Summer
Dear old Frank Herbert once wrote:
“Knowing where the trap is—that’s the first step in evading it.”
Yeah, Frank, you never had to deal with a psychopath, did you?
I should be wiser and adhere to those words, but then again, where would the thrill of the game be if I played it all in safe mode? There’s nothing remotely safe in my endeavor, anyway.
Until Friday night is over, I should consider myself a Schrodinger’s cat, but instead of both dead and alive, I’m both trapped and not in whatever depravity Atlas has in store for me. Whatever it is, I can handle it.
Tonight, he doesn’t come to my room, making me nod off in the bathroom, hugging the hard bat instead of my pillow.
It’s past 2 a.m. when I move to my bed, accepting the reality that he isn’t joining me.
The moment I get a whiff of my pillow, I drift off immediately, but that doesn’t mean I’m well-rested when the morning comes.
My eyes might be barely open, but my resolve is wide awake and ready to let Atlas know that sleep-deprived me is the worst version of myself, second only to hungry me. I type and delete about five different messages before settling on one I deem good enough to embody my frustration.
My bat missed your head last night.
His reply doesn’t take more than a few seconds.
Atlas
Is ‘bat’ a code name for your pussy?
I grunt, rolling my eyes so hard that I catch a glimpse of my brain misfiring signals, triggering laughter instead of anger. That fucker knows how to evoke mixed emotions.
When I don’t answer in the next ten minutes, setting my phone aside to brush my teeth and get dressed, it chimes in once more from my nightstand.
Atlas
You missed me last night. All you have to do is ask, and I’ll be there.
I stare at the screen for a second too long before replying.
Don’t hold your breath.
I’m about to leave my phone again, thinking the conversation is over, when another text pops up.
Atlas
You didn’t deny it.
No. I didn’t miss you. Don’t project your delusions onto me!
Atlas
Was it a delusion when you came on my fingers, cutting off their circulation, or the way you worshiped my name in between your moans? Your cunt missed me for sure.
He’s never letting go of this . . . with his skilled fingers.
Don’t flatter yourself! Even the worst fuck can feel good if you’re starved for it.
Atlas
Don’t worry, my little Succubus! With me, you’ll always be thoroughly sated.
With him?
An idea springs to mind. I might be able to force some form of commitment out of him.
Jealousy is a twisted motivator—the evil twin of a beautiful emotion.
Using that tactic is an ugly move on my part, but it’s not like I plan on making out with someone.
Smiling at a guy and denying Atlas the same courtesy should be enough to piss him off and make him do what he never does—stake a claim on a girl.
You’ve got a trap for me, honey? Wait and see what I have in store for you.
I go through my day perpetually smiling on the inside, eager for Friday night to come sooner.
I’ll finally be able to walk through the front door of his house instead of monkey-climbing the downspout for the only window the cameras don’t cover.
And maybe if I get him and his friends to kind of trust me, that would be my default entry from now on.
Plus, the party is a perfect opportunity for me to snoop around the rest of Atlas’s place if I’m left unattended for a while.
I’ve only ever gone through his room. Never his friends’.
They were out of town exactly two times this summer, and I followed them to Mason Holt’s mansion, but I couldn’t even get through the fence.
That monster has tighter security than the president.
I might not know exactly what I’ll be looking for, but anything beats having to patiently wait for Atlas to take me to his father.
It’s Thursday, and given he shows up nowhere on campus throughout the day, I wonder if I’m on his mind when no more texts find their way to me.
I guess he’s got a lot on his plate right now with the upcoming art exhibit.
But is he hooked enough to want to see me before the party?
I’m sure he loves the chase, but does he consider the prey worth it?
I never lacked confidence before, but after seeing how Eli could both love me and not in the same breath, that fucked with my head more than I care to admit.
Looks, I can show off, but that alone is never enough to keep a man’s attention for long.
Sometimes, it feels like all I have to offer is rotten to the core, yet Atlas’s interest seems to pique whenever I let my charming personality shine through, proving that it’s not a good girl he finds intriguing.
But if I pull off my plan at the party, I’ll know for sure fucked-up is exactly to his taste.
When the evening comes, I pull my chair, placing it under the door handle. I’m not okay with being tied down again, especially after the night I gave him.
I’m ready to pass out when my phone pings, making a jolt of excitement run through me. At least, he cares enough to text.
