Not with the music, the crowd shouting, the jubilation happening just feet behind me.
“You were always the worst when it came to pick-up lines,” I manage as my chin hits my shoulder.
Adam is wearing that stupid Myers mask again. I force a laugh.
“Do you think that mask makes you look scarier? Or were you just too coward to show up here without it?”
He jerks me closer, the tip of the knife pressing into my side. I stifle the yelp I so desperately need to release when it pierces my skin. My entire body shudders.
He takes my hair and jerks my head back. “Scream like you want to,” he says. “No one will hear it.”
“I’ll never give you the satisfaction of it.”
I jab my elbow into his gut, making him grunt and double over. He lets go of my hair. I seize the opportunity and whip around to strike him across the side of the face with my camera. He yells, completely releasing his grip on me this time, and I dash toward the steps. My camera crashes to the ground—
Adam’s strides catch me.
He grabs my hair and throws me into the iron railing. My head strikes the cold steel, and I fall.
I tumble down the hard steps. I tumble and tumble and fall into a damp puddle, and for a second, I’m stunned.
It feels like a lightning strike cutting down my spine. I cry out from the pain, from the fear suddenly gripping me. The noise that comes from me sounds as if someone has my bones in their hands and is ripping them out of my body. I can’t see. Everything is double. My head throbs in a pound so agonizing that nausea swells in my throat. I drag my knees up, ripping my stockings in an attempt to stand.
I have to get away.
I can’t let him take me.
I try to scream again, yet it comes out as a groan and cry.
My nails break on the cement when I brace my hands beneath me. I manage to rise my chest off the asphalt—
His boot lands on my back, and I falter beneath it.
I hate the sobbing wail that leaves me.
I hate the helplessness of this pain.
He won’t take me, too.
For a blink, I’m back at the old house. A hand is on my wrist and pulling me out of the door. I fight back and scream.
No one hears me.
“Stop!” I cry out to Adam, shoving the memory away. “Leave me alone. Why are you doin—No! Get off—”
His knee is on my thigh to lock me down. I twist and squirm and scream. Panic swells, throwing adrenaline into the veins and muscles that want to fail me. He tries to grab my arms. I swat at every turn. My motions are frantic. Breath refuses to catch. I’m swatting and slapping and kicking and screaming for anyone—anyone—to hear me.
His entire weight is on my thighs. He’s speaking, though I don’t know what he’s saying.
I don’tcarewhat he’s saying.
The knife presses against my neck, and I still.
“Stop fucking moving,” he warns.
There’s gravel on my face mixing with the tears.
“What do you want?” I manage.
