X’s eyes widen. “W-what?”
“Get off me.” When he doesn’t move, I flatten my hands on his chest and shove him so hard he lands sprawled on the floor. He looks up at me, his glasses sitting lopsided on his nose, his pale eyes wide and wounded.
“No,” he mutters. “No, no, no. I—” he runs a trembling hand through his dirty hair. “I don’t understand.”
“I’m sure you very rarely do,” I bite out. “Don’t worry, I’ll use nice, small words.” I stand up, advancing on him slowly. “I. Don’t. Want. To. Fuck. You.” I jab my finger at the door. “I’m done playing your games. Let me out. Now.”
He slaps a palm on the ground. “Why do you have to keep ruining things?” He cries out. “I have imagined this so many times in my head. But you keep doing the wrong thing. Why? I know how this is supposed to go.” He glares up at me. “I’ve been sending you presents formonths—”
If that’s true, I need to deep-clean my mail room. “Aw, shit, I forgot I could be bought. I guess you own me, then. I’ll have my agent write you up a receipt.” I shake my head. “What the Hell is wrong with you? Are you really so desperate for action that you have to make up a whole relationship in your head? Are you so goddamn annoying that you don’t have any friends to give you an intervention?”
He glances sideways to the chloroform-soaked gag, and I scowl at him. “Try it. I’ll snap off your skull and vomit down your throat, you ugly piece of shit.”
He jumps to his feet. I step backwards into the dining table. Keeping my face turned towards him, I pat around behind me for the bread knife.
“Screw you!” He snarls. “I did everything right!”
I snort. “Says who? Where did you get these dating tips? You knowYouis supposed to be a thriller, not a how-to guide, right?” My hand skims over my cold, gravy-filled plate, and I fight the urge to wince. “Listen to me. I will never want you. If you were the last man on Earth, I’d cross the ocean to get away from you. And so would any woman, you little mop-haired, musty-breathedfreak.” Shit, where’s the goddamn knife?
His eyes blaze. “You know what? They were right! Youare abitch! Thebiggestbitch in the world!” He shakes his head.“Why do you have to be so cruel? How could you hurt me like this?”
My fingers skim over cutlery, plates, glasses. No knife. “Ihurtyou?” I ask, my voice rising. “You’re the one who bombed me, drugged me, kidnapped me and tied me up!”
“So we could be together!” He insists. “I have dedicated my whole life to loving you, and you don’t even care, do you? You don’t care about me at all.”
My hand finally closes on the cool, thick handle of the knife.
X is still raving. “God, how could I have been so stupid? You lied to me, all this time. Youpretendedlike youloved me!”
“I never pretended anything, you demented idiot! You made all of this up in your head!” I carefully lift the knife up, trying to keep the movement subtle.
X steps forward. He’s panting like a dog. “Stop. Lying.”
“I’m notlying.You’re the one who’s deluded.”
I flip the knife behind my back, turning it blade-up. There’s a softclink.To my horror, I hear a glass fall over, rolling across the tabletop.I shut my eyes as it falls and shatters on the ground.
Shit.
X glances behind me. His face hardens. He grabs my wrist and twists it hard, yanking the knife from my grip. “You littlebitch. What, you were going to stab me? After everything I’ve done for you?” His eyes are on fire. He looks terrifying. “Years and years, I’ve loved you. And now you’re just rejecting me. You’vewastedall those years of my life.” He steps closer, dropping his voice. Fear wells up in my throat. “I don’t understand why all women want to hurt me.” He lifts the knife, and we both watch it gleam under the cabin lights. “You need to pay for hurting me.” He decides. “I want you to hurt, too.”
Shit. I stumble a step back, my eyes on the knife tip. “X—”
“Fuckyou,” he snarls, and stabs me.
I scream as I feel the knife slice into my hip. Oh my God. Oh my God. I didn’t think he’d actually do it. X yanks the knife out, and I shout as the serrated edge cuts into my skin. Blood gushes up from the wound, soaking into my red dress. Before I can respond, he lifts his hand and stabs at me again, aiming for my face. I jerk away at the last moment, and the blade slashes right across my cheek. He pulls back his arm a third time, and my old combat training finally kicks in. I twist automatically, slamming my shoulderhardinto his neck. It’s a good trick to take people off-guard; everyone expects you to fight with your hands. It works on X. He staggers backwards, grabbing his throat.
I nod to myself. Okay. That’s good. This isn’t a totally unfair fight. I’m rusty, but I can still remember plenty from all of my martial arts training. He’s untrained, but he’s much stronger than me. We’re on a somewhat even playing field.
I’ll just have to get creative.
Lunging for the table, I grab the carving fork stuck inside the chicken and rip it out, aiming straight for X’s eyes. It’s a wild, uncontrolled swing, but I’m not actually trying to stab him—just distract him. As his gaze follows the fork, I slam my knee into his crotch.
“Bitch!” he screeches, dropping to his knees as I dodge past him towards the front door. I throw myself at the pane of metal, but it’s locked solid. I can’t even jiggle the handle. I try ramming my shoulder into it, and cry out at the impact. Behind me, I hear X scramble to his feet, so I change tactics, turning on my heel and flying down the hallway. I fall through the first open door I come to, spinning and slamming it shut behind me, then look around wildly for something to barricade myself in with. There’s a ratty-looking wooden chair in one corner of the room, and I grab it, wedging it under the door handle. Does that actually work? I don’t know, but I’ve seen it in movies, and my options are pretty limited right now.
The room is dark. I pat around the wall for a light switch. When the ceiling lights flicker on, I lean heavily against the door to examine my stab wound. The fabric on my left hip is soaked through with blood. Wincing, I lift the hem of my dress to check out the cut. The slash is wide, but I can’t tell how deep it is through all of the blood. I look around the room for something to stem the bleeding—and almost throw up.
Oh my God.
