Still, I can’t move.
So I screw my eyes shut. If I pretend not to see anything, maybe this will pass. Like the thousands of nightmares I’ve survived over the past decade.
His breath reverberates in the corners of the room and wraps an invisible noose around my neck.
My fingers tighten on the phone. I can’t call the police, because this isn’t real. And I can’t call Mom, Dad, or Niko, because I’ll look like the unhinged, paranoid version of myself and they’ll be the ones to lock me in an asylum.
I let the phone fall to the side of the bed so I’m not tempted to do that and pull my knees to my chest, then hide my face in my crossed arms.
This isn’t real. It’s only my mind playing tricks on me.
I chant even as tears sting the corners of my eyes and sweat covers my brow and upper lip.
My entire body trembles under the sheer pressure of my own thoughts. My mind chooses this moment to tune in on memories I’ve tried to erase, to no avail.
I’m trapped in a small dark and humid place. Blood drips through the cracks like a haunting song, and empty eyes stare at me the whole time.
A distorted voice whispers in my ear, “This isn’t over.”
I can still feel his rancid breath against my nape, shoulder, and ears. Like a deadly lullaby, he keeps whispering those words again and again.
And again…
“I clearly warned you to keep your windows closed, no?”
The overpowering emotions of terror slowly wither into colorful bursts of…confusion? Excitement?
Both?
I slowly lift my head and stare at the dark figure standing by my bed like the Big Bad Wolf. It’s a monster, all right, but it’s far from being the terror of my life.
Landon’s face is barely visible through the shadows, but I know it’s him.
The new monster who won’t leave me the hell alone.
“Though perhaps you did it on purpose because you wanted me to jump inside.” He runs his fingers through my hair and pulls on the only ribbon I wear at night, then uses it to wipe beneath my eyes. “Are these tears, muse?”
I slap his hand away, ashamed of my weakness and the fact that none other than Landon is witnessing it.
“Is that a challenge?” He grabs both my wrists in one of his hands. “Because I love those.”
I don’t know what comes over me next. Maybe I’m still on a high from the emotions I experienced just now or I always wanted to give this asshole an actual taste of my temper.
I kick him the hardest I can. I aim for his dick, but I think I only hit his thigh. He jerks back, but he doesn’t release my wrists.
I pull and push him with my leg, but it’s like he’s securing them in stone.
“Well, well, looks like I got myself a fighter. I love it when they fight.” His amused voice is laced with subtle sadism as he pushes me down on the mattress.
My back bounces, but before I can sit up again, he’s on me. Landon slams my wrists on the pillow above my head, still securing them with his hand. His knees rest on either side of my stomach, locking me in place.
“There, much better.” He hovers over me like a tyrant king who’s expecting all his demands to be met.
I snarl up at him and wiggle. My wrists hurt from how much I’ve tried to pull them from his grip.
“It’s utterly pointless to fight against me, so how about you relax and enjoy the process?”
I still kick my legs in the air and try to hit his back or anywhere where it’ll hurt. Badly.
“But then again, you did punch me after I made you cum. Do you get off on violence?”
My cheeks heat and I sneer at him.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” I can hear the grin in his voice. “What am I if not a good sport? I’ll let you fight me before you return the favor for the orgasm.”
As soon as he releases my wrists, I headbutt him and punch him in the chest, then I kick him, not sure where, but it sure feels so damn good.
He’s the one who falls on the mattress this time, and I mount his hard body and punch him in the shoulder, collarbone, anywhere my hands can reach.
Fuck you fuck you fuck you.
I chant in my head as I take out all the frustration, fear, and completely unhinged emotions on him.
It isn’t until I’m partially spent that I realize he hasn’t even attempted to stop me or hit back.
So I direct my fist at his face. This time, he grabs it in midair and tuts. “Not the face. It’s actual real estate that’s worth more than you reincarnated a hundred times.”
All of a sudden, he flips us back so that I’m beneath him and he’s on top of me. He does it so effortlessly, as if he’s mocking my earlier enthusiasm and the short-lived feelings of victory I experienced.