Page 34 of Cracked Ice (The F*cked Up Players #1)
I haven’t ‘revealed’ myself because this is way more fun.
Lucien 1:34 AM
So you get off on danger?
Unknown 1:35 AM
What makes you say that?
Lucien 1:35 AM
The fact that you think provoking me is ‘fun’ tells me you must get a sick thrill from all of this.
Unknown 1:36 AM
Are you suggesting that what I’m doing is DANGEROUS?
Lucien 1:36 AM
Highly.
Unknown 1:37 AM
*Devil emoji*
Rubs hands maniacally. Muhahaha.
So what’s the penalty? What will you do that’s sooo dangerous if I don’t stop?
I send the puck flying to Chauncey, a repeat of our play against Kitchen at practice, except when I skate up to take the rebound shot, I’m hit with the force of a truck and slam into the ice with a hard blow to my shoulder.
The wind is knocked from me, and for once I’m taken off guard by the red haze of anger that’s filled my vision, frustrated with the elusive person distracting me when they’re not even here.
I haven’t found my stalker yet. I just got hit. I can’t fucking sleep, and I’m so fucking tired of holding back all the goddamn time.
Wrenching the helmet off the player who hit me, I punch and punch and punch. In front of the now-silent audience, I work out all my frustrations on the Wolverine.
Lucien 1:40 AM
You’re asking the wrong question.
Unknown 1:41 AM
What’s the right question?
Lucien 1:41 AM
How will you get me to stop once I get my hands on you?
Unknown 1:42 AM
Hmm. *thinking emoji*
I guess I better not get caught then.
Lucien 1:45 AM
You’re too late.
A ref grabs my arm, pulling me off him before tossing me into the Sin Bin, a five-minute penalty. I hang my head between my shoulders, heaving big breaths as the conversation from last night lingers in my thoughts.
Lucien 1:46 AM
You wanted my attention.
And now you have it.
You’re in my line of sight now.
It’s only a matter of time.
So, run.
I’m going to find you, Little Stalker.
Most guys are upset when they’re in the Sin Bin, but I can’t help the smile that stretches across my face when I think of the unparalleled fight to come. Me versus them .
Little Stalker 1:47 AM
Only time will tell.
Goodnight, Lucien.
Sleep tight.
Don’t let the bed bugs bite.
*Devil emoji*
The second I’m out of the bin, released from my cage, I’m out for blood. I’ll win this game, and then, I’m going to hunt down a Little Stalker.
Lilith?
Lilith, please.
I’m sorry.
Don’t leave.
Please don’t go.
I startle awake.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m so sorry.”
A few days later . . .
Dr. Amelia Thatcher
Session Transcript
Audio Recording
Date: February 3, 2024
Patient: Lucien D. Morrow
Amelia : Have you been journaling like I suggested?
Lucien : No.
Amelia : How come? We’ve talked about this, sometimes it can be helpful to get your thoughts out so that they’re not stuck in your head.
Lucien : And I’ve told you that being stuck with a physical reminder of what’s in my head is depressing as fuck.
Amelia : Then do you want to tell me ?
Lucien : What’s the point doc? It’s the same thing as always.
Amelia : The accident, right?
Lucien : And everything that came after.
Amelia : Wait, do you remember now, what happened?
Lucien : No.
Amelia : Lucien, if you’re remembering things, that can explain why you’re having trouble piecing the dreams together. This is why I think you should be journaling.
Lucien : Trust me, they’re not memories.
Amelia : How can you be so sure?
Lucien : Because in the dreams . . . I’m the one who kills them.
I can’t sleep.
I can’t sleep.
I. Can‘t. Fucking . Sleep
My head rolls against the sweat-soaked pillow, pungent with the stench of fear and death —things that once stoked anger within me, but are now only facts of the matter as I reach for my phone ablaze with notifications.
A comment was reported on this photo
A comment was reported on this photo
A comment was reported on this photo
A comment was reported on this photo
A comment was reported on this photo
Despite my shitty mood, my lips crack into a grin.
I can’t believe they reported all the thirst trap comments on my pictures.
I rarely pay them much attention. Some are funny and some are even tempting, but a few scrolls on their profiles tell me everything I need to know about them.
They’d fold in less than a minute and they aren’t worth my time.
They don’t understand how bad I need the pain, the screams, and the fucking blood.
There are literal studies on all the ways I’m fucked up, but @BladeSpinner is doing their civic duty and ridding me of all those lesser beings.
It’s crazy, hilarious, and kinda sweet, if I’m being honest. I’m guessing someone’s a little jealous, but they needn’t be.
Right now, there isn’t anyone half as entertaining as this creeper.
