Or maybe it's a recipe for an undeniably toxic disaster.
"Aren't you supposed to be in prison or something?" I accuse, letting the words come out of my mouth with a hint of sarcasm. But I cringe just a little when I realize that they might also portray a modicum of disgust and I just hope he doesn't catch that.
I lean further into the tree, not really feeling the desire to get away from him but more so needing distance from the way it feels to be this close to him again. Trace stands in front of me with only a shoe length of distance between us. I take this moment to analyze the rest of him, needing to let my eyes take a break from the bright neon light his mask emanates.
He's wearing his usual dark blue jeans and black pullover hoodie combo. It's something familiar that I can recall, something so minor that brings me back. Trace never wore more than the regular pair of jeans—sometimes he'd switch it up with sweatpants—usually paired with a plain colored shirt and a hoodie of some kind.
Before I can allow myself to get lost in the way his body looks, I bring my eyes back up to the crosses over his mask as he pulls his hand up toward my face.
He scoffs as he lifts his index finger and swipes at a few pieces of mist-soaked hair laying over my eyes, brushing them away. "Do you really believe everything you hear, Olivia? I thought you were smarter than that."
"I let actions speak louder than words," I reply immediately. A jab intended for more than justthismoment and even though I don't mind the fact that his face is hidden away, I wish I could see his eyes. His feelings have always been reflective in his eyes and honestly, so have mine which is why I always had a hard time maintaining eye contact with him. Now, I'm not sure what to expect but I know the moment he takes off the mask, everything will come flooding back full force and I don't know if I'll be able to take it.
“Well then where the hell have you been, Trace?” I decide to ask him when he doesn’t respond to me, starting to feel annoyed.
His head tilts and almost at the same time, I hear rustling come from somewhere around us, hiding in the night. I know I can no longer see the maze, but I can't really gauge how far off we are from the trail either.
I start to feel my heart race, causing me to squirm against the tree just a little—anticipation and adrenaline swirling in my gut—and a little gasp comes from behind Trace's mask. I don't have time to analyze it though before I hear another set of footsteps, or two, approach in the distance.
I lean my head to the side just in time to see two more glowing masks step out from behind the trees about twenty feet back. The same black masks with the same infamous, neon crosshatches. Only these ones are red and . . . yellow.
The sight of the brightness makes me sick. Nausea fills my veins when I look at the color that once represented the sun, but now reminds me of nothing butfalse hope and insurmountable pain.Why the fuck is he wearing my brother’s old mask?
The Cutthroats; a name given out by the fans of the football team years ago designed specifically for the four most ruthless football players of MCU. After an undefeated season and winning the Bowl, a parade was held in the town and that’s when the four named MVP players were granted the honor of being named the Cutthroats.
The masks came about as a token for the guys, it resembles the mask of Match, the Masked Nightmare; the Marauders' mascot. At first, the formation of the Cutthroats seemed a little silly to me, but when they saycutthroat, they fucking mean it. The boys were monsters on the football field so the name is rightfully deserved. They’re pretty much legendary names in college football.
I stare out into the distance, looking at them. I know who the guy on the right of Trace is; the flicker of the crimson light of his mask caresses his dark brown skin and his height is unmatched. Evrin.
And I know who’s under my brother’s mask because the yellow lighting of it illuminates green against his blue hair. Sage.
The third member hasn’t been seen wearing his mask in quite some time and some question if he even considers himself part of the group any more.
I shift uncomfortably as I strain my neck to look out at our new audience, Trace not budging one bit.
"What aretheydoing here?" I ask calmly but choose to not leave out the slight annoyance in my tone that I am inevitably feeling.
"Didn't you hear? It's…" Trace lets his words trail off as he turns behind him and addresses the two others who have joined us. "What are they calling this again?" he asks, waving his hand around at the trees surrounding us, almost maniacally.
"The Final Forest Anniversary," the one in the yellow mask hollers out, and even though I knew who it was before he spoke up, the pop of his blue hair peaking out around his face the tell, his voice serves as further confirmation.
I cringe thinking about anyone wearing my brother’s mask. It makes me ill, honestly. How the fuck do they even have it? And why is he wearing it? He’s not a Cutthroat and he certainly hasn’t earned the right to steal it.
"Right." Trace turns his head back to me, a sinister layer to his tone. "That. It's like a party, Livie. So I brought my friends."
I roll my eyes; a facade to hide that fact that my stomach twists as Trace hovers over me and the others watch on.
"Did you really come up here with yourfriendsjust to torture me behind your stupid masks?" I say it with a hint of flirtatious sarcasm, letting my lashes bat against the top of my blushed cheeks before pushing my hair behind my ear slowly.
"Poor Olivia," he teases deviously. "Sorry to break it to you, but noteverythingis about you." I hate the way this feels. This isn't at all what it was like to be with Trace. In fact, this is the literal opposite of what it felt like to be with him. He was never this ominous asshole type who seems to speak down on me now.Maybe with everyone else but whatever this is, it's worse than I've ever seen or known him to be for me.
I know how he once made me feel, for the longest time we were all each other ever wanted. It was consuming. He was the air that I breathed. But all that changed in a matter of moments, and now, he’s shrouded in darkness and veiled by a black hole that exudes destruction and a desire to cause severe pain. But god, is he still handsome as hell.
Trace finally takes a few steps backward before fully turning around and starts to walk away. But I don't let him get too far before deciding that I need to put my foot down and set my boundaries.
"I want you to stay the fuck away from me, Trace. Whatever game you're playing, I want nothing to do with it." I say it with aggression and with honesty but not at all with the assurance I’m hoping to effuse, causing me to wonder if I even believe my own words.
I might have wanted to see him, had even hoped the rumors were true and that he was here . . . looking for me. But now, after seeing this side of him, this might cause a treacherous chasm to form in my soul, unleashing my irrational craving for danger and darkness, rendering me weak to this shadow of a man in front of me. That, and I also really don’t want to be the subject of his wrath because I have no fucking clue why he’s being so cruel to begin with and I’m honestly scared to find out. He already broke me once. I’m not sure I can go through that again.
