Page 52 of Make Me Hunt
In front of the man, I want to hate... but it seems impossible to.
I didn’t tell him the whole story, though. I didn’t tell him about Elias, or how he was the only thing holding my sanity together while we were both in the sanatorium. He was there because he developed self-harming tendencies after being abused for seven years—as a child, and then again in the sanatorium.
He used to dream of becoming a famous reporter, of building enough credibility to expose everything that was happening in Elmbrook.
My dream was a lot simpler.
End them all.
We couldn’t exactly go to the police after escaping that place. The local authorities might not believe us. We couldn’t risk anyone sending us back.
When we both escaped, we promised ourselves that we’d return. Make the ones who hurt us pay.
I’ve walked through fire more than once. Now, I need to wield it into a weapon, let it become the fuel that helps me succeed. Now, it’s all on me—even if, in this second, I don’t feel powerful enough to even breathe.
I still can’t believe I told Ares about my trauma, that I let him into the most intimate parts of my life. The most painful ones. And right now, I’d give anything to stop the pain.
Before it consumes me.
I need to stop the memories, and as absurd as it sounds, I’m clinging to any hope I can find—even Ares’s promise.
Because it feels like I’m slowly dying. And it’s only a matter of time until there’s nothing left of me to fight with.
The sensations are all too real, like I’m there again. The dim lights around me slowly begin to fade, and the shadow of the monster creeps in. The small pocketknife inhishand. The promise of pain inhiseyes.
And I feel like I’m drowning, even if I’m on land.
I can’t let Ezekiel get to me. Not again. Deep down, I’m still the scared prisonerheused to have at his mercy. That’s why I never felt ready to go after him, not even after all these years.
He’sgetting closer, heavy steps against the floor, mischief inhiseyes, and the fucking urge to see me broken. To ruin me.
The fear is so potent I feel like I’m gagging. The tightening in my chest announces another panic attack, but this time with good reason. The inability to move, to scream, to do anything except lie there as a victim.
No, I can’t be the victim this time.
I start kicking and screaming, nails digging intohisskin. Knees striking anything I can reach.
Ezekiel won’t hurt me this time. I won’t lethim. Buthe’sstrong. So much stronger thanhisfragile stature lets on, like an unmovable wall, keeping me hostage on the couch.
“Brynn,”hegroans,hisvoice hoarse, like it doesn’t even belong to the face. It doesn’t stop me, though. I only fighthimharder, kickhimstronger. Untilhesays it again, even more demanding. “Brynn, fucking look at me.”
And this time, I recognize the voice.
It doesn’t belong to Ezekiel.
It belongs to Ares.
Confusion takes hold of me. Everything’s a blur now, and I’m fighting to see through it. But when it clears, what I see feels like another version of my nightmares.
Ares has turned on the light. His body is on top of mine, pinning me to the couch, asking me to breathe slowly. But how am I supposed to breathe when the oxygen’s drained from my lungs? Because this isn’t Ares with me, but a dark version of him. Like a real-life monster coming to take whatever scraps of sanity I have left. All his features are rougher now. His eyes, completely dark, the black iris, swallowing the white. His lips are thicker and more curved. His sharp jawline, now almost squared, like he’s carved out of stone. Everything about him is larger, like he grew a whole foot in one second, his body following the rhythm. Everything’s more sculpted, impossibly defined now, veins pulsing with some twisted rage that sends chills down my spine.
“What the fuck are you?” I ask, trying to sound menacing, but my tone has lost the edge. I sound much more like a scared kitten than a warrior ready to face him. And how could I not when I’m starting to believe he’s something not even human.
Fuck. I’ve gone insane.
Maybe him seeing my scars triggered something, flipped a switch in my brain. Now the world feels like a mix of chaos and hallucinations, all driven by my sick imagination. I don’t know if I should be terrified or just start laughing.
Because this isn’t real. It can’t be real.
