Chapter 22 Cooper
Cooper
My feet trample through the slightly frozen leaves, the brittle crunching a dead giveaway to anyone within earshot.
I don't care. Stealth is a luxury I can't afford.
Pine bristles whip my face, leaving thin, stinging lines of fire on my cheeks.
Each gasp of air is a spasm in my lungs, so cold it feels like I'm breathing in liquid nitrogen.
My world has narrowed to two senses: sound and smell.
My ears strain, filtering through the chaos of the night.
Beneath the thunder of my own heartbeat and the ragged saw of breath, I listen for the river.
The distant, promising roar of the rapids is my only lifeline.
A compass pulling me further into the wilderness.
But the sound of the water is drowned out by the symphony of pursuit.
The snarls. God, there are so many of them.
A disorganized mess of deep-throated barks and higher-pitched howls.
It's like a melody born of nightmares. One to my left, two behind, another crashing through the brush far too close to my right. They're herding me. Or trying to.
And the smell. It's absolutely putrid, a vulgar scent that clogs my nostrils and coats the back of my throat.
It's a compost of body odor, unwashed clothes soaked in old sweat, and something else metallic and decayed, like a butcher's bin left to fester in the sun.
The scent of the Baptistes. The scent of my death if I slow down for just a second.
A hysterical shriek rises in my chest. This is it. This is the real, un-romanticized version of the chase I'd fantasized about on those paved trails, hoping to meet my serial killer. And now I don't just have one chasing me. At least half-a-dozen. Oh God, you listened too closely to my wishes.
What bastards we both are.
There are no chiseled abs or playful commands, only the ravenous snarls of men that are beasts in the forest. There is only the primal, gut-churning terror of being prey.
It's everything I've dreamed about. It's fucking real.
I've never been closer to death. To meeting my maker. To seeing Carson again.
I push harder, my quads burning, my lungs screaming for mercy I cannot grant them. My vision begins to fade, the edges turning to black. Oh how I ache for a sunshine filled run, fueled by endorphins. Not a sprint pushing my body to the edge of collapse, surviving on sheer panic and a giddy love.
A gnarled root catches my foot.
I stumble, my arms windmilling, heart jumping into my throat. I barely catch myself on a frozen birch, the impact straining my wrists. I can't afford this mistake. It costs me precious seconds. The snarls swell, closer now. The putrid scent thickens, clinging to the back of my throat.
A feral bellow rises in the distance from the direction I came. The agony of a death. A life being violently extinguished.
Reed.
The thought of him releases a flood of adrenaline, a second wind to my souring thighs.
He's back there. Culling them one by one.
He's buying time with their blood, painting the Earth with it.
The terror remains in my core, but I have a renewed purpose.
I cannot be just the bait, the distraction.
I have to be the prize that is worth the bloody price that he is paying.
I have to be worthy of the monster fighting for me.
Shoving off the tree, I force my body into a renewed sprint, my muscles groaning.
The river's roar is louder now, a tangible sound that patters against my eardrums. The air changes from sap and sweat to tasting of quartz and building ice.
I burst through a final wall of brush and skid to a stop on the slick, rocky edge, my boots scrambling to stop me from my demise.
The shifting momentum of the Kevlar nearly puts my over the edge.
The sight steals what little breath my burning lungs can offer.
The river below is a fury of black water with seething white foam, absorbing the moonlight. It's a dead end.
Which begs the question, doesn't it? A final, multiple-choice question written by the universe for the med student with a death wish.
What's worse? The frozen, paralyzing shock of the water, seizing your lungs in a last, desperate gasp?
Or the slow, smothering weight of a Baptiste, the press of their stinking bodies, the guttural laughter as I shriek for a mercy I know, with absolute certainty, will not be delivered?
A boisterous howl erupts behind me, far too close. I turn. Four Baptistes emerge from the brush, their eyes gleaming with the feral promise of a cornered kill, scanning me from head to toe. They know they've won. The one in front, a giant, even taller than Reed licks his chapped, dirty lips.
This is all my own doing. Every flirtatious thought in the dark, every purposeful hanging of my mouth, every single time I ached for danger.
I asked for this moment. I wanted the finale.
My cock couldn't help the treacherous, terrified jolt that shot through me, neither could my heart.
It hammers against my ribcage, like a frantic prisoner trying to punch it's way out of my thoracic cavity.
The giant takes a step forward, his boot disturbing a half-frozen puddle, the crack of the ice sounding like a snap of my wrist.
