Page 41 of Carnival Shadows

I press my palms against my eyes, trying to ground myself. The logical part of my brain attempts to categorize this as a case study—the subject displays signs of Stockholm syndrome, emotional attachment to captor, and dissociative behavior. But clinical terms can’t capture the electric current running through my veins.

“What’s happening to me?” I whisper to Remy’s empty trailer. The silence offers no answers.

The walls of his trailer feel like they’re closing in. He hasn’t touched me since yesterday morning when I woke to him inside me, fucking me. My breath catches in my throat as I pace the small space, fingers twitching. The shower calls to me—a chance to wash away the insanity building in my mind.

Hot water cascades over my shoulders, but it does little to calm my racing thoughts. Who else has stood in this shower? The feminine bottles of shampoo and conditioner mock me from their neat row on the shelf.

I dry off quickly and rifle through the clothes Remy left out for me. A soft black t-shirt and yoga pants that fit. My stomach churns as I open his closet, seeking answers I’m unsure I want.

I find them tucked away in the back—dresses, blouses, and lingerie. Each item feels like a knife twisting in my gut. Are these trophies? Leftovers from past conquests? Or worse—does someone else share this space when I’m not here?

The clothes in my hands smell freshly laundered. My fingers clench around the fabric until my knuckles turn white. The possessive rage building inside me is irrational. I have no claim on Remy, no right to these feelings of betrayal.

But logic doesn’t stop the jealousy from burning through my veins. I imagine other women wearing these clothes, sitting in this trailer, sharing his bed. The thought makes me want to tear everything apart, leaving nothing but shreds of fabric as evidence of my fury.

I hang everything back as I had found it. The neat row of hangers feels like an accusation—proof that I’m another woman in Remy’s collection.

I pull on my shoes and pace up and down. After days inside, the trailer feels stifling, and my muscles ache for movement and fresh air. Not that I want to escape—the thought of leaving Remy makes my stomach clench—but these walls are closing in, and I need space.

I test the door handle. It turns easily, with no resistance. My heart skips. Has he left it unlocked on purpose? Is it because he trusts me, or is it a trap?

The morning air hits my face as I crack open the door. Dew sparkles on the grass, and the woods beyond the carnival beckon. No one’s around.

I step outside, bare feet sinking into the cool grass. Freedom tastes sweet, but it’s not what I’m seeking. I want a walk to get some air. The trees sway in the breeze, their leaves whispering secrets.

My legs carry me toward the treeline. Each step feels like rebellion, even though I know I’ll return. How could I not? Remy has awakened something in me that I can’t put back to sleep.

The forest envelops me in shadows and silence. Pine needles cushion my steps as I weave between trunks. Birds call overhead, and somewhere, a stream babbles. It’s peaceful here, away from the intensity that fills Remy’s trailer.

I find a fallen log and sit, letting my thoughts drift. Not toward escape—never that—but toward understanding. What is it about Remy that draws me in? The danger? The way he sees through my carefully constructed facade to the secrets underneath?

The morning sun filters through the canopy, painting patterns on my skin. I inhale, filling my lungs with forest air.After just a few more minutes, I’ll head back to his trailer—to our game of predator and prey.

A twig snaps behind me. My heart leaps into my throat as I whirl around, scanning the dense trees. Nothing moves except shadows dancing in the morning breeze.

But I know better. The prickling sensation along my spine tells me I’m being watched. Remy. He let me leave—wanted me to leave. This was a test, and I walked right into his trap.

Another crack, closer this time. My pulse quickens, but not from fear. The thrill of being hunted courses through my veins. I glimpse something dark moving between the trees and then see a flash of that bone-white mask.

I should run. That’s what prey does when cornered. My muscles coil with anticipation, ready to spring. Still, I hesitate, torn between flight and the magnetic pull drawing me toward him.

The mask appears again, closer now. My breath comes in short gasps, and my chest heaves. The energy crackling between us is electric and dangerous.

“Did you think I wouldn’t notice?” His voice is distorted by the mask. “That I wouldn’t follow?”

I take an involuntary step backward, leaves crunching under my feet. “I was coming back.”

“Were you?” He moves like smoke through the trees. “Or were you testing the boundaries of your cage?”

The possessive edge in his voice pools heat low in my belly. This is what I wanted—what I’ve always wanted—to be hunted, desired, possessed. My earlier jealousy feels distant now, replaced by an all-consuming need.

My feet move before he finishes speaking, carrying me deeper into the forest. Each step brings a rush of exhilaration, knowing he’ll chase. I want to be caught, pinned beneath his weight, consumed by that rough edge he keeps hidden.

Leaves crunch beneath my feet, branches whip my face, and the morning dew soaks through my shirt. The sting of branches against my bare skin only heightens my arousal. Danger has always been the most effective aphrodisiac, the thrill of crossing boundaries.

His footsteps pad behind me, deliberate and methodical. He’s toying with me, letting me believe I can escape. My heart pounds in my chest, urging me to run faster, but it has nothing to do with survival. This is about giving in to the wildness.

I can feel his eyes on me, but I don’t turn back. If I did, he’d see the wanton need on my face. My cheeks burn with anticipation and the strain of holding back moans. I want him to tear me apart and piece me back together, branded with his mark.

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