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His hands roam over my body, pulling me even closer until I’m straddling him on the couch. My knees sinking into the leather. My eyes flutter close, and I let the moment consume me. His lips trail over my skin, leaving a hot path that sends shivers down my spine.

Something tells me to slow down but I ignore it. I can’t. It feels too good.

The recklessness and impulsivity drives me, staking the heat that builds at the pit of my stomach.

“You feel incredible,” he whispers against my skin, his breath hot and teasing. I gasp as he nibbles against the sensitive spot of my neck, arching against him as I fall deeper into the haze of lust and adrenaline.

Just as I think I can’t take it anymore, he pauses, his hand stilling. He pulls back and looks up at me, his gaze heavy lidded and filled with want.

“Let’s go upstairs,” he murmurs, words filled with promise.

I hesitate for a second, my heart still pounding and my body buzzing with desire, but there’s a small voice in the back of my mind that’s trying to break through the haze of alcohol and lust. Going upstairs means crossing a line that I’m not sure I want to cross.

But his hands are still on me, warm, insistent, tempting…

I glance towards the stairs and back at him. He’s watching me closely, his expression almost predatory, like he knows he’s already won. And maybe he has, because I can feel myself wavering.

“Come on,” he coaxes, his voice like honey. He brushes a strand of hair from my face, his fingers brushing against my swollen lips. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

My breath hitches and before I can go too deep into my head, I nod. He grins and lifts me off him, and in one swift motion, he stands. His hand slips into mine, and he drags me towards the stairs, side stepping some busy couples on the way.

I trot up the stairs behind him, buzzing with excitement.

As we reach the top of the stairs, the noise from the party below falls away. Jack glances back at me, a grin on his face. His hand is firm and warm around mine, guiding me down the dimly lit hallway. Every step feels heavier, like I’m walking into something I can’t turn back from.

He pauses at a door and pushes it open with his shoulder, revealing a semi darkened room bathed in the glow of a singular desk lamp.

It’s messy–clothes thrown about, empty beer cans littered about, a half empty bottle of tequila on the nightstand–but I barely register the mess, my mind is buzzing, the alcohol and weed mixing with adrenaline, making everything seem surreal.

Jack pulls me inside, kicking the door shut behind us.

His hands find my waist and as he presses me against the door.

His lips are on mine before I can process what’s happening, hot and insistent and I melt into him, all the tension from earlier dissolving into raw heat.

I grab his collar, pulling him closer as everything else slips away.

For a brief moment, I forget the nagging thoughts, the weird tension from the creepy masked guy, everything that led here.

His hands trail up my sides, his touch firm and rough, igniting a spark of heat that spreads through me. His body presses harder against mine, and I can feel his arousal, hot and solid against my stomach. The kiss deepens and the room grows hotter, smaller with the thickening anticipation.

He tugs at the hem of my shirt and without thinking, I lift my arms, allowing him to pull it over my head. I hear the soft thud of it hitting the floor, but it’s muted, distant. He leans in again, his mouth trailing from my lips down to my neck, leaving a line of hot kisses along my skin.

For a moment, my mind flashes back to earlier in the night–the mask, that unsettling feeling–but Jack’s touch brings me back to the present. I push those thoughts aside, deciding to focus on the heat building between us, the way his touch makes me feel.

I press my hands against his chest, feeling the hard muscles beneath his shirt, and suddenly, I’m the one pushing.

He stumbles back, catching himself as he falls onto the mattress, grinning up at me with a look that sends a jolt of excitement coursing through me.

His hands reach for me again, and I straddle him and lean in just close enough our breaths mingle.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his lips brushing against mine as he speaks.

I smile and grind against him, reveling in the sharp intake of breath he takes in response. His grip tightens and I lose myself in the raw heat, how his hands feel on me, how good it feels to be touched and try to forget everything else.

But just as quickly, something shifts and a sliver of discomfort edges its way into my thoughts. I hesitate, the wild recklessness fading for a minute. The weight of the night, the strange tension from earlier creeps back into my mind and I pull away.

“What?” Jack asks, his hands still lingering at my hips.

