Page 120 of Cruel Pleasures

Though it was in self-defense and he would’ve done the same to me if I hadn’t, processing what I’ve done isn’t easy.

Something inside me twists tighter, like I’m repulsed by myself. I’m not typically a violent person. I’ve never hurt anyone intentionally in a situation that wasn’t self-defense, like the perv who smacked my ass in a club I bartended in, much less killed a living thing that wasn’t an insect. I’m no longer able to judge any of the people in this club. How can I when I’ve taken a life too?

Footsteps pound closer in the dark.

My head jerks up in alarm, listening to the abrasive sound growing closer.

Someone else is coming.

“Fuck,” I whisper.

I have three options. I can try to hide like I was earlier. I can run off deeper into the maze.

Or I can stay and fight.

My hands wrap around the handle of the machete that’s still lodged in number seven’s thigh. I summon what strength I have left and pull as hard as I can. It refuses to budge.

Instead, more of his blood gets on me. Hot and messy, coating my fingers and staining the front of my vintage Jean Paul Gaultier gown. Another piece I’ve borrowed from Emerald’s grandmother’s shop. It costs more than an entire paycheck of mine, yet here it is, covered in blood.

The footsteps beat ever closer.

The person’s running toward me.

There’s no more time to waste. I’ve got to decide now.

Abandoning the machete stuck in number seven, I divert to the hatchet he’d dropped on the ground. I’ve barely got a handle on it when the figure that’s been approaching rounds a corner of the maze.

I’d like to say I bravely rise to my feet and fight them off. That I’m bold enough to even try.

But I don’t—instead, natural inclinations take over. I spin on my heel and take off running. One kill was enough for the night. I’m not sure I can stomach two. If I could just find an exit…

The person launches after me.

We weave through passage after passage, rounding sharp turns and running into forks in the path. I veer left when presented with two choices and the person chasing after me does the same. The gap between us begins to shrink.

The corset portion of my dress cinches at my ribs and makes it harder to draw a breath. I throw panicked glances over my shoulder, the fear expanding to a point of no return.

Finally, I understand how people die of fright. I get how someone could be so terrified, their heart gives out and they die.

Turning down another path, the vines on the ground trip me up. My foot catches in one and it throws me off. A scream tears out of me and I fumble forward, trying to catch myself. It seems to be some kind of trick set up for exactly this purpose.

To throw off the player that comes across it.

But that isn’t the only thing it does—just as I stumble toward the ground, a pendulum shaped blade swings out from the hedge wall. The person chasing after me almost runs right into it. They jump back to narrowly avoid its lethal swing.

You’d think that would deter them from coming after me.

They’d simply choose to abandon this quest to kill me and go after someone else in the maze.

It has the opposite effect. The person waits ’til the pendulum has swung to the far side and then rushes through. Like player number seven, he fully intends on carrying out his attack. He’s determined to hurt me.

Because I’m a player in this game and every player is your enemy.

There can only be one that emerges as victor.

Everyone left is more than willing to kill me if it means they win, which means… I have to adapt.

I’m all alone. Nobody’s coming to save me. Not Ryu. Not Archer. Not Lyra or anyone else I’ve known. If I want to survive, I’ll have to fight for it, like I’ve fought my entire life. Even if it was in different ways.