Chapter Ten
I pull the textbook closer, doing everything in my power to focus on the words melting from the page.
In the background, Addy is tugging on outfits, huffing in frustration and yanking them back off again.
She clanks and clammers, not realizing how loud she’s dropping the hairbrush or slamming her dresser drawers.
It’s taking everything in me not to shut my cochlear implants off, but I made a promise to myself to adjust to living in a world dictated by sound. Since diving in at the deep end was an epic fail, building up slowly in the confines of my dorm room seemed like a better idea.
“What about this one?” Addy asks, a frown tugging at her mouth as she twirls for the seventh time in what must be her entire closet.
I blink, startled back into the present by the rustle of skirts and the sound of fabric brushing against skin.
The pile of discarded outfits behind her tells me I’ve missed most of the show, lost in the tangle of my psych textbook and the mental math of how many chapters I still have to get through before Monday.
She’s wearing a steampunk dress now. Rich purple satin at the bust, black corset cinched tight around her waist, layers of lace and leather creating an otherworldly silhouette. She looks stunning. Her lean frame carries it like she just stepped out of some dystopian fairytale.
“Yes, that one’s perfect,” I say automatically, eyes darting back to the page, but I can hear the exaggerated sigh that follows. Addy flops down beside me with all the drama of someone who knows she looks amazing and still needs reassurance.
“You say that to every outfit.” I glance at her from the corner of my eye, hiding a smile. “Are you sure you aren’t going to come to the party?”
I twist my lips, pretending to read. Addy knows my answer already.
I didn’t come here to party, I came to make something of myself.
Something that I would never have been able to achieve with online learning.
And yes, maybe I should give myself some grace to be a normal nineteen year old, partying with my roommate.
But the thought of walking into that house, of the eyes, the whispers, the snap judgements and Rhys’ cocky smile that I bent to his will, nah I think I’m good.
Giving me a little twirl, her skirt and hair shift back and forth in time with each other before she dances her way down the hall towards the bathroom.
Shaking my head, I lift my book and sigh as the words blur into each other from exhaustion.
I would happily curl into bed and leave this for another day, if I didn’t have an assignment due on Monday and a full weekend of revising to catch up on.
Before our door slams closed, scaring the shit out of me, noise filters in from the hallway and now that I’ve latched on, I can’t seem to ignore it.
Excited chatter and music from the surrounding dorms close in, causing my shoulders to shrink inwards as if I can escape.
It’s no use, and I quickly give up, jotting Addy a note.
I’ll be at the library.
Stuffing my phone, stationery, and books into my backpack, I cram my feet into my biker boots and yank a thick hoodie over my head.
The leather jacket goes on last, less for warmth and more for armor.
Pausing to turn off my receivers, I leave them on the dresser.
That’s enough auditory practice for tonight.
Without a backward glance, in fear I’ll change my mind and flop back into bed, I close the door and head out.
The wind bites as I step outside, slicing through the fabric of my hoodie like tiny knives.
A sliver of crescent moon hangs above, dimmed behind a veil of clouds.
I tug the hood higher and add ‘buy a decent coat’ to the ever-growing mental to-do list. Back when I was home-schooled, I didn’t have to deal with freezing night air just to swap out a textbook.
I take the main path to the courtyard, keeping to public routes as much as possible.
It should be safer that way, except there isn’t another soul about.
Anywhere. No bodies. No movement. No flickers of phone light bouncing between brick walls.
The campus is… empty. The kind of empty that makes your skin crawl.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end as I walk faster, my boots thudding against the stone like warning drums. The courtyard opens up ahead, swallowed by shadow and dimmer than I was expecting.
Lamp posts flicker behind me, my breath fogs in front of me.
Shadows appear on the edge of my vision, only to vanish when I chase them with my eyes.
I climb the wide library steps two at a time, my safe haven within arm’s reach. I’m being paranoid, I know that. My vivid imagination likes to play tricks on me. Grasping the door’s thick handle, a shadow grows across the wood. Not mine, one much taller.