I nod, trying to shake off the unease. “I’m fine” I say, though the words don’t hold any truth. Forcing a smile, I kiss him again, hoping the uneasy feeling in my stomach will unfurl but instead, it gets worse.

The warm buzz from the alcohol and weed seem to dissipate. I feel hollow, the nagging discomfort gnawing at the edge of my thoughts. I try to ignore the growing knot in my chest, but my mind is a million miles away.

I can’t do this.

The room spins and nausea twists my stomach. “Wait,” I mutter.

He pauses, his breath warm on my skin, his fingers still at my hips. “What’s wrong?” he asks, pulling back just enough to look at me, his brow furrowed.

I swallow, trying to find the words, but all I can manage is, “I–I don’t think I can do this.”

Anger flickers in his eyes, quickly replaced by frustration. “You’re kidding, right?”

“I–I just…I feel weird,” I stammer, pushing myself to stand. My heart is pounding in my chest. My vision swims for a second, and I blink hard, glancing around for my shirt. The room tilts and I sway slightly. I clutch my head, trying to steady myself.

Shit, I need to get out of here. Where the hell am I?

I can feel the room closing in, the alcohol numbing my senses and nausea clawing its way up my throat. “I’m leaving.”

I reach for the door, the overwhelming need to escape surging in every nerve.

My legs feel like jelly and the ground seems to shift under me, but I push through, my hand closing around the doorknob.

My heart hammers in my chest as I twist the doorknob, the muffled sounds of the party seem to roar back to life as I crack the door open, a blast of noise and chaos flooding in.

I relax for a bit as I feel the suffocating tension start to float away.

I step into the hallway, the noise of the party rushes to me but it feels distant, like I’m underwater. My legs are weak, and I grip the doorway, gasping for air that doesn’t fill my lungs. The hallway is dimly lit, but I can see shapes of people stumbling around, laughing, oblivious to my panic.

Suddenly, a hand grabs my arm, yanking me back into the room. I stumble, heart racing and turn to see Jack looming over me, his eyes darker than before and his grip tight.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he says, his voice low and menacing, any trace of charm long gone.

Fear claws at my throat as I try to pull away, but my body isn’t cooperating. I’m dizzy, disoriented, and my mind screams at me to run, but my feet are glued to the floor.

“Let go of me!” I manage to choke out, my voice weaker than I intended.

Jack’s grip tightens. “Come on, Rhea. Don’t make this difficult,” he growls. His face close to mine now, his breath hot and reeking of alcohol. I push against him, my arms weak, my mind clouded, but he doesn’t budge.

His grip tightens, and he drags me further into the room, kicking the door closed with a force that sends a chill down my spine.

My heart races as panic sets in, adrenaline surging through me, but my limbs are sluggish, the alcohol and haze of the night weighing me down.

I try to twist free, clawing at his arm, but he’s strong—his grip like a vice around my wrist as he forces me toward the bed.

Before I can scream, he shoves me onto the mattress, the impact knocking the breath out of my lungs. The room spins violently, and I barely register the sensation of him crawling over me, his weight pinning me down, suffocating me.

“Stop! Get off me!” I manage to gasp, trying to push him away.

But he doesn’t stop. His hands are everywhere, rough and insistent. I thrash beneath him, my heart pounding in my ears. Panic claws at my throat as his face looms closer, the smell of alcohol and sweat suffocating me. I try to kick, to shove him off, but my strength is no match for his.

Every fiber of my being screams for escape, but my body is betraying me, heavy and uncooperative under his weight.

He leans in closer, his breath hot against my neck and something snaps inside me–fear turns to rage.

I buck against him with everything I have left, managing to slam my knee into his side.

He grunts and his grips loosens enough for me to scramble out from under him.

I push him away and stumble towards the door, panic urging me on.

But before I can get to it, he lunges at me, grabbing me by my arm. I scream, adrenaline blinding me. I grab the first thing that feels solid and swing it at his head.

A loud shatter pierces my ears and glass shards rain down on both of us, glittering in the dim light.

I take the part I’m holding and scream again, smashing that into the side of his face.

