Page 85 of Horror and Chill

Corwin laughs. “There it is. Could’ve told you she’d love it.”

I keep my hand on her cheek until her eyes flutter open, pupils blown wide, a mix of spit and blood painting her lips red. “Truth,” I whisper, quiet enough only she can hear. “You needed that.”

Her breath comes ragged, furious and broken all at once. But she doesn’t deny it. She can’t.

35

Agatha

The soundof my alarm cuts through the dark. My hand flails until I smack the screen enough to shut it up. My eyes burn, adjusting slowly. This isn’t the cabin. Not the crypt. Not the slab of stone where three masked lunatics fucked me raw.

This is my room. My bed. My ceiling fan ticking like always.

I jolt upright, heart slamming. My phone’s right there, plugged in on the charger. The lock screen glows: eight a.m. Monday.

“What the fuck?” I mutter out loud.

My last clear memory is the taste of sweat and blood and cum all tangled together. The triple crazies took me one after the other like it was nothing. Like I was nothing. Like I was everything.

I swing my legs over the bed and take stock of my body. No bruises fresh enough to explain. Just the lingering ache in my body. They brought me home. When? How? The dress is back on, wrinkled and clinging to my skin. The lingerie too, stretchedand ruined. They hadn’t even bothered to strip me when they carried me here.

My viewers are going to eat that video up. I’ve never given them more than one partner on film. Never an orgy. Never chaos like that. The comments will go feral. Lorna will either murder me or crown me queen.

I don’t have work today. Teacher’s day off. That should mean rest, but my head’s already buzzing with the list. I need to edit the footage and send Lorna a cut, then get in touch with Chad about the calendar shoot. My Bloody Valentine theme got checked off by the events of this weekend, so I’ll have to pivot.Screamfeels right; classic, iconic, Ghostface lurking in the corner while I strip down and bleed for the camera. Maybe just me. Maybe not just me. A group shoot would hit harder, best-friend slasher energy, blood and skin tangled together like a death pact.

The problem is, I don’t have friends who’d ever step into that kind of frame with me. Not the ones I’d strip down with. So maybe I lean on the BTL girls. Lorna can assign someone, and Chad will definitely have opinions about who fits the look. We’ll figure it out later.

Right now, I need a shower. And to not think about the way Corwin, Garron, and Evander treated me this weekend.

My mouth is dry, my head pounding like I drank an entire bottle of whiskey, and my skin reeks of smoke, sweat, and sex.

I grab my phone and shuffle toward the bathroom. The light blinds me when I flip it on, reflecting off the mirror and showing me a stranger’s face staring back. Makeup smeared into bruised shadows under my eyes. Lipstick wiped halfway across my cheek.

I peel the dress off, and it falls to the floor. The lingerie lands in the sink, flimsy and ruined. I turn the water on hot, and steamclouds the glass before I step into the shower. The spray hits me hard enough to sting.

I run through every ritual I know. Shampoo twice, conditioner combed through until my scalp tingles. Bar soap across my body. Scented wash layered on top. Sugar scrub grinding into my skin as if I can scrape the weekend away. Razor to my legs, my underarms, the tender line of my pussy. Conditioner rinsed. Face wash until the towel comes away gray. By the time I step out, hair twisted in a turban, towel knotted tight around my chest, I’m pink and raw, but at least I feel almost human.

I rub lotion over every inch of skin until it glows. I pull on some joggers, a baggy T-shirt, and nothing else. Bare feet on the cold floor.

My phone pings.

Evander: Hope you slept okay. You were pretty wiped.

I blink at the screen. Hold up…when the hell did his number get in my phone? I scroll down and sure enough, Garron’s there too. Corwin’s, right under it. Sneaky little fucks. My thumbs move too fast.

Me: How did I get home, and when?

The dots appear, blink, vanish, return.

Evander: Early yesterday morning. Maybe 3 a.m. You were out cold. Figured you’d want to wake up in your own bed.

My chest squeezes, ribs tight.

Me: Why take me home after everything this weekend? Why after the video? Why not back to the cabin?

Evander: You were exhausted. And you told only truths. Thought you deserved an award, Little Horror.

My lip splits under my teeth.