Page 96 of Deviant

Are they so used to it that they don’t care that their loud laughter feels like nails on a chalkboard to everyone here terrified of being called?

They’re easy to spot—the potentials. They all have this glaze cast over their eyes. They’re here… but they’re not. Like me, they can’t help but frequently check the clock tower to count down the seconds, craving to know if their lives will be spared or if they are called upon toThe Scourgeto confront certain death.

Just as I see them consumed by fear, I also see them surrounded by loved ones who do their best to cheer them up, trying to take their minds off the unsettling thought that their days are most likely accounted for.

I envy them.

I have no one.

Not that it matters since I volunteered as a sacrifice to the games.

Still… it would be nice to have someone that would miss me when I’m gone.

I doubt my own father will even shed a tear.

With these troubling thoughts running wild in my head, I feel like I’ll suffocate if I stay one more minute surrounded by so much joy and fear.

I need a moment to myself.

Even if only for a little while.

As I ponder for a while, an idea pops into my head—the gazebo in the middle of the park should be completely empty at this hour. Everyone is having too much of a good time to wander to the park. There, I’ll be alone, with only my thoughts.

But just as I hurry past the crowd, something grabs my attention—Mayor Davenport and his wife having what looks to be a heated discussion with their daughter. Mackenzie looks downright furious as she says something to her parents, only for her mother to slap her across the face. I stand back, stunned, as Mackenzie eyeballs her mother with what I can only describe to be a maniacal grin. The mayor then places one hand on his daughter’s shoulder and the other on his wife’s, whisperingsomething that has both women’s rage simmering down. After his small lecture, both women seem to make peace with one another, their grievances long forgotten.

The current relationship with my father might not be the best kind, but he’s never once laid a finger on me.

“I wonder what that was about,” I whisper under my breath as the trio walk away from the shadows, displaying their fake smiles the minute they reach the beaming lights of the festival.

Seeing as I have my own problems, I shrug the sight away and head down the trail leading to the park.

Back here, only the moonlight illuminates my path, the sound of music and laughter becoming fainter with each step I take. The instant I turn the corner into the alley behind city hall, I grin as the gazebo comes into view. As I step closer toward it, I’m suddenly pulled from behind and then pushed against a wall, face first, a large hand covering my mouth before I’m able to call for help.

Crippling fear surges through my bloodstream as I try to fight off the attacker, with no success.

He’s strong. Really strong. This is not happening. This cannot be happening.

Every horror story my father has ever told me suddenly comes to the forefront of my mind.

“People aren’t themselves during the days leading up to the Harvest Festival. They do things they never imagined themselves doing. And it’s all because they need to feel some sense of control. They need to feel like they aren’t some cogs in the machine with no free will to speak of. Men turn into wild, ungodly animals if they feel they aren’t the masters of their own destinies.”

He had warned me so many times. Never walk alone during Harvest Season. Always stay close to a streetlight at night.

‘And for the love of all that’s holy, always carry your mace and rape whistle,’ he once said to me and Nora.

But I didn’t listen.

I’ve been so consumed with all the ways that I might die that I forgot there were some things worse than death.

With my cheek pressed harshly against the wall, all I can see through my peripheral vision is a wolf mask covering most of the assailant’s face. My eyes scan the perimeter, praying that one of the sheriff’s deputies remembers to search the park instead of focusing all their attention on the festival.

But I know that’s a long shot.

Which leaves me to fend for myself.

I wrack my brain, trying to find a way out of this situation, but the combination of shock and fear ringing in my ears makes it extremely difficult to focus. However, when I feel the aggressor pressing behind me with an erection digging into my backside, it triggers my fight-or-flight response. I bite down hard on his fingers, the familiar sound of Elias’s groan suddenly erasing all my previous fears.

It’s him. I know it is.

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