Page 22 of Carnival
I lean against it, panting and trying to catch my breath. My eyes skim through the room, and a loud scream leaves my lips before I can stop it, my heart thumping against my ribcage, my eyes wide. Fear ripples through me, my body shaking and trembling from the sudden experience.
The room is dark, but a fucking snake slithers next to my feet. I’m not bold and brave enough to check if it’s a real one that somehow snuck its way in or if it’s a realistic-looking prop that’s done its job properly. With the snake out of my sight, somewhere in the corner, I swallow thickly and step away from the door, further entering the room. I whip out my phone and turn on the flashlight, skimming the darker areas.
There are many boxes that I decide not to open, an old desk, and a chair covered in cobwebs and dust in layers so thick that not even a cleaning company would fix it. Somehow, I feel compelled to approach it to see if it has anything useful for me to get out of here.
That’s when I notice that the chair is… odd.
It’s tiny. It has enough room to fit me if I were to sit, but it’s short, and I wouldn’t be able to reach the desk. A small frown is on my face as I crouch down, trying to inspect it. Something about it is unnerving, and I can’t quite place my finger on what it is.
Without giving myself too much time to think about it, I sit on it, my hands on the armrest, dangling off it. I lean back, feeling uncomfortable, eyes glued to the ceiling. That’s when I hear an almost silent click.
I straighten up immediately, my heart sinking to my feet.
My hands are caged in.
As in, two metal bars are wrapped around my wrists, preventing me from leaving. I lean in, then spot that they came from under the chair. It’s probably working on a sensor, and no matter how much I try to yank my wrists to set myself free, it’s futile.
My eyes snap toward the big door when I hear it open, and I can’t describe what goes on through my chest. It’s a mix of anticipation, dread, and sheer excitement. My cheeks warm up, the blood boiling in my veins in the most sadistically satisfying feeling I ever could’ve felt.
James steps inside, letting the door lock behind him with a soft click. He takes another step forward, closing the distance between us. My chin lifts up, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing me in distress.
He cocks his head to the side, and although I can’t see what his face looks like, I can see his eyes — the darkness within, the pure madness that threatens to leap to the surface. They’re filled with amusement and something much more twisted, something I’ve never experienced before.
“Well, if it isn’t my little hellion,’’ he muses, the depth of his voice enough to invoke the same feelings from last night out of me. “All caged up, just how I like it.’’
9
Rose
James takes another step forward, crouching down to my level. He doesn’t say anything, and that gives me a moment to inspect the mask. It’s still as creepy as it was two years ago — because last night I had better things to focus on than his mask.
The crack is still there, and although I remember it being covered in blood, now it’s clean. Well, cleaner — it still has bloodstains. It only proves my theory that the blood was real, and I’m not sure how I’m feeling about that. I should be absolutely disgusted and terrified to the bone, yet I’m surprisingly calm.
I’m curious about the crack and why he is wearing the same mask. It’s the most identifiable thing about him, the biggest thing that separates him from the crowd. Realization dawns on me, hitting me like a ton of bricks, and I can’t help the scoff of disbelief that comes from my mouth.
This motherfucker is so arrogant that he isn’t hiding from the cops that are within the house. No, he’s taunting them, challenging them, thinking that he’s some sort of a god. Jesus, did I really get myself involved with such a narcissist?
“What do you want from me?” I ask, trying to wiggle my hands free, though I stop pretty quickly, realizing how useless my struggles are.
“Oh, there are plenty of things I want from you,’’ he murmurs, reaching with his index finger to brush a stray hair out of my face, his touch surprisingly gentle, a stark contrast to his entire demeanor. “And I think you know just how much I want to show them to you.’’
I try my best not to show how much effect his whispering, his tender touches, and that intense gaze are having on me. Instead, I look at him, suppressing the shivering of my body and slightly narrowing my eyes.
“You want to fuck me again.’’
“Well, of course,’’ he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “But there’s so much more that I want from you than just your body, pretty girl.’’
“Like what?”
He puts his index finger under my jaw, tilting my head upward. I can practically feel him smirking behind the mask, and as he inches closer, I try holding onto the thin thread of sanity, though it seems to be close to snapping entirely.
“Owning your soul,’’ he murmurs, dragging his finger all over my cheek and chin, then brushing his thumb against my lips. I stay still, unable to move, unable to do anything except stare at the mask. His eyes are glued to my lips, and I love theway his thumb presses into my soft skin. “Owning your mind, until all you can think of is me.’’
My mind goes blank, and as if it’s some sort of a twisted cosmic joke, he is all I think about. The way the pad of his thumb pulls my bottom lip down and the way he’s staring so intently cause the pit of my stomach to clench, my body already at his mercy.
“James,’’ I whisper, and his eyes snap to mine. They’re widened a little, pupils dilated as if I’d just given him a daily dose of his fix. His hand moves to the back of my head, grabbing a handful of my hair and pulling it back.
“Say my name again.’’
