Page 9 of Overcast

“Take a seat,” he orders, then releases his hold on me. I stare at the back of his head.

He is out of his freaking mind?!

The saw was all I needed to see to make me not accept his offer.

Hunching down to look for something in his, what seems to be a tool bag, I inch away from him and his picnic setting of random hard and sharp things.

This isn’t romantic nor inviting.

My gaze falls on numerous knives, a sledgehammer with dark spots along the wooden handle.

What would someone do with all of this?

Oh, you know, Stormi. This man is clearly a psycho.

He must sense my easing away because his neck snaps over his shoulder.

“If you wanna run,” he voices. “That’s fine. But when I catch you, I’ll—” I pivot, already in a full sprint towards the stairwell where the faded red words of “exit” were painted there once upon a time.

I hear his grunt behind me, and I’m not a total idiot to think that he wouldn’t chase me.

Around another steel beam, the rest of the floor ends in just void space and missing windows.

My head snaps to my right, finding the staircase with my heart in my throat.

I don’t think I’m breathing as I round the pillar to see him inches from me out of the corner of my eye.

If he reaches me, I’m finished. I won’t be walking out of here. I’ll be murdered at a young age, tossed God knows where, and that’ll be it for me.

All my dreams gone, at the snap of a finger or pierce of a blade.

I push my legs to move faster because this isn’t a friendly game of tag.

This is my life.

But it’s my knees I feel hit the concrete first, then my palms, followed by the solid weight of what feels to be this entire building descending on me.

I only realize that I’ve striked the ground for a moment before I’m spun around. My back is the next thing to slam into the cool concrete before his knees splay out on either side of me.

“You didn’t let me finish my sentence,” my stranger leers, leaning over me and placing both of his palms on either side of my head. “I was going to say that if you run, I’ll make it hurt.”

Make what hurt?

Clasping my hands together over my sternum, he doesn’t bother keeping most of his heaviness off me.

Why would he?

He had no problem sliding a notched blade down my face.

“Please,” I stammer quietly. “I didn’t—” His hand seizes underneath my jaw again as he turns my head to the side.

“Aw, sweetheart...you don’t have to bother lying to me anymore.” His mouth drips malice as he looms in closer to my ear. “I’ll just rip the truth out of you.”

“I—” His tight grasp loosens, surprising me before falling down my throat in a soft abrade against my heated skin.

It’s a sea of red flags, battering on each parameter of my brain.

Pulling himself away from me, his touch doesn’t stop until he lands at my collarbone.

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