7. Githany #2
“We just want to know how that ache between your thighs is doing.” The intensity of his masked stare raises my internal temperature.
“Hunt cut me on my calf, not between my thighs.”
“No, no, no. Think higher, wetter…”
Heat flushes my cheeks when I realize what he’s asking. Checking in with my body is a mistake. There’s a steady pulse and unmistakable dampness beneath my skirt. Horror and shock spread down my abdomen. When did that happen? Why did that happen? Fuck, this is fucked.
Madness must see the realization as it hits me. His laughter starts again, echoing around the maze. He takes several steps forward. “We could fill that void. We’d love to make you scream.”
The thought of his warm, dark skin on mine, those abs tightening as he ruts inside me… My pussy clenches around nothing. I shake my head, clearing the visual. Githany, what the fuck?
There must be something in the air. An aphrodisiac in the ventilation system.
I saw that type of thing in a movie once.
Maybe they drugged me. I haven’t accepted anything to eat or drink since I got here.
With all the chaos that’s happened tonight, they could have slipped a needle in my skin when I wasn’t looking.
What about my calf? The tip of the chainsaw might be coated in some illegal substance that boosts arousal.
It could have entered my bloodstream when he cut me.
Every train of thought sounds dumber than the one before it. Chainsaws dipped in arousal gel? What the hell is wrong with me? It has to be something they did. It’s not me. I’m not attracted to them, or to this.
They claimed to be nightmares. Not human. It sounds farfetched but there was something not right with their faces and mouths. The memory of Gator’s forked tongue flicking beneath his butcher’s mask has me clenching around air again. This time a rush of liquid seeps out.
My body is taking on a life of its own and ignoring all input from my shock-spun brain. My temperature spikes again when my gaze catches on a bulge in the front of Madness’s pants. Not even the ridiculous polka-dot fabric can hide what he’s packing. It’s big, big.
Madness drops into a crouch, his mask sliding into the space where I’d just been ogling his dick.
“The look you’re giving us is making it very hard for us to control ourselves.”
He keeps speaking in the plural. Is he talking about the others? Are they close by?
“How do I get out of the maze?”
He shrugs. “Better figure out fast.”
With a huff of annoyance, I move, determined to locate the exit. My technique involves constantly turning in a new direction in an attempt to discover an opening without running into the clown. He’s everywhere I look.
Fingers slide through my hair. I spin to face him, my hand smacking into a mirror.
“Right here.” He chuckles.
Turning the other way leads me straight into another mirror. This is taking too long. A distant hum reaches me above the carnival songs. It grows, until it becomes something all too recognizable. The chainsaw’s grinding rumble sends my adrenaline pumping higher.
Whirling around doesn’t grant me any more insight into where the exit is or where Madness is truly standing. “I don’t have time for this. Show me the way out.”
“Give us something first.”
Frustration bites at the back of my throat. “What do you want?”
“Your shirt.”
That’s not what I was expecting. “My shirt?”
He’s in front of me without moving. His fingers trace the ribs knitted into my skeleton sweater. The fabric is thick, but his touch still raises goosebumps along the skin beneath. “Off, off, it goes. Or stuck, stuck, you stay.”
His mask’s fang-filled grin taunts me through the many mirrors. I could swear the smile actually grows when I slide the sweater over my head and hold it out for him. That can’t be true. It’s only a mask. This fucking maze is making me imagine things.
“Happy?”
Madness reaches around, plucking the clothing from my hand. “Walk straight four steps. Stop. Turn left two steps.”
Following his directions gets me about six feet before I hit another wall. “Now where?”
Madness tosses my shirt to the floor and holds his hand out again. “Skirt.”
My mouth gapes. “Are you joking?”
“Are we laughing?” Madness flattens his palm upward, curling his fingers. Is he behind me or in front of me now? It’s so hard to tell.
I unzip the skirt, dropping it over my boots.
My hands are noticeably shaky as I hold it in front of me.
Madness reaches around from behind me to take it.
I send a quick elbow backwards in hopes of catching him off guard.
My arm slams into a mirror. That hurt, and now I feel even more stupid than before.
Madness appears unbothered by my attempt to ram an elbow in his face. “Turn right, walk one step, immediately turn left, walk ten steps.”
Seeing myself in lingerie in dozens of mirrors is a horror movie of its own.
I haven’t been naked in front of someone in years.
Making time to go out in the sun has not been a priority for quite some time.
I knew I was pale, but in all these reflections, I’m downright ghostly.
As pale as paper with the exception of the blue areas.
Which have flared up again. My right arm, most of my chest, and part of my stomach have all changed.
I’m not at all surprised when the directions lead to another dead end. Madness is already leaning against a mirror when my path is blocked again.
He holds his hands out before I’ve had a chance to ask him which way to go. “Bra.”
I shake my head and he cocks his. “No.”
“Both then.”
“Both what?”
“Bra and panties.”
My scoff is overly loud. “If I wasn’t going to give you my bra, why on earth would you think I would give you my underwear?”
He snorts, leaning back against a mirror. “Last chance.”
“I’ll find my own way out.”
The first direction I try is a mirror. I turn right, then left, even behind me. They’re all mirrors. Repeating this action several more times confirms it. I’m in a box.
“This is bullshit.”
Madness holds his hand out again.
“No.”
His laughter prickles my skin. “Suit yourself. We can work around them.”
There’s a subtle screeching as the mirrors begin to move.
Inward. The walls are pushing inward. I turn in circles with my fists banging against the panels, frantically seeking an exit. They continue to close in until I can’t turn anymore.
My palms are flat against the glass as I’m squeezed so tightly I can barely breathe. My cheek is pressed against the mirror, limiting my view of the maze. Out of my peripherals, I see him coming.
“Stuck?” his breath ghosts directly next to my ear.