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EPILOGUE

T hey say most women personally knew and trusted the man who had hurt them, and that was what made it easier for the man to take advantage of them. Perhaps that man was a friend who didn’t get the hint or a close family member, or perhaps that man was a neighbor everyone else had let their guard down around. And despite this being the most common, it was also the most painful, leaving behind psychological scars that would never go away.

I was no exception despite the fact I hadn’t been targeted in the traditional sense. As I gazed at Barron’s mangled form, I couldn’t help the sadness that enveloped me as I reminisced about the fond memories I had of him. Memories of us going camping with my parents, of holiday dinners at his place, and all the playdates we could fit into a single year. They all swarmed around me in a cacophony of harmony until the sobs broke through my otherwise-stoic demeanor, and I could no longer hold everything in. The first of the tears fell, and for the first time, I mourned everything I had lost—the death of my parents and of his own, who had perished in the same fatal car crash over a year ago, as well as the end of everything I knew. Because tonight, I had truly lost everything, and I would have to start anew.

But it had to be done. What Barron had done was unforgiveable. I wiped my tears and dried my good cheek on the back of my sleeve as I pushed myself off the ground, forcing myself to let go of the past and push forward with my new normal. Because in my story, I was both the slasher villain and the final girl. I’d killed countless men, but I had also survived my own slasher villain and earned the scars to prove it.

And my work was far from over.

Off in the distance, there was another scream, another desperate cry for help. I whipped my head towards the sound, a knowing smile gracing my lips, before pulling the hood back over my head and placing the mask back over my face, smearing the blood that caked the shallow cut on my cheek. It had been a superficial cut, as had all of my wounds. Barron hadn’t been given a chance to harm me further other than when he had been toying with me, and it worked in my favor. Because now, I could continue to do what I did best.

I stood and examined the wound on my right side. That had been the worst one, even if only the tip had gone in, and though pain still pulsed from it, the wound didn’t feel deep, almost like a gash. If it showed signs of infection tomorrow, I’d go to the doctor, but for now…

I turned and took off down the alleyway, blood-soaked chainsaw raised high into the night. It was time for me to put one last fucker into the ground.

Game on.