Page 8 of Trapped

“Copper mask.” I give him a sluggish shrug. “Haven’t seen him around here yet.” Behind us, at the other side of the tree, the horse passes by with thundering speed. They would have found me easily. I wince at the thought, then flinch from the heartbreaking cry coming from down the road.

B sniggers. “Poor bastard really is scared. It’s a game man, albeit a nasty one. But you know what they say, right? Work hard, play hard.”

I frown. “What does that have to do with this?” Behind us, the rider lets out another high howl over the clopping sound of the horse’s gallop.

“That you need to prove yourself in order to be part of this group, dumb ass.” He gives me a nudge, and I lose my balance, falling sideways in the sand. My palm reaches out, grounding me right in time.

B eyes me warily. “What happened to you then?”

“What do you mean?” I snap. This guy’s already getting on my nerves. Newsflash, people always do.

He squints his eyes from behind his dark mask and I lift my other hand, only half surprised when I feel the soft silk caressing my own cheeks and forehead. I’d forgotten that I was wearing it.

“Looks like you’ve been smoking, is all.” Getting onto his knees, he carefully leans sideways from the tree and glances toward the sand trail. “They’re gone,” he hums, then leans over his shoulder to eye me. “That leaves three of us.”

“Three of us,” I repeat and my voice resonates in my chest. “Three of us,” I try again, then giggle. The sound vibrates through my ribcage, and it’s a funny feeling.

“You really are a weirdo,” B decides. “But I don’t think I know you?”

“No, I don’t think you do. I’m not one to make loads of friends. You?” I let out another cackle at the internal reverberation, a sound that becomes louder when B rolls his eyes at me.

“God, you really are a crazy cookie. Okay, listen, this was fun and all, but I’ve gotta go.” He gets up and straightens his uniform.

“Who’s your opponent?” I ask.

Still bent forward, he looks up through his blond hair. “The guy with the knife.”

Golden Mask.

“That sucks,” I mumble.

“Yeah, well…we’ll see how this ends. Even if I get eliminated, I still get to be fucked by one of the elite.” He gives me a half-hearted shrug. “Surely that counts for something? Good luck to you. I guess I’ll see you around.” He turns around before I can react. My brain feels foggy and I roll my lips, frowning.

What do you mean? The question rattles through my mind like trembling ground. Like unchartered territory.

I watch B leave on a suspiciously smooth skip as he practically bounces through the dense bushes. And he thinks that I’m the weird one? The thought makes me snort, but my amusement’s cut short when I realize that the slightest of sounds makes my body tremble peculiarly. So I got drugged after all. I wonder what the fuck that white pill was. I’ve smoked my fair share of marihuana in my life, but I’ve never been into taking heavier stuff.

In an attempt to calm myself down, I rationalize these foreign sensations. So my flesh is littered with goosebumps and my mind is slowly catching up. What does that mean?

Am I cold? No.

Am I afraid? Yes, but that’s not strange, given the circumstances.

This game only lasts for two hours, then it’s over.

“Take out your phone and check the time,” I command myself. I obey, but my hand trembles so badly that it takes me a few tries before I manage to keep hold of the damn thing. It’s a little after half past twelve. That’s—

“C’est pas mal,” I choke out. Not bad at all. “Only ninety more minutes.” My voice quivers with trepidation. Fuck me, that is bad. That’s ninety minutes too long.

I want to go home.

No, you don’t.

I’m afraid.

No, you aren’t.

Right now, I need to feel what’s real.

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