"We didn't expect dessert tonight, boys did we?" The giant snarls, his chest heaving with exertion and anticipation. His gaze makes me tremble. He's ravenous, and he doesn't look like he plays nice. "Look at him. Pretty little thing's already shaking. It is fear, or are you just excited?"
Cruel snickers ripple through them all. They begin to encircle me, cutting off any hope of darting down the steep side of the bluff. The stench of them makes me want to vomit—sour milk, rotted blood, and putrid musk.
My cock bulges against my underwear, stretching them taut.
My body betrays me to the thrill. The adrenaline that should be pure terror is laced with a dark, shameful sliver of arousal.
This is my raw, ugly fantasy, stripped of Reed's elegance and possessive love.
This is violation. But a sick part of me is present for the twisted nightmare, lusting in my lewd fantasy. A traitor in my own flesh.
The giant takes another step forward, close enough that I can smell the rot seeping from his teeth. The other three pant like excited dogs, their breaths frosting the air in a cloud of vile anticipation.
My eyes dart back to the raging water. The frozen paralysis. A clean, if brutal end.
At least I won't get stretched halfway to Quebec.
The giant's fingertips graze the Kevlar. His touch promises pain and agony, igniting a final, frantic circuit in my brain.
This is it. Every filthy daydream. Every fantasy coming to its penultimate conclusion. My body screams with a thrill I've never felt before. The adrenaline is a poison and nectar, and I can't stop drinking every drop.
But his touch makes it real. This isn't Reed's controlled dominance, a game where my surrender is my power. This is vile. The illusion of fantasy snaps, bringing me back to reality.
My eyes lock with the giant's. He sees it. The war of terror and twisted fascination roiling through me. His smirk widens. He knows he's won.
And with that, I know my final answer.
No.
I will not be their dessert. I will not let my story end with my body broken and desecrated by beasts and used as a message to the man I love. I will not give them the satisfaction of my screams.
My choice isn't between life and death anymore. It's between two kinds of deaths. And I choose the one in which they have no say in.
I take one step back.
Letting my will free itself from my body.
My weight loses its touch from the Earth. The giant's smirk twists into a flicker of surprise as his hand grasps empty air. For a single moment, I am suspended between two deaths, the snarls of one and the roar of the other.
The icy breeze whips across my face. In the deafening quiet of the fall, a peace transcends over me.
I've never been closer to Carson. To see you once again.
I smile, a sick and serene thing born of euphoria and finality.
Oh, I can't wait to catch up. To see what you have been up to in the afterlife, brother. The thought is a shining beacon from this mess of chaos. Have you adopted kids? Do they have your annoying, booming laugh that used to make the dinner table shake?
I hope they do. Hope it drives me fucking insane with how happy and loud they are.
This is the trade, isn't it? The universe's fucked-up bargain. I got ten extra years, and for what? So I could run around in the woods hoping I could get dicked down to satisfy my primal desires?
You were the good one, Carson. The whole one. You should have been the one to survive. You would have done life right. You aren't sick in the head like me, craving a dark, monstrous love to feel like your rotted skull finally belongs somewhere.
The roar of the water closes in around me, a thunderous lullaby. Instead of death, it sounds like a family reunion.
I'm sorry, Mom. Dad. I tried to be good. I tried to be the son you deserved. I really did. But I was born different. I know I'll never be enough. What you expected of me when I was born. The world will be better with me gone anyway.
And Reed.
God, Reed. My handsome, professed, murdering soulmate.
We just confessed our love. Was that only minutes ago?
The memory is a burning brand on my heart, fresh and sizzling. My chest aches from the image of his face, the phantom touch of his forehead against mine. The ghost of his vow to piece me back together.
I hope he understands. I hope he knows this was to save him from the ultimate humiliation. This isn't me flaking out. It was the only option that I had left. To save the gift of my body. My body, whole and mine, instead of a puppet to be ruined by the beasts.
He would have burned the world to cinders for me. He would have bathed in their blood until it stained him red. This way… this way I save him. I save the world from the cataclysm that my violated death would have unleashed in him. This way will save so much endless death and suffering.
The thought is a strange comfort. A final act of agency. Ownership. My body, my choice. Who knew a class in autonomy and ethics would come in handy for choosing my own method of execution?
The black water opens up for me like a pit of hell reserved for idiots who flirt with serial killers. I offer a final, defiant grin as I flick off the giant on the bluff whose night I just ruined.
I'm coming home, Carson. Save me a seat. Please tell me the men are better looking than the ones on this bluff.