Page 56 of The Lies We Steal

Alistair’s arm snakes around my waist, heaving me closer if possible, the labored sounds of his breathing through the mask, making me quake. I cringe as his dark eyes embed in my soul through the skull.

“I own you now, Little Thief. We own you. You belong to us. Be sure to remember that.” The growl wobbles my bones, my bottom lip trembling.

I cower at his statement, knowing I couldn’t do anything about it anyway. I couldn’t save myself from this moment. I couldn’t stop this from happening.

My heart thudded so hard, I knew he felt it against his own chest. Hot, wet, fluid soaked between my thighs, my body sexually aroused from the charge of primal terror. I told myself it was just my body’s natural reaction. That I couldn’t help it. It was a biological response.

His grip on my body tightened, the hand over my mouth become harder,“You like being afraid don’t you, Briar? You like playing in the shadows with us monsters?” He questions, baiting me like a child.

I jerk against his grip, trying to show as much deviance as possible in my eyes. I was tired of being chased and him catching me. I was exhausted from running, from waiting for him to make a move. I didn’t want to play the scared little girl anymore, even though I knew I was not on the inside.

My body nearly refused, pieces of me wanting to seek out his warmth and the desire that wafted off him in waves, but I fought that back. With all the strength I had left in my body, I reared my head back before slamming it forward into his nose.

A satisfying crunch registers only briefly before I am tearing away from his body and sprinting towards the opposite direction, not stopping to see how he reacted to the headbutt that was making my head throb in pain. I stumble into the maze, falling into the sides of the hedges, scratching and cutting my arms. I could hear him behind me, his heavy footsteps, the way his boots beat into the ground.

My chest ached for a clean breath of air, without the smoke, my legs burning as I rounded another corner.

I turned for a split second, just to see how close he was to me and when I did my body collided with another. My immediate reaction was to fight them off, kicking, scratching, screaming bloody fucking murder.

“Briar! Briar!” My name is yelled from my attacker as they attempt to gather my hands in their grip, fighting my nails off their body.

“Help! Someone help!” I barrel out, continuing my fight. Delirious and broken.

“Briar! It’s Dean Sinclair, I’m trying to help!” Who I thought was one of my attackers turns out to be the dean of our school. A dean who had wondered into the maze in search of the two students trapped inside after the commotion outside of it.

The walls surrounding me seem to cascade down as I slump into the arms of someone that’s not them. The devil could be reaching his hand out to help and I’d take it. Mr. Sinclair wraps his arms around me holding me to his broad chest that smells of old spice and cradles the back of my head, “It’s okay, you’re okay.” He coos, probably feeling the erratic jumps of my heart and seeing my frazzled state.

I shut my eyes, tears escaping them and it was at that moment I was so tired of crying.

I was so fed up with puking and feeling helpless. Playing a game they were experts at. Nothing but a pitiful little pawn in their chess match. They were ruling my life, my nightmares, taking over my life.

A life I fought to have and I was just letting them take it.

They were spoiled assholes with vendettas I wasn’t involved in. They wanted to kill me, fine. But I was done with their torments and their sick jokes.

I was done being the puppet. I was done being the mouse in this cat dominated game.

If they want to play then fine.

I’ll play too.

Alistair

Iwasn’t sketching her because she was attractive.

A lot of girls are attractive. There are a lot of girls who are pretty and some who are hot, but that’s not what matters right now. I don’t care that she’s pretty.

I repeated those words over and over again as I used my charcoal pencil to enhance the curve of her round face, extra detail in the way her cheeks tint when she’s flustered. Her arched eyebrows, even the left one with a slit through it from a scar that refused to allow hair to grow over it. Easing on the pressure while I graphed the shape of her pink lips.

I was sketching her because she was another reminder of something beautiful that did nothing but make me bleed. My entire life was spent surrounded by shiny things, by stunning people with glitter smiles and beautiful homes. All they did was take from me, hurt me, until there was nothing left to take, nothing human to hurt.

It was fitting for her name to be Briar, a thorny fucking bush in my side. Poking, stabbing, annoying me.

The maze had been fun. Thrilling. My hands wrapped around her scared body while she trembled beneath my touch. Even in the darkness, with the smoke pooling around us, I could see those colorful eyes dancing with terror.

They shook for me, they begged for mercy beneath the layer of dissent. She would not die easily, refusing to lay down and give up. Which was fine with me, more than fine.

I liked that she was willing to try and give it as much as she got it.

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