Chapter 19 #3
I turn, reluctantly. She’s holding something in her hand now, something I hadn’t noticed before — hidden in the folds of her ridiculous puffy skirt.
What the hell is that?
Whoosh.
The sound hits a second before the sting. I look down and blink.
A dart.
A pink, fuzzy fucking dart is sticking out of my chest like it just materialized there out of thin air. I pluck it out between my fingers, dumbfounded.
“You didn’t,” I murmur.
But oh, she did.
She walks toward me slowly. Calm. Collected. A little too pleased with herself.
“I warned you,” she says. “Told you, you shot up to number one on my shit list. Tried it all, Ghostface — coffee, muffins, a couple of good old-fashioned pranks. You avoided them like a rat dodging a mousetrap. So now? You get the dart.”
She shrugs like this is something she does every fucking day.
“You really should’ve taken the coffee. A day or two on the shitter would've been merciful. But you forced my hand.” Her voice drops to a whisper, full of fake pity. “And this was my only chance. Who knows when I’ll get another shot? You’ve been missing for days, after all.”
She spins around, calls out to the side like she’s ordering lunch.
“Hey, biker boy!” She waves at Hellbat. “Your VP’s about to have the worst few hours of his life. You might wanna call someone.”
And then she fucking skips away, into the building. Like nothing happened.
I try to call after her.
I don’t make it.
I hit the ground like I’ve been shot by a cannon. The pain rushes in like wildfire, dragging me under. I can’t even scream. It’s too much. Like something’s inside my chest, carving me open with burning claws.
I blink, and I’m not on the street anymore.
I’m in hell. Surrounded by fire, the devil laughing above me.
Did I die? Did Ria fucking kill me?
I don’t get an answer. I jolt, and I’m gone. The world shifts.
I’m greeted by cold, concrete walls. It’s cramped here.
Pitch-black, except for one tiny barred window near the ceiling that lets in just enough light to see the outline of terror.
I’ve been here before. I know this fucking place.
It’s a memory from a time I buried so deep I forgot to fear it. Until now.
I try to breathe, but the air’s gone. My chest rises, falls, but nothing enters my burning lungs. My heart races, thundering inside a body that feels too small and broken.
The first hiss registers too late. Dozens of them come immediately after. Hundreds. Fucking thousands, a symphony of death that drowns out my hammering pulse.
I glance down, vision swimming. Black, massive snakes are coiling over my boots. Over each other. Over me. They slither like liquid shadow, endless. They start rising, up to my knees. My thighs. My chest.
I can’t move. One twitch, and they’ll strike. They pulse with hunger, fangs flashing, daring me to do something. Mocking my weakness.
Fuck me, I really did die. This is going to be my eternity, isn’t it?
The mass of snakes trembles, a slow ripple spreading through the writhing bodies.
A big one rises.
I’m fucked. It’s the mother of all nightmares. As wide as my torso, jet-black with silver streaks, its head shaped like a spear. It towers above the others, mouth open, venom dripping from curved fangs.
I don’t even have time to blink. It lunges without hesitation, teeth sinking into my chest as it yanks viciously at my flesh.
Fuck. The pain is nuclear.
The rest follow. A legion of them. They crush my bones with their jaws, crack them like ice under boots. They tear chunks from my legs. My throat. My face.
The beast tugs one final time, then rears back, displaying its trophy — my heart, impaled by its fangs. Still beating.
I look down and there’s a gaping hole in my chest. The snakes start crawling into it, filling it until there’s nothing left inside me but cold, writhing darkness.
They devour everything.
Inside me, around me. My nerves scream, but I’ve lost the ability to scream with them. I’m not even sure I’m real anymore. Just pain and pieces. Just a puppet made of meat.
When the stillness of death finally comes, I fall.
Not down — but in. Like I’ve been swallowed whole by the earth. It spits me out into another version of hell.
This one looks like home.
I’m at the cabin. Our cabin. But it’s wrong, a twisted version of it I never wanted to see.
The walls drip with something black, thick and slow like oil mixed with blood. The lights are flickering. The furniture’s rotting, the wood warped and cracked. Mold creeps along every surface like it’s alive, breathing in decay and exhaling grief.
I’m about to bolt from this cursed fucking place when the sight of her stops me cold. She’s here, and for a moment, everything seems better.
Adora’s sitting in the middle of the room, legs crossed, back turned to me. Her hair’s loose, spilling down her shoulders like silk. She’s wearing one of my shirts that should be white, but the fabric is soaked red.
My breath cuts off at the sight.
Her head tilts back, like she senses me. I rush forward, and drop to my knees in front of her.
Her hands rest in her lap, palms up. Her wrists — fuck — they’re slashed.
“Adora,” I choke.
She lifts her head. And I go cold.
It’s not her face anymore. It’s mine. How is it mine and hers at the same time?
Her lips curve into a mockery of a smile, her eyes hollow, bleeding the same black sludge from the cabin walls.
“You said you loved me,” she whispers in my voice.
I do. I do love you, adorable.
Her hands rise, and the cuts on her wrists start to open wider, like invisible blades are carving her apart, the flesh curling back from bone.
I try to reach for her, desperate to do something. To help her.
She screams before I can touch her, high-pitched and endless, filling the space with more pain.
The room ignites, flames licking up the walls like they were waiting for the right moment to strike. The air goes dry, blistering. I’m stuck in place, breathing in ash, wishing she’d at least let me touch her one last time.
She speaks again, her voice calm and final, like a death sentence.
“You did this.”
I know. I know that’s true.
The fire eats everything. Including me.
I deserve this hell.