough for me to kick his nose with my freed foot.
“Argh!” He makes a pained noise, but just as I scramble to stand, he captures my ankle again and wrenches me back down. Dragging me harder. More forcefully.
I suddenly see a signpost with a warning symbol. No. “The cliffs,” I choke out. “There are cliffs up ahead, don’t—”
“You don’t think I know that?”
Is he going to throw me off the fucking cliff? I scream out as I dig harder, clawing my way back to the signed post.
“Stop! Moving!” Ashton yells, and he slashes his knife at my leg. Pain sears, but I barely see blood seep through my jeans. I’m still clawing.
Still digging.
Get away from me. Get away from me!
I jerk to a motionless state at a sudden, violent bang. A gun—someone just shot a gun. Did he…am I…?