Before I can whip around, before I can so much as gasp, the straps of my backpack are tugged downwards, pinning my arms at an awkward angle.
At the same time, my world goes completely dark.
I twist, testing the strength pinning me in place.
It doesn’t budge. I’m shoved back down the stone steps, fumbling for my footing as the heat of my breath bounces back from the material covering my face.
Dread curdles in my stomach, a useless attempt of maintaining some type of dignity making me far too compliant.
I’ll blame it on the shock that’s currently seizing my brain.
Is this a prank, or should I be screaming my lungs out?
A tiny voice in my head provides the answer, reminding me of who threatened me earlier today.
‘You’ve just picked a side. And it’s the wrong one.’
My jaw clenches. Being two senses down, I jerk and stumble, half through panic and half from being dragged along for what seems like hours but could be mere minutes.
My fingers start to tingle from their strained position, my legs as heavy as lead as I try to keep up.
I don’t bother calling out, since I’m unable to hear any response I may be given.
Instead I try to comply as much as possible, my mind and heart racing as fingernails bite into my upper arms.
I’m going to kill him for this. Murder him dead.
My boots graze on rockier terrain which makes finding my footing almost impossible.
The hands on me are all that keep me upright, and I don’t make their job easy.
Dragging my weight down, they’re forced to drag me the rest of the way.
I may not be a good prisoner, but I sure am a passive-aggressive one.
Before long, I’m thrown forward and fall heavily to the ground, my left shoulder taking most of the impact.
I groan at the pain, only sparing a moment before scrambling back and shoving the sack from my head.
Frigid air slices through my throat as I gulp down ragged breaths, blinking hard to clear my vision.
Shapes moving around me blur into one. Patches of orange flicker in the wind, bouncing against a sea of hooded silhouettes holding the flame-lit torches in their hands.
Barren trees stretch overhead in a network of branches trying to block out the hint of the moon and cage me inside.
The ground is damp beneath my fingers, an underlying scent of disturbed soil speaking of a recent downpour I must have missed whilst studying.
At my feet, a figure looms over me. Beneath the hood, which is pitch black like its adjoining robes, sits the full-face mask of a mutilated pig.
It’s horrific, converted into a scowl with evil eyes and blood dripping from its silicone ears and nostrils.
I’m disturbed by it, but I don’t recoil in the way that I’m sure is intended.
Suddenly, a shape lunges from the corner of my vision.
This time, at long last to those watching, I scream.
There’s nothing fake about the animal snarling and huffing inches from my face.
Saliva coated teeth and a thick silver chain glint in the faint light, a hog as big as a wolf jolting with silent grunts.
At the end of the chain, another masked man stands, not making much effort to control his beast.
Every instinct screams at me to move, to run, to do something, but I’m rooted to the soaked earth, limbs locked by a creeping dread I’ve only felt once before in my life.
The figure before me, still as death in his dark robe, reaches inside the folds of fabric with deliberate slowness.
My breath catches. His gloved fingers pull out a single sheet of paper and unfold it with care, like he has all the time in the world.
One word is printed in bold, black ink across the center.
RUN.
Dropping the sheet, it flutters gently to the ground in an oddly graceful motion, despite the tension rippling beneath my skin.
My tormentor watches it land at my feet before holding up ten fingers to start a countdown.
By the time I realize I’m still cemented in place, paralyzed by shock, he’s already on eight.
Panic spikes through me like electricity, and I shove myself upright, boots slipping slightly in the wet earth as I dart into the darkness of the woods.
I didn’t pause to think, otherwise I may have stood my ground and refused to participate in this idiocy.
Instead, I’m stuck in the world of silence that I usually prefer, that often soothes me.
But now, I’m disoriented by it. I don’t know if the countdown has finished, if the hog has been released, if someone or something is right behind me. So I just keep running.
My boots land heavily with every pounding step, my heart ready to explode.
Thick tree trunks jump out from nowhere, several taking the brunt of my weight as I rebound from one to the next.
The mud tries to slow me down and branches claw at my hair, my only glimpse of light hanging uselessly overhead.