Page 102 of Deviant

My mind is swirling with too many unanswered questions, all of them pointing to Elias.

Did he really get himself selected for the Harvest Dozen because of me?

And why was he camouflaging his voice earlier tonight when we were together?

What is his game?

I know it was him in that alley. I just know it was. But doubt plagues my mind.

My assailant wore a wolf mask. But the mask Elias had in his possession when his name was called was that of an owl. Why change masks in the middle of the festival? To what end? Because Elias deciding to ditch one mask for another is the only plausible scenario I can accept.

For me to have given my body… so willingly to a total stranger… someone who sought me out with the sole purpose of hurting me… is unacceptable to me.

No.

It was Elias.

I know it was.

I felt him.

Not only his body but his very soul.

I refuse to believe I let myself be taken advantage of by some other monster.

Is this his game? To make me second guess everything I do from here on out? To have me question my sanity? Hasn’t he realized yet that my sanity is already hanging by a thread?

Even if it gives him pleasure to fuck with my head, I doubt it’s his end game. I saw the hate in his black eyes last night on the bridge. The only punishment that he has in mind is how best to kill me.

If that is his true intent, then so be it.

I would rather die by his hand than by a stranger’s, anyway. I can think of no better justice than for someone who loved Nora as fiercely as I did to avenge her death.

And no one loved her more than Elias.

If he thinks I’ll put up much of a fight, he’s dead wrong.

So if it’s my sanity he’s after, he can take it.

If it’s my body he wants to abuse and degrade, then it’s all his.

And if my last breath is stolen while looking deep into the dark abyss of his eyes, then I could think of worse ways to go.

“Are you ready?” my father asks, stepping inside my room for the first time in a year.

“Almost,” I reply, still packing my backpack with all the items on the list the mayor gave the twelve of us before the Harvest Festival came to a close.

Luckily, I had most of the hiking gear on the list already since Dad used to take Nora and me camping in the forest all the time. Of course, after Nora’s death, I never touched a tent or a sleeping bag again. Those happy days are long gone.

“Ready,” I finally say once I have everything in its rightful place.

“Good. Sunrise will be in an hour, so we need to get a move on.”

I grab my bag and put it behind my shoulders, only to have my father take it from me.

“I can carry that,” he says.

“Thank you,” I reply, genuinely grateful.

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