It’s a meme he sends me of a cat in front of an empty bowl, with a hungry and desperate expression. Then a question mark comes as a follow-up text.
Starving pussy? That fucker! He thinks he’s so funny.
I’m quick to find the perfect image in response. A cat licking itself with a caption beneath it—Anything you can do, I can do better.
Atlas
Liar. If you could, you wouldn’t be starved for it.
He caught me there. But all I care about is the fact I’m on his mind.
When he doesn’t text again, I leave my phone on the nightstand, pushing sleep aside, only to reevaluate the path I’m on.
I can still change course, attempt a version of a normal life—pack my bags and leave, or even stay here, stop playing games with Atlas, and focus on studying for some form of a future ahead. I can, but I won’t.
I close my eyes and release a heavy sigh into the silent room, the only sound willing to keep me company while I slip toward another dreamless slumber.
Yet the moment the darkness settles, my brother’s face permeates it, pulling me awake, as morning light creeps on the walls.
For a moment, Milo lingers even after my eyes are wide open, and his words echo in my head.
“I would’ve already killed them all for you, Maeve.”
The disappointment in his tone tears my heart to shreds.
I’m sorry, brother! I’m doing the best I can.
My bed serves as my fortress for the next half an hour while I struggle to get a grip on myself.
I need to get to Mason. He and his right hand are going down!
My day passes in classes and looking around for the sole reason I’m attending this university, but unfortunately, he’s nowhere to be found.
Hiding myself from Raven while on campus is becoming harder by the day, but I need to keep her in the dark for now.
I tell myself it’s to protect her, but it’s not just that.
I don’t know how to admit certain truths.
I hope she falls for Link, so telling her my brother, who was the love of her life, is dead won’t completely devastate her.
That’s part of the reason I’m rooting for the nerd.
When the night comes, I’m more than ready for the psychological warfare to unfold more of its potential.
Hair in loose waves, oxblood nails, and makeup done to perfection, highlighting what nature has given me.
Add a short black leather skirt and a white off-the-shoulder sweater, and I’ll own that psycho’s attention for the whole night.
Hopefully, nothing will go awry, but I still put my Chucks on, in case I have to make a run for it.
And of course, a taser and a knife are permanent residents of my bag.
All dolled up, I decide to kill some time with work. I have no intention of either arriving early or on time. I’m going to let him sweat it, wondering if I will show up at all.
Barely half an hour passes before I receive the first kind reminder to attend the party.
Atlas
You better call that Uber now or I’m coming for you.
How does he know I’m not on my way already? The fear of being watched kicks in again, as I fling middle fingers left and right, in case he can see me. I’ll call an Uber, but I’ll still stay outside his house for a while to strain his nerves. Like pulling on a strand of hair until it snaps.
And I do exactly that after I arrive at his place—staying out for five minutes before I get another text.
Atlas
Get inside! NOW!
Fuck! He saw me.
I grip my phone and type in a response to his unacceptable tone.
Do I look like a woman who likes being told what to do?
Atlas
Do I look like a man who gives a damn?
Asshole!
Atlas
Demon!
Atlas
This is your last warning. If you don’t get inside in the next minute, I’m carrying you in over my shoulder. See what a kind man I am? I’m giving you a choice. So what’s it gonna be, honey?
The loud music from outside the bustling house abruptly switches to M?neskin—“Honey (Are U Coming?)”. Oh, I’m sure that was completely accidental.
Stepping inside, it’s like I’m on the shore of a sea of people, their raucous voices silencing the music.
It reminds me of the parties Milo used to drag me to.
He fed on the attention. I preferred a dark corner, observing from there how little it takes for people to drop their masks, blaming it on alcohol, Mercury in retrograde, or whatever shit served their narrative.
It was like the fire fascination my brother held, but while his eyes would follow the untamable nature of the flame, mine would pin on the foolish moth, headed for its own demise.
Dragging my mind back to the present, I stroll inside, and a man with the same last name as Atlas appears in front of me. The way he licks his lower lip gives me the creeps.
To be honest, there couldn’t have been a better choice to make my Chocolate Bar Thief jealous than his cousin.
I swallow my repugnance and the little bit of bile rising in my throat, forcing a smile when Jacob greets me with a generic, “Hey!”