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He exhales heavily, and I shiver at the power in that breath.
There’s something about this man. He’s aggressive, and deadly, yet there’s this lingering tension in the air, an electricity shooting through me. Even though I can’t feel his fingers, I can feel the emotion in his touch.
My eyes fall sideways, and I see my phone on my nightstand. I wonder how quickly I could grab onto it. If I would be able to call for help without receiving a knife in my gut. Or if it would only end in my sheets turning red.
His hand leaves my face, and he whips his fingers across my nightstand, my phone flying from the surface and onto the ground.
He clucks his tongue. “That would’ve been a grave mistake,” he rasps, his voice altered by the voice changer, making me shiver.
I swallow over the lump in my throat, my blood warming at his closeness.
He bends down farther, his knee pressing into my mattress right next to my hip. My breathing picks up, and I stare at the mask, white and black, scratched like it’s been used for ages. And what I fear is the drop of blood I see in the corner.
Is that Eloise’s, or someone else’s?
“You hurt my best friend,” I whisper.
His head cocks. “Would you rather it have been you?” he asks.
I stare up at him, at the black eyes which are barely visible through the mask.
His head drops until I can feel the plastic against my nose, as if he’s about to kiss me, mask to lips.
“Do you want to die, Lakyn?”
I intake a shaky breath. “I want my friends to live.”
The knife moves from my neck, down to my breasts. He pulls on my tank top, lowering the fabric. I want to cover myself, but I’m petrified, unable to do a thing as the fabric pops below my breasts, my nipples hardened into stiff peaks, sensitive to the cool air.
He drags the tip of the knife, scraping it along my skin, across my sensitive nipple, pressing the blade in until the rosy skin whitens. “There’s no one here, Lakyn. Only you, and me. So tell me, little one. Do you want to live?”
He presses the knife in deeper, until the blade pierces the skin, and a droplet of blood pools around the silver blade, dripping to the dip between my breasts.
“Tell me,” he commands.
I want nothing but life. My head bobs. “I want to live. I want to survive,” I choke out in fear that he’s going to drain me just as he tried to drain my best friend.
He chuckles, his voice low, raspy, the point of the blade sliding against my tank top, pulling it down even farther, stretching until I hear the tear, the knife slicing through until he reaches my waist, and the fabric falls on either side of my waist.
His gaze is fire as it sears my bare skin. My insides warm, the base of my spine dampening with sweat. It’s as if he doesn’t just see me, but sees through me.
There isn’t fear crackling through the room anymore. It’s something edgier, something that fills the room with a heaviness that I can feel in my soul. I want to escape it. I want to bask in it.
I don’t know what’s going on, but I think I want more.
I squeeze my eyes shut, wanting to escape these emotions. I need to remember who stands above me.
Someone who threatens me.
Someone who has left my friend in near pieces. On the edge of death.
My stomach quivers, feeling as if it’s holding oversized butterflies, their wings sharp as knives as they flap against my insides.
I don’t know whether to cry, scream, fight, or sit here, melting in the sudden tension I feel drowning me.
The masked man isn’t slicing me to bits, and his movements are calculated, measured. I can barely breathe as I stare at him, wondering what’s next.
Wondering if I’m becoming sick because I want him to do more.