He staggers back, clutching his head, a shocked look flashing across his face.

His hair is drenched with tequila, but I spot a dark liquid start to flow down his face, pooling around his hand where he’s clutching his head.

Blood. The sight of it sending a fresh wave of panic through me.

A shocked look flashes across his face, quickly replaced by rage and he lunges at me again. I feel his wet, bloodied hand smear across my skin, my shirt as I stumble away from him. He staggers and comes at me again, his eyes unfocused but rage filled.

I panic and shove him away, he trips backwards and slams against a bureau head first. A spray of blood erupts from the impact, and I feel it splash against my clothes and skin. Wide eyed, I watch him collapse to the floor, a rapidly growing pool of blood around his head.

He jerks weakly then stills.

My heart drops.

He’s dead .

He’s fucking dead.

A scream threatens to rip out of me but I force it down, swallowing the rising terror, my hands tremble uncontrollably as I stare at his lifeless body, the pool of blood spreading, dark and viscous. I know I need to run, to escape but my feet feel frozen, rooted to the spot.

I can’t breathe.

My mind races, a storm of fear and disbelief crashing together. This can’t be happening, I didn’t mean for this to happen, I didn’t want this.

The sound of laughter and music suddenly filters through the door, and I snap back to reality. It is a jarring reminder of the world continuing outside this nightmare. I force myself to move, to step away from the gruesome scene, my stomach twisting in knots.

I need to leave, to get as far away from here as possible.

But how do I explain this? How do I walk out of here like nothing happened when my clothes are stained with blood?

The window.

My heart pounds in my chest as I stumble towards the window in the corner. My fingers are slick with sweat as I try to undo the latch and push the window open.

I manage to force the glass upwards and stick my head outside. The chilly fall air caresses my face as I glance around. There’s a tree close by, a thick branch a hand’s breadth from the ledge.

My hands are slick with sweat as I begin to crawl through, my heart pounding in my ears. I manage to put one leg out when the bedroom door swings open, banging against the wall.

The masked stranger stands in the doorway, his imposing figure filling the room, casting a shadow that stretches toward me. My breath catches in my throat as his hollow eyes flicks to Jack’s prone, bleeding body and then to me.

The black mask, now eerily familiar, hides his face, but the tension radiating from him is unmistakable.

For a split second, we’re both frozen—me halfway through the window, him looming in the doorway, the weight of his silent stare pinning me in place. Then, without warning, he starts toward me.

Panic surges through my veins. I scramble desperately, yanking my other leg through the window. My shoes scrape against the ledge as I try to find balance. I reach out toward the branch, my fingers trembling, and grasp it just as I feel the stranger’s presence right behind me

I don’t look back.

Instead, I cling to the branch with everything I have and swing myself off the ledge. The rough bark bites into my palms, but I manage to hold on, dangling several feet above the ground. My legs dangle beneath me, searching for footing, as the masked figure leans out the window, watching.

I take a risk and let go, my eyes closing as the ground rushes up to me.

I land haphazardly, pain courses through me, but I ignore it and scramble to my feet.

Against my better judgment, I glance back up at the window, back at the masked stranger still watching.

My eyes settle on a weird tattoo, a band of indecipherable words wrapping around his bicep.

Run.

I don’t look back.

But I feel it—eyes. Everywhere.

The wind hits my skin and I’m suddenly aware of how much blood is on me. My dress clings in wet places. My hands are slick. My legs are shaking.

Did anyone see me?

I duck behind a row of hedges, chest heaving. The pounding in my ears is louder than the music still thumping from inside the house. That means the party is still going strong and someone could walk upstairs any minute.

That means I could be seen.

I look down at myself in the moonlight. There’s a smear on my thigh. My knees are scraped raw. My palms—Jesus—my palms are bloody.

Is it my blood from the bottle or his?

I scrub them against the grass like that’s going to fix anything.

Footsteps.

My breath stops.

Somewhere back toward the house. Laughter but nobody is close.

I force myself to move again, faster this time, ducking low.

My feet pounds against the asphalt as I sprint away, my heart pounding in my ears but my mind was on a singular thing.

I just killed someone.