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On either side of us, the walls gradually come alive. Green leaves grow. Purple and pink flowers bloom and multiply.
After staring at nothing but death, it would be tempting to stop and watch, but I don’t slow my pace, and neither does Ro.
“How is this happening?” Ro whispers as if talking too loud will cause a terrifying event.
“An illusion?” I guess. “It can’t be real.”
Only fifteen more feet to go. In theory, that doesn’t seem like a lot, but it’s way too far when shit is about to go down.
My gaze darts to some rosebud clusters. They’re multiplying and spreading out overhead. Connecting with the flowers from the other wall, they form an arch.
I don’t like being closed in.
“Come here.” I lift my left arm, inviting Ro to take shelter on my machete-wielding side.
Without hesitation, she presses herself against me, and a burst of vibration flares from the spot where her body melds to mine.
Ah, there it is—the sensation I’ve been craving. Satisfaction rises and falls through me like a much-needed sigh.
Being this close to Ro is intoxicating. My nerves immediately calm. The unfamiliar fear dissipates, and my courage is bolstered.
Self-consciousness is still present, but Ro has a way of making me feel accepted.
Her hand is resting on my abdomen, right over one of my biggest scars, and she shows no signs of revulsion. She doesn’t balk at the imperfection, and she isn’t poking, prodding, or examining the thickened skin with her fingers like most people would if they get the chance.
Every now and then, women have been fascinated by my scars instead of appalled. They’re intrigued by an affliction they haven’t seen before, and they come on to me because I’m unique and interesting. They think I have a great story to tell—a battle tale for every mark.
They’re always disappointed when they find out I got them all on the same day and that the event didn’t end in the heroic defeat of my opponent.
The truth is much less interesting—I was tortured, then discarded like garbage.
That’s why I stopped telling my story. Even some of my closest friends don’t know how I became this way.
I find myself wanting to tell Ro, but now’s not the time.
We’re just five feet away from the exit, and I’m glad we’re almost out because that six feet of leeway we had has shrunk to three. With how thick the greenery has gotten, our space is being encroached on. Branches scratch my broad shoulders. Twigs get caught on my hair.
Doing my best to shield Ro, I hunch over her and quicken my strides. She’s basically running to keep up, and I’m not opposed to carrying her if I must.
We emerge from the maze…
Almost.
At the last second, Ro yelps and comes to a halt.
Just past the threshold, I spin to face her, and I see that her robe is stuck on some thorns.
“Grab onto my wrists,” I order because my hands are occupied by my weapons.
As she clings to me, I try to yank her away, but the shrubbery is coming for her. It’s like it has a mind of its own, and it doesn’t want her to leave. Vines wrap around her arms and encase her midsection.
Ro looks at me with terror-filled eyes as we both conclude that I won’t be able to pull her free. No matter how hard I tug, the ropes won’t snap.
I need a new strategy, and I’ll require a full range of motion to accomplish it.
“Let go of me,” I tell Ro firmly.
She violently shakes her head. “I can’t.”
