Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Slow Down
Madison
I’m going to be sick.
I’m going to be sick.
I’m going… to…
I throw my head over the side of the toilet just in time to spew the contents of my stomach, which is throbbing and convulsing to the beat of my erratic heart.
Static saw me.
I don’t know how or where, but he did. I know he did.
But I fell right into his trap. I let my emotions override my brain, and now… now—“Oh, God.” My stomach heaves again, and I retch over the toilet, though there’s nothing left to empty.
A knock sounds at the door. “Hey, man. You, uh, all right?” Collin asks awkwardly.
“Y-yeah,” I stutter, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “Just, you know.”
“Okay, man. Take it easy,” he says, and then, I hear his retreating footsteps, leaving me in ringing silence once more.
“Shoot,” I gasp, falling back against the tub. I shiver when the cool porcelain seeps into my exposed skin, but I don’t move.
I can’t.
I’m frozen because there’s Static’s face in my mind’s eye.
Bright, white eyes, and crazed, sharp smile.
Large hands covering every inch of my body, manipulating me how he wants me.
Touching me and teasing me and taunting me.
Pulling from me something deep and dark.
Something I never would have touched otherwise, and now, I can’t get it out of my freaking head.
As scared, as absolutely terrified as I am, I’m… curious, too. And I hate that. Because I don’t want to be.
I don’t want to wonder about the man that… did those things to me. That won’t stop texting me strange things and making me… making me do that.
Again.
And he watched the whole darn thing…
I think.
There’s no other explanation for him telling me to slow down. It doesn’t make sense. But maybe I’ve got it all wrong. Maybe he just assumed I was a nervous wreck and was absolutely yanking myself past the point of pain—
I suck in a breath at the memory. Because it was him I was thinking of… and I think he knew that.
Because he was right.
Fear… turns me on.
“Oh, God,” I groan loudly, rolling my head to the side where it thumps against the wall, then back again, repeating the motion over and over.
I’ve completely lost my mind. That’s what’s happened to me.
I’ve freaking lost it over a clown I met at a horror experience place.
It takes a few more minutes of rapid breathing before I’m able to breathe semi-properly again—and even then, I still feel queasy and faint.
But I manage to stand on my feet without falling over.
I splash cool water on my face and brush my teeth, and then, with a groan, I head to my bedroom in silence, head hanging heavy between my shoulders.
I’m weighed down by it all while equally feeling exhilarated.
Because I’ve never felt so alive… and that scares me.
Days pass in a paranoid blur.
I swear everywhere I look, I can see his face, those eyes, staring back at me. But I know I don’t. I can’t be. Because he doesn’t know where I am.
But he got my number… which means he could’ve easily gotten my address.
I shake my head resolutely, fighting against the onslaught of images from a few nights ago. It’s just my fear thinking, I tell myself over and over. There’s nothing to be scared of.
But even as I say that, I know it’s a lie.
Static is the very thing to fear.
He’s the product of my nightmares brought to life.
He’s the devil incarnate my parents always warned me about, and I’m falling right into his sinful trap. But I can’t seem to stop. I don’t know if I… want to stop.
Do I?
I know I don’t want to be scared. I don’t want this adrenaline pumping through my veins constantly.
I don’t want to worry about what’s going to happen every time I turn my back or close my eyes.
But the way he makes me feel—for that split second when my dick gets hard—it’s unlike anything I’ve ever experienced in my life.
I drop my head down onto the table in front of me with a loud thud. A few shhs resound, but I ignore them.
What am I going to do?
I’m stuck in a hell loop. That’s what this has to be—one viscous eternal hell I’m meant to find an escape from.
I just wonder what kind of damning thing I did to deserve this.
My stomach sinks the moment I feel my phone vibrate against my thigh.
I must tense because Kane glances over at me from where we have our homework spread out between us.
I may be a few years behind him and he’s in school for vet tech, but we still study together, and he helps me where he can, which is nice.
“What’s up?” he asks, quirking a dark brow.
I shrug as nonchalantly as I can. “Nothing.”
“Bullshit. You look like you just swallowed a lemon.”
“I do not,” I argue, meeting his intense gaze, but I know it’s fruitless.
Kane just stares back at me, waiting for my answer.
“Just got a text,” I mumble beneath my breath, dipping my head down.
“What was that?”
“I said,” I enunciate, “that I just got a text.”
Kane’s eyes narrow. He leans back and crosses his arms across his chest. The muscles bulge, and I would probably drool from how good he looks if I didn’t feel like crap right now.
“What does a text have to do with you looking like that?” he asks, eyes concentrated on mine, darting back and forth. I keep looking away so he can’t see into my soul and tell the lies that are planted there or any of that stuff. “Unless…”
“Unless what?” I blurt a little too quickly.
“Unless someone’s bothering you.” He sounds cold. I shiver.
I swallow. Feel the roll of my thickened throat as saliva makes its way through my esophagus. What do I even say to that?
Oh, yeah. The creepy clown from Mayhem Motel might possibly be stalking me, but I can’t be sure because I’ve never seen him. But he has been texting me.
That would go over so well.
They’d call my parents, and I’d get locked up in an insane asylum.
Nope.
No, thanks.
I’ve gotta deal with this on my own.
Somehow… someway…
“Madison?” Kane says my name, prompting me out of my reverie. I shake my head, pulling myself back into the now. I dig my fingers into my eyes, rubbing the itchiness away.
“No,” I tell him, instantly regretting the bitter lie as it leaves my tongue. “Everything’s fine. Just tired.”
“Okay…” he drawls slowly, not looking convinced.
“I haven’t been sleeping well. My, uh.” I feel my face get hot with embarrassment. He knows enough about them, I know I have no reason to be ashamed, but I still feel it, anyway. “My parents,” I say, because that’s all the explanation I need to do.
“Ah, I gotcha,” Kane says lightly. He lifts his hand and pats my shoulder. His touch is warm and comforting, but I don’t feel anything other than that, and it’s kind of disappointing.
I want the buzz back in my skin. The tingling down my spine. The rush of blood pounding in my ears and the warmth of heat flooding my groin.
I want my head to pound so hard I can’t think, and I want to breathe in everything that’s wrong with me until I choke on it.
“Oh, God,” I breathe out, choking on the air around me as I come back to the now. Kane is patting my back, and once I catch my breath, he starts rubbing in smoothing circles.
It feels good but not the kind of good I want.
Or apparently now need.
Thanks to him.