I topple directly into someone.
Strong arms catch me, and for a split second, relief floods through me. I clutch at them without thinking, fingers gripping around the fabric of their clothes like it’s the only thing steadying me.
I pull in a deep, shaky breath.
“Oh my God,” I breathe out. “I need help. There’s someone here, he’s fucking crazy, and I-” My voice cracks. “He killed my boyfriend.”
My fingers tighten in his shirt, clutching onto him like he’s the only thing that can save me. My whole body feels like it’s collapsing in on itself, adrenaline barely holding me together.
For a second, he doesn’t move.
Doesn’t speak.
“Sir, you have to help me.”
I force my eyes up to him, trying to focus through the blur. I know it’s a him; the feel of hisarms under my grip tells me that much. The solid muscle and the coarse hair along his forearms is a dead giveaway.
My breathing stutters as another face stares back at me.
But it’s not a face. Not really. It’s shaped like one, sure; but there’s no movement.
No life or expression.
Nothing human.
It’s another mask. It’s the same white shade, but it’s different from the other one.
This one feels closer to a real face, though. It actually frames his features, clinging to the shape underneath it, like it was specifically made for him.
It’s not like the porcelain one. This one looks thicker and less smooth. There’s texture to it, as if it were formed by hand instead of manufactured.
It resembles clay.
My stomach bottoms out so fast it makes me dizzy all over again.
No.
No, no, no-
My hands hit his chest hard, panic ripping through me. I try to pull away, to get out of hisgrip, but my body won’t cooperate. It doesn’t help that he’s tightened his hold on me.
“Get the fuck away from me!”
The second the words leave my mouth, his hand moves.
His fingers wrap around my throat, cutting off my breath. My hands fly up instantly, clawing at his wrist, nails digging into his skin as I try to tear him off.
It doesn’t do a damn thing.
My feet lift off of the ground like I weigh nothing.
A broken, choking sound forcing its way out of me as my body jerks in his hold. My injured leg hangs uselessly, pain flaring and then fading into the background as something much worse takes over.
I can’t breathe.
The room spins violently, my vision slipping in and out, darkness beginning to take over. I kick weakly, twisting in his grip, trying to get any kind of leverage; but I can’t.
I have none.
