Page 9 of Darkest Fantasies

Unknown: Horrible you say? Mhm. Interesting.

Me: Yes, you’re horrible.

Me: How is that interesting?

Unknown: A horrible man wouldn’t make you orgasm so hard you saw stars.

Me: You think very highly of yourself. You must have a pretty big head under that costume.

Unknown: Want to find out?

The sound of music up ahead of me forces me to look up. It’s a parade. I’m stuck on this side until it’s done. Walking a few inches to my left, I rest my back on a brick wall and stare at the message, thumbs hovering over the screen.

Goosebumps and my heart accelerating are the only indicators of his presence. His hand rests on the wall on top of my head, his body leaning forward. He places his wand under my chin and raises my head. My heart accelerates. As our eyes connect, hauntingly beautiful onyx eyes pierce through me. I exhale a sharp breath over the intensity of his gaze. I instinctively lean forward as if his body was a magnet pulling me in.

“Catherine.” Matt's voice calls over the noise of the crowd and parade. I turn my face to see him storming over here, shoulders tight, face scrunched in a scowl. If we were in a cartoon, smoke would be expelling from his ear with how angry he seems. When I bring my face forward again, the Soul Reaper is gone. My stomach sinks as the disappointment over him leaving washes over me.

“Why aren’t you wearing the dress?” Matt asks, well, more like demands when he manages to get near me, grabbing my arm and trying to get my attention.

“Someone stole my bag.” That’s technically not a lie.

“Did they steal your tights too?” His eyebrows bunch together, giving me a you’re full of shit look.

“Yes, I spilled a drink on myself, so I had to take it off and put it in my bag,” I say nonchalantly. Not caring about anything at the moment. I’m too busy looking around trying to see if I see him.

He sighs in frustration, and I ready myself for his backlash, but nothing comes.

“Is this the Catherine I’ve heard so much about?” A blonde middle-aged woman stands in front of us. The scrutiny in her gaze is about the only clear read I can get from her, as the rest of her face has been poorly frozen in place by filler. The contrast between her emotive eyes and stuck face is eerie and unsettling.

Matt wraps his arm around my waist, digging his fingers into my skin. I bite down on my cheek to stop myself from making any noise and breathe through the pain. That is his way of warning me to behave myself. I inch away, and he relents the pressure on my skin but does not let go.

I extend my hand to shake hers, but she doesn’t return the action. I awkwardly bring it back down to my side. “It’s lovely to meet you.”

“It’s lovely to meet you too.” The insincerity and disgust in her tone threaten to knock me backward. This family is all the same - rude, condescending, snobs. I can’t wait to get rid of any ties with them. If my stepmother wants to continue the facade when I leave them, let her. I’ll be far, far, far away from all her scheming.

She turns her head to her son. “We’re late. Let’s continue the introduction later.” She turns around and walks away with the confidence of someone who knows they don’t have to wait for a response. Now I know where Matt gets it from.

“Let’s go.” He tugs me forward, and I don’t have a choice but to follow.

“Where are we going?”

“Must she fucking know everything?” He mutters under his breath. “We’re going to see a

new haunted house that they’re planning to open next year. They weren’t able to open it to the public this year because my father was very busy and did not have the time to come here and approve it.” He finally answers me exasperated as if I'm constantly asking him questions.

He takes me down some stairs and walks through an underground passageway for five minutes until we reach black double doors that lead us right in front of a haunted house. We are greeted by a man whose name tag identifies him as Tom, the park manager. He is standing beside Jeremy, Matt's father, who scowls at us as we approach.

Oh, if looks could kill.

Tom opens a back fence and leads us inside.

“Are the scare actors ready for us?” Matt's father asks Tom while typing a message. His

multitasking skills must be on point.

“Yes, sir. You will get the full experience,” Tom replies, fear in his tone.

“Great. Let’s move this along. I have places to be.” The self-importance this man tries to

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