SYDNEY
Breaking news. Tragedy has struck again here in Seattle, where four more bodies were found in an abandoned trailer this morning after having been brutally beaten to death as well as multiple stab wounds.
The victims were in their late twenties and found a little after 9 a.m. this morning, but authorities believe they were assaulted sometime between 2 and 4 a.m. this morning. Police do not suspect they were murdered where they were found and have started the search for the original crime scene.
When asked if the cases were related, SPD had this to say, “We do not believe this is the work of a serial killer, the pattern is too inconsistent and the method of killing varies greatly with each victim.”
SPD is working hard to narrow down the list of suspects for all cases, but so far are without leads.
They’re asking all locals to please remain vigilant and to call the number on the screen below if you have any useful information that can help us apprehend this suspect. Eyewitness News 15. Gary, back to you.
The voices on the TV start off light, a far away sound that I’m able to ignore while I choose sleep over whatever humdrum story is being discussed over the airways.
However, I groan when the ability to ignore it grows more difficult.
I move and shuffle, tangling myself further in the sheets, annoyed that I’m being pulled from the most wonderful of dreams.
I’ve never dreamed of sex before, never wondered what it would be like to be stuffed full and begging for more.
On nights that I do dream, I’m standing on the podium, a trophy in my hand with adoring friends and family cheering my name.
On those days, I wake up refreshed, motivated, and ready to take on the day.
But the dream so rudely interrupted was filthy. Dirty. Downright debasing. And I fucking loved it.
I squirm in the empty bed, feeling the cool Egyptian cotton along my flushed skin. The sheets rub between my legs, swiping along my pussy, and I whimper. Damn him. I can’t stop thinking about what I saw.
I squirm some more, replaying the image in my head again and again.
I wish I could say the dream from last night was spurred by my imagination alone, but it wasn’t.
I saw something I shouldn’t have last night.
My subconscious tried to warn me not to follow him into the movie theater.
It was my own fault I’d found myself in this situation.
Who the fuck does something like that in public and why did it turn me on so much? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he did it on purpose, but he didn’t seem like he was aware of me at all.
I suppose this is what I get. I broke my vow not to follow him off campus anymore, and now I’m well and truly fucked. I’ll never be right in the head again because last night I saw him come and I want to see him do it again.
My hand creeps down my chest, across my torso, slipping beneath my panties under my cocoon of sheets.
I’m wet and it’s all that hockey player’s fault.
I have classes and practice this morning.
I need to get to the rink before the others, but I can’t right now.
I need to get off. I need to get his perfectly beautiful cock out of my head—or in my mouth.
I cannot believe he had the audacity to jerk off in a movie theater!
Last night, I followed him to watch some old slasher film that’s been out for months.
I don’t like scary movies, but I sat at the top, hidden from view.
I snuck in after him, disguised in my oversized hoodie and sweats and walked in with a group of other couples who looked like they came to make out and pretend to watch the movie.
I was on edge the entire time, freaked out by his sudden nearness.
The possibility of being spotted, and the movie itself, only aided in my torment.
The premise was dumb. The motivation, simple.
The whole movie was centered around a serial killer obsessed with this girl and compelled to chop off her hair.
She spent the whole movie screaming for her life as he hunted her down relentlessly.
But when he finally caught her, when she screamed for help as he straddled her, covered in blood and wielding a gnarly knife; I watched Lucien.
He, however, watched the scenes unfold with blind fascination, slumped in his chair, legs spread open and his hand down his pants.
I hadn’t thought he’d do it, but when he pulled himself free of his pants and held his cock in his hands, I almost screamed.
horrified he’d been so brazen. His head lolled back as he stroked himself, releasing ropes of cum all down his shaft as the protagonist passed out and the antagonist walked away scot-free.
Her screams never gave way to help. She was left alone to the mercy of the villain, to do with as he pleased, never to be seen again.
The screen cut to black and while I was shaken, I was also bemused by how .
. . exciting it all felt. My senses were overloaded, and my attention could not stray from the look on Lucien’s face as a sense of calm rested over him.
He used a stray napkin to wipe the jizz from his cock, then tucked himself back into his sweatpants and walked away.
The release I chase as I remember how hard he came all but crashes into me.
His own moans of pleasure were drowned out by the actress's screams. But there’s nothing to drown out my whimpers now as my orgasm builds, nor the high-pitched moans as I let go, remembering the look of fascination on his beautiful face as he did.
As I lay here, spent with arousal-coated fingertips, my skin flushed, and my bed empty, I’m flooded with even more thoughts of him. I can’t escape him, and for the first time since this all started, I’m starting to think that’s a real problem.