12. Payton
TWELVE
PAYTON
An hour later, I’ve gotten the golden egg open and have read the note probably close to eight times over, pacing between fuck no and maybe yes .
It feels wrong, like I shouldn’t want this.
Or because Aaron made you feel this is wrong?
But fuck , as messed up as it is, when he had me against the wall, that’s what I’ve been chasing. The high, the thrill, the feeling of danger. What would a night in the woods feel like?
Freeing.
What would people think if this got out? Realistically, I shouldn’t care, but I do.
Aaron would call me a whore, though nothing’s really changing there.
Gwen would demand details.
And Jace…fuck. Nameless sex with a stranger who may be dangerous only days after reconnecting with him feels wrong. Almost like I’m cheating on him. Cheating on the prospect of what could be.
Could be? my inner voice chides. He ran from you. He doesn’t want you.
It’s not wrong, though. Even if Jace and I did spark a true friendship, what the man in the wolf mask offers may never come around again. I’d be giving up this chance for a will-he, won’t-he situation with an old friend, who’ll more than likely end up on the side of he won’t.
All that’s putting aside the way his eyes kind of remind me of Jace’s. A fact that stalls my steps, gaze flicking back to the letter on my living room table. What if it’s Jace? Gwen said no one’s heard from this guy in years, yet it just so happens my first Easter back, this happens the day after admitting my desires to Jace.
What am I saying? Coincidence, nothing more.
I lift the letter, rereading it for what feels like the millionth time. Eventually, I’ll be able to recite the damn thing.
Little rabbit,
This Easter, I’d like to host my own egg hunt with you.
The instructions are as follows:
If you do not consent, place this back on your porch, and you will be left alone. I will remove it from your home by midnight and will not bother you again. You will be safe.
If you consent, keep this egg inside. At eight p.m., run from your home. I will be watching, and I will give chase. You will not be given any warning when I’ll come, but you will be given a few minutes’ head start. Do not make the mistake of not using this time to get away.
In the woods, there are a few golden eggs scattered throughout. Smaller than this one—about the size of your palm. Each one will grant you a single request you may cash in. Find none, and you’re completely mine to use how I please.
As you hunt, I’ll be hunting you, so be sure to hide well and don’t make it easy. The harder the challenge, the better the thrill for both of us.
When I catch you, if at any time it gets too much, here are your safe words. Memorize these. Say them aloud a few times if you must. I will not leave scarring damage. That is not my game.
Slow down: Amber.
Complete stop: Golden.
I’ll be seeing you later. Happy running, my prey.
No sign off, not that it’s completely unexpected. He wouldn’t want to give away his identity.
I stare at the ceramic, twist-top, golden-painted egg. I should place it back on my porch, arm myself for the night, and stay home. That’s what I should be doing, because that’s what someone sane would do.
But I’m not sane. And I don’t think I have been for a long time. It’d be great to, for once, not listen to others’ beliefs about how I should and shouldn’t be and live for me . With Aaron, I turned everything off for the comfort of our relationship, but dating him was like wearing that one pair of shoes you can’t get rid of, no matter how torn and ratty they are. There was a familiarity, though they never did the job, couldn’t go fast enough. Still, even when I finally managed to toss them, they’ve reappeared, chasing me while still telling me how to live my life, this time by means of threats.
Beside the golden egg is the stack of credit card bills, all in my name, but not one cent of the debt is mine. I’m merely the neck the executioner slams the ax upon.
They’re two sides of a coin: the egg and the bills. Paths laid, a direction needed.
The strict, no-nonsense side of me wants to place that egg back on the porch and deny today ever happened.
The side that needs a goddamn break from everything folds the note and places it inside the egg before twisting it shut, then carries it to my bedroom, where I hide it in the back of my closet— not putting it back outside, knowing by sundown I’ll have signalled my intent.
It’s one night.
A stranger.
A stranger who made my body come alive in the brief encounter.
I owe it to myself to do this.
And if he kills me…well, then I’ll die a pleased person on one of the most sacred days of the year. That means something, doesn’t it? If there’s an afterlife, someone’s bound to take pity on my horrible decision-making and pull me to the good side.
Back in the living room, I stare out the large window, not seeing my hunter. Except, he’s there; I feel it deep down. He’s watching the house—watching me. Waiting for my decision.
I settle onto the couch and wait for the hours to pass.
For him to realize I never placed the egg back outside.