"Is your heart beating fast for me yet, Bambi?"
Of course, it is. The organ feels ready to march right out of my chest at any moment. I'm surprised he can't hear it from where I hide in the divot of a particularly twisty path. I'm grateful for it because without it, I'm not sure my plan would have worked out as clearly as it had in my head. The simple cartoon drawing plan that my weary brain had lauded as genius seems flimsy in the light of reality.
Hubris really is the downfall of men. So confident that I'll just run scared and stupid, that he barely spares a glance behind him anymore. A few moments into this harebrained plan of mine, I had thought it was over when he stopped in the middle of an intersection of tunnels and peered down the one I had just been about to follow him down.
I must have someone looking out for me because I had stopped to brush off the biggest spider web outside of Australia. Thankfully it had been vacant. There is no way on Earth I would have been able to contain the scream of unholy terror I would have unleashed. Some things are not meant for this world and whatever spider called that web home was it. It must've been eating rats judging by the size.
Either way, I'm saved from those midnight blue eyes that never seem to miss anything, though part of that probably is a bit of an exaggeration. He's just a man, nothing more. And men are capable of mistakes. As long as I think like that, I can beat him. The only God down here is absent.
His steps are sure and leisurely as he hums, though his eyes remain on a constant rotation. I've never moved my body so fast out of view. Anxiety whispers that each glimpse around a corner is my last; that those infinite ocean eyes will be staring back at me this time paired with that blinding bright smile and those shark-like canines ready to sink into me. Yeah, not exactly how I pictured going out.
An eternity later, or perhaps that's just my nerves talking, his feet falter. I almost trip, face down feet up, in my rush to stop. He dances around the open space in some imitation of a waltz, to music only he can hear before turning to face the exact spot I was standing just a moment ago.
He knows.
A harsh bark of laughter escapes him before he bounces on his toes, giddy with glee. "Bambi, dearest. You are full of surprises. I wonder what sounds you'll make for me when I get my hands on you."
The exit is long forgotten now. My only goal is getting away. Cupid or freedom, either is better than Pretty Boy. This unhinged madman is not what I expected under all of those sly glances and teasing remarks. I was always warned not to play with fire, little did I know I had been stoking the flames and dancing below their flickering lights.
Never again will I sit out a workout session in favor of a Netflix binge. I'm dying as I push my body well past any previous levels my stamina is used to, but I can hear his pounding feet gaining on me. My heart is in my throat, but I refuse to look back. Setting eyes on him would make it real and I don't want to wake up from this dream. Nicole and Rachel are waiting for me at home, while I tell them all about this wild adventure over a Doctor Who marathon and lavender honey ice cream from Beth Marie's downtown. My mouth waters as I imagine that first cold, sweet bite. That's my first meal if I ever escape this place. Ice cream.
A slow clap sounds behind me as I daydream of confections far out of reach. I don't even want to turn to face him. I'm moving on from grief at my diminishing chance of escape, not as if I could overpower him despite his slender frame, and moving directly on to anger. How dare he dangle hope in front of me before so cruelly ripping it away?
His firm hands band around my ribcage, trapping my arms against my chest as he whispers in my ear. "Got you."
Baring a moment for shock, I squirm in his grasp but he doesn't even act phased by attempts to get free. The laugh that surrounds me is so mirthful I want to scream. His smile is full of pride. Complete and utter confidence. The same confidence I remember Colt having right before laying into me for some imagined transgression. The images merge until it's not Pretty Boy's illustrated arms holding me, but Colt's bare, sun kissed skin. My body reacts like a caged animal, thrashing about without care if I injure myself. I won't go back to being his doll, I won't survive it again.
The noises escaping me don't even sound human, a panicky high-pitched whine. My breath is trapped in my chest, struggling to escape, and tears slide down my face in streams, streaking through the dirt that found its way there as I pressed against the tunnels. It doesn't matter when I'm trapped inside a living memory.
Pretty Boy's glee recedes and concern peaks through. Those hands that gripped like a vise slowly wrap around me like a weighted blanket, soft and heavy as they bring me back down from my panic attack.
