14. Payton
FOURTEEN
PAYTON
I think I’ve fucked up.
I think I’m majorly unprepared for what I’ve agreed to.
I think, even as I’ve only been running a matter of minutes, I’m about to hit a level of nirvana I long assumed was out of reach.
As my arms and legs pump, eyes scanning the darkness for even a smidge of a shadow moving, as fear— true fear—resonates through me, I’ve never been more thrilled, more excited, more turned on.
Hair whipping around, I try to see behind me, but the forest is too obscure to make out anything farther than a few tree lengths away. When he starts pursuing me, I’ll have no hope of seeing him coming.
Him, or these eggs I’m supposed to find. Even as I dash forwards, I’m aware I should slow down and study the base of each tree, but there are so many. He can’t possibly believe I’ll succeed in this.
I take a sharp turn, changing direction. These woods are only so large, so hopefully he’ll assume I stuck to running straight.
Essentially, the forest is a cage for me to hide in.
To hide and seek. My gaze passes over a few trees, seeking colourful fake eggs I have no idea when he would have hidden around. Eventually, I slow to a jog, hoping there’s enough distance between us that a different pace won’t change much.
If these eggs are even real. There’s no telling he hid anything out here. There’s not even proof he’ll follow me.
What if this is some cruel trick, and I’m running for nothing?
But what if it’s not?
I met my hunter. I spoke with him. He was real. He felt real, like this isn’t a joke.
My steps slow to a walk and then a complete stop, hand against the nearest tree as my breaths release in large gasps. I’d die for a glass of water right about now. Turns out, I needed that head start, because apparently I’m very out of shape. At this rate, I’ll be dead by the time he finds me.
Hope he enjoys fucking a corpse.
I walk on, changing directions again. It feels like I’ve been running for a while—if my lungs are any form of measurement—so who knows how far my house is. Surely he didn’t hide anything out this far?
I stop, turn, and try to retrace my steps to determine which way my house is. Even then, I’m only seventy percent positive the route is correct. He won’t assume I’ll be running toward him, so he’ll continue, giving me a chance to find the mysterious eggs likely hidden closer to my house.
If this plan doesn’t work how it should, well, I still win in the end.
I want him to find me.
I want him to fuck me.
I want to be owned in all the ways I’ve once fantasized about.
The sticks crack beneath my retraced steps.