Page 37 of Feel Free to Scream

“So obedient. You’re a smart girl, aren’t you, Claire?” Blue Mask is the only one who remains standing.

I didn’t think that was a question, but he seems to wait for an answer, so I make myself nod.

“I thought so. These four hours can be absolute torture for you, or they can be rather fun. What you’ll experience will depend on whether you give into it or resist. I recommend the former option.”

“Are you going to hurt me?”

I can barely hear my voice over the music and the moans and the pounding of my heart.

Shit. I was told not to talk.

He doesn’t reprimand me though.

“Yes.” He doesn’t bother to lie. “And you’re going to like it.”

17

CLAIRE

As he fastens the lined leather cuffs around my wrists—snug, but not uncomfortable—I watch his hands. Strong, with long fingers. Familiar.

Part of me wonders if I am deluding myself; if I’m just hoping it’s Keller so there’s something familiar in this madness. But no. It’s him, I just know it. Those fingers were on me, in me, only yesterday. And they made me feel exactly like this. A bit afraid, tingly with both anticipation and dread.

“Why the cuffs?” I ask. “I’m doing as I’m told.”

“I know you’re trying, little ghost,” he whispers in this metallic voice. “But weren’t you also told to shut up?”

My eyes snap to the mask.

It truly is him. I knew it, but the confirmation is welcome. Some of my tension eases. He won’t actually hurt me, I don't think. Not the way Cross might have.

“I’m binding you because however much you wish to be good for me, you’re going to try to bolt. I’m going to make you want to run away screaming. But you’re going to stay right here, for the next three hours and thirty-seven minutes, aren’t you?”

I made myself nod.

“And then you’ll keep your mouth shut about it, won’t you?” As he speaks, his fingers, done with the cuffs, slide along my arm, electrifying me. “You can reply.”

“Yes. I’ll never tell.”

“I am quite certain of that, Claire.” He chuckles. “Do you know why?”

I shake my head.

“Because the first person we’ll send the recording of what we’re doing to you will be your sweet old grandma. Then the boyfriend. Maybe even deadbeat Mom in New York. And every time you apply to a school, to a new job, every time you meet someone you get along with? They’ll get an email leading them straight to your little performance.” My heart drops. “You’ve proven yourself untrustworthy. The only way you stay here is if we have collateral to hold over your prissy little head.”

“I wouldn’t…”

“You have,” he counters, guessing how I’ll end my sentence. “Twice. You threatened to expose one of us for a silly little game with his girlfriend, and then, you told the police we were drunk and likely high. The simple fact you don’t understand what’s wrong with that is why you’re here. You don’t mind throwing others under the bus, but you’ll be very good if it’s your neck, your reputation, your future on the line.”

He makes me sound so selfish. Am I like that? I don’t think so; I did what I did to help Lily, then to help the police.

It hits me suddenly that this is why I’m in this situation: because I genuinely don’t think I was wrong. Because I might do it again for a friend. But knowing they have blackmail material over me? I’d bite my tongue.

I hate what that says about me.

“Don’t worry too much, gorgeous. This video is only useful to us if it’s abundantly clear how much you’re enjoying yourself.”

His hands slide to my knees, and I shiver. I expect him to move up my leg, but he goes down to my ankles instead, fastening those in place too. Only then does he return to the hem of my skirt, lifting it, while his two hands slide up my thighs.

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