"I've got you Bambi. Come back to me," he demands. His left hand wraps firmly around my neck, not quite cutting off my air, but the threat is there. His hand grabs my attention and his words my focus. "I'm the monster down here and the only screams of yours I'm after are of a purely carnal variety."
A slow blink is all I can muster at that. Those flames lick at my cheeks, working their way lower with every slow flick of his eyes over my frame. Burning is the least of my problems. The way my thighs are clenching, I'm convinced I would be thankful for the pain.
"That's it," he grins.
Up close like this, it's not hard to see how he came across his name so easily. He is too pretty for words and mine have left the building, flown away on a one-way ticket to the Maldives. Galaxies lie hidden in those midnight pools. Infinite little pockets of light that hold countless possibilities all centered and staring at little old me.
I've never been the sole focus of anyone's attention like this. It's unnerving and I crave it in the worst of ways. It would be so easy to just accept this for what it is. Just a way to scratch that itch that has been festering underneath my skin since the moment Cupid wrapped his hands around me at the bank and God gazed into my eyes as if he could uncover all of my secrets.
I could give in.
Pretty Boy just had to wake up the fight in me. That long dormant part of myself that I was half sure was dead. He must register the change in me somehow as his grin stretches across his face like some twisted Cheshire Cat.
My eyes dart around, searching for anything that could help me in this moment. His hand is still wrapped around my throat and I'm waiting for the moment that he squeezes. Those strong, sure fingers could easily steal my breath.
"I can see the question in your eyes Bambi."
I may have been told I have absolutely no poker face whatsoever, but there's no way I'm that easy to read.
"I could squeeze," he states as though we're just discussing the weather, oblivious to my internal panic. Though he's not an abnormally tall man, somewhere between 5'10" or 5'11"; he's taller than me, but he bends to speak directly in my ear so I don't miss a single word of his threat. "In approximately thirty seconds, you would be rendered unconscious. You would wake just fine, if not a tad bit disoriented. But where's the fun in that?"
He's nuts. Here I thought I could fight him or reason with him, but there's nothing to reason with. You don't try to reason with the panther that stalks you in the night. You defeat it. However you can.
I don't think before I smash my head back into his face at the same time as I slam my heel into his booted foot. A sickening crunch has me cringing. Thank you, Miss Congeniality, for the self-defense lessons. His arm loosens from my chest but that hand on my neck wrenches me around to face him and his now blood coated face. It doesn't seem right for the nose to hold that much blood, but it does. His hand has moved up from my neck to tangle firmly in my hair. The sharp pull of it against my scalp has me up on my toes as if it'll ease the sting, but nothing does. I relax into it, close my eyes and accept the pain. I know there's more to come.
It never comes.
Pretty Boy is smiling at me with blood-soaked teeth, a busted nose, and laughing. Big booming laughter that has tears coming from his eyes.
"Never a dull moment Bambi mine. My face though? You wound me," he mocks. "Although I'll forgive you for not going for something more lethal. I did limit your options. Groin and kidneys are always good choices," he lectures.
New season of Black Mirror? Because in no way can this be real life. Giving me pointers on how to attack him, what, next time? I'm baffled enough that the fight has all but left me.
Pretty Boy takes in my confusion with some of his own before moment of clarity. It's a bit cute if I'm honest with myself. Yup, definitely need a grippy sock vacation after all this.
"How rude of me. I'm skipping ahead of myself. Allow me to properly introduce myself. I'm Jaxson. Can't very well have you calling out Pretty Boy. It's a mouthful and not the kind I want to see from you." His conversational tone is almost enough to have me forget his words.
Pretty Boy, no Jaxson, just told me his name. None of them have done that, though Cupid got close by allowing me to call him D when we're alone.
"You're never going to let me go," I whisper. I can't stop them from escaping my head and spilling out.
"Of course not Pet. You're mine. You just proved it with that headbutt. How's your head? Tender?" Jaxson's fingers untangle from my hair as he probes my scalp with his smooth, cool fingers massaging away the pain both he and I caused. He searches around with his eyes as if something will materialize out of thin air. "I'm afraid we're out of ice at the moment."