I freeze, hand gripping my coat. My blue coat. I spin around, scanning the area, but the park is quiet and still, only the slow gurgle of the fountain and distant traffic filling the space.
My phone buzzes again.
But I prefer the lace you wore in the pit. Is that what you’re wearing underneath?
I take a faltering step forward, then two more at a faster clip, eyes pinging back and forth from my phone to the path ahead.
Or did Rath keep those in his top drawer with all the other trophies he’s stolen from you?
Fear races up my spine, and I see a shadow move on the other side of the fountain. Or at least, I think it was a shadow. I blink, heart racing in my chest, and then stumble the other direction, zipping off the path entirely. A horn blares in the distance, beyond the wooded area I’ve stumbled into, but I’m not far from the road. If I keep going, I’ll be out of the park.
I’m far from the fountain when the phone buzzes again.
I shouldn’t look, but I do.
Did you like the way the knife felt in your hands when you cut him? I know I enjoyed carving those letters into Vivienne’s flesh. You already have my initial cut into you, but I look forward to giving you another. Wouldn’t you like that, Sweet Cherry?
He knows all about us. Not just where we live and how to find us, but who we are. Where we are. What we do together. Why we do it. “Who are you?” I ask aloud, more to myself than anyone else. The snap of a twig propels me forward, and I ignore the phone when it buzzes again. I can’t tell if there’s someone in the park or if Ted is just fucking with me, but I’m not hanging around to find out. Through the brush and bramble, I see the glow of lights ahead, and when I feel the sidewalk under my feet, I don’t stop rushing toward the nearest open store. I push open the door and step into the bright fluorescent light of a tiny convenience store.
My phone vibrates again with the unread message. I duck into an aisle, and despite my instinct to pretend it doesn’t exist, I check the message.
I’m closer than you think, but far enough that you’ll never catch me.
My hand shakes as I stare at the message, panic rushing over me. What was I thinking coming out like this? That it felt nice to act normal? That it’d be worth being the mouse in the cat’s game if it meant I could walk down the street and look at some lights? Stupid. So incredibly stupid.
I fumble for the map on my phone, dropping a pin in my location and sending it to the group text. I add the text:
Lady: I need a ride.
“Lady?”
Tears obstruct my vision and I swat them away, so frustrated that I can’t even do something as simple as Christmas shopping without him ruining it. Frustrated that it’s working. That I’m trembling. That I’m shaking.
Frustrated and just.
So.
Fucking.
Angry.
A hand lands on my shoulder. “Er… Story?”
“Don’t touch me!” I jump back, screeching the words. The first thing I see is that I’m standing in front of a row of feminine products, boxes of pads and tampons laid out neatly before me. The second thing I see is Autumn, the Princess—the former Princess—throwing her hands up.
She clutches a box of tampons in one of them. “It’s just me.”
Pressing my hand to my chest, I try to breathe. “Oh, shit. Autumn.” I don’t trust any of the Royal bitches, but Autumn isn’t a killer. She’s spent the last three months trying to get knocked up, and the tampon box, plus the bags under her eyes, implies she’s got bigger issues than stalking a rival.
“You look—” she starts, but swallows it. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” I sniff, refusing to show any weakness in front of this girl. I nod at the box of tampons. “Are you?”
Her eyes drop, lips smashed into a flat, tense smile. “Well, I’m not pregnant. I’m sure everyone’s heard.” I don’t have to respond. The Royals are like gossipy church ladies. She and I both know it. I don’t expect her to continue. For some reason, she does. “They kicked me out.” The shrug she gives is loose and casual, but the wetness of her eyes belies the gesture. “And the Princes already replaced me. Can you believe that? Like… how do they even know it’s my uterus that doesn’t work? Maybe it’s their shitty sperm.”
Doubtful.
I purse my lips to stop the word from emerging. The Princes probably picked their strongest and most fertile to continue their crazy-ass tradition. “I mean, did you really want to be tied to those guys for the rest of your life, anyway? Who wants to be some rich kids’ glorified incubator?”