But I’m not quick enough.
A hand—large, strong—wraps around my ankle with a brutal grip, yanking me backward with such force that I lose all sense of balance. My hands claw at the blankets, trying to find something to hold on to, but it’s useless. I slide across the bed, my body dragged toward the figure. My phone slips from my fingers, tumbling off the mattress with a dull thud as it hits the floor.
I’m crying now as my chest heaves with panic. The hand around my ankle tightens, cold and unrelenting, pulling me closer to the edge of the bed. I kick out with my other leg, desperate to break free, but it’s no use. I’m trapped, helpless.
In the back of my mind, a thought flashes:Is this Saint?
But no—this feels worse. This feels like a nightmare I can’t wake up from.
My body is racked with adrenaline like I’ve never felt before. “Stop!” I scream. I plead with whoever this is.
Could it be the owner of the cabin?
No. Louie wouldn’t be this strong. It can’t be him.
Terror surges through me, sharp and electric, every nerve on high alert. My heart pounds so violently in my chest, I’m sure it’s about to burst. My breaths are coming out in quick, ragged gasps, each one more desperate than the last.
“Saint, if this is you, please stop.Please.”
My pleas fall on deaf ears. I try to recall everything I learned in self-defense class—the techniques, the moves, the strategies to fight back—but there’s no time to think. No time to react. Everything I learned feels distant, like a memory I can’t fully access.
Move, Petra. Do something!
Before I can even try, I’m being yanked off the bed with such force that I can barely process what’s happening. My feet flail wildly,searching for something—anything—to anchor myself to, but there’s nothing. The ground seems to slip out from under me as I’m dragged across the floor, the rough fabric of the carpet burning against my skin. I let out a scream full of terror, but it’s cut short as a hand clamps over my mouth, silencing me in an instant.
Please be Saint. Please be Saint.
The thought shoots through my mind like a lightning bolt, and I hate myself for it. Why am I hoping it’s Saint?Why?Even if he’s taken our little game too far and he’s here, breaking into my house in the dead of night just to scare me, his actions are still horrifying. They’re still inexcusable.
But deep down, I know why I’m hoping it’s him. Because if it’s Saint, then at least I know who it is. I know what this is about. I can reason with him, maybe. I can remind him of the boundaries, the unspoken rules we’ve created in this twisted thing between us.
But if it’s not him ... the alternative is much, much worse.
I kick my feet against the floor, struggling to get any kind of leverage. My body twists, fighting to find an escape, but he’s moving too fast. Too strong. Every time I think I’m gaining some ground, his grip tightens, and I’m dragged farther, helpless against the force pulling me across the room. My fingers claw at the carpet, searching for anything to grab onto, but it’s useless. I can’t stop him.
“Please,” I cry, my words useless. Saint wouldn’t be this rough with me. Even if he were here playing out a Cam-and-Reya scene, he’d be mindful of my fear. Mindful of his grip.
Whoever this is isn’t thinking about me and my comfort at all.
The house is so dark.Darker than normal. The kind of darkness that presses in on you, suffocating and all-encompassing. I can barely see two feet in front of me, but as I’m dragged through the hallway and into the kitchen, I notice something that sends a chill down my spine. The faint glow of the appliances is gone. All the little lights normally blinking from the microwave, the stove, the fridge, are out. Completely dead.
The power’s been cut.
A fresh wave of panic surges through me. The realization hits me like a punch to the gut. Whoever this is, they didn’t just show up uninvited. They planned this. They made sure the house was in complete darkness, that no one could see or hear what’s happening. They’ve covered their tracks.I’m alone.
I start to scream again, but a hand comes down on my mouth. Hard. Stifling.
All the shades are drawn, blocking any light from the outside. There’s no one to see, no one to help. My stomach twists painfully as I fight against the arm wrapped tightly around me. He’s got both of my arms pinned now with just one of his, locking me in place, making it impossible to move. I’m trapped. Completely at his mercy.
Suddenly, the hand over my mouth is removed, and for a split second, I gasp for air, choking on my fear. This is my chance. I have to figure out what’s happening. Who this is.I need to know.
“Saint?” My voice comes out in a trembling whisper, barely audible through the sobs that are threatening to break free. The sound of my own desperation sends a shock of humiliation through me, but I can’t stop it. “Saint, please.” I can’t believe I’m saying his name, begging for him, but I have to know.
Is it him?
I try to turn my head to look at the figure behind me, to catch a glimpse of his face, but the moment I attempt to move, he forces my head forward with a brutal shove.
Too strong. Too rough.
