Page 21 of Deception

I know I should push him away. I know I shouldn’t like the fire licking at my insides from the contact of our bodies. But after being so alone, the buzz of our proximity is euphoric. Wrong and intoxicating. It’s a sin. I know it is, but it’s too late for salvation. I waited so long—too long—and now I’m damned.

“You won…” The rumble of his words is my undoing. There’s a tinge of doubt and moroseness to his voice that makes me step closer.

My head is screaming no. It’s telling me to run. But every other part of me is begging me to stay right where I am. My blood is singeing my veins with every atom of his scent, just as my skin is crackling with the need to feel his rough touch, the rake of his calloused fingers and the scratch of his nails.

“I’m… I—” My thoughts scatter when his hands cup mine to the sides of my thighs. It takes a moment for me to gather myself and tell him, “I’m not a runner.”

Peeling back, Tomasz finds my gaze. The purse of his lips along with his narrowed eyes gives him a pained expression that feels oh too familiar with the tug-o’-war inside me.

A drawn chuckle vibrates from him as his hands leave mine and he tells me, “Run, Little Red…” Taking a step back, he opens the door wider and stands behind me. “Run for your life.”

When I don’t move, he edges me forward by treading on the back of my heel with his foot. It takes all of my strength not to stumble through the doorway. His frustration is a tangible thing as he nudges me onwards with his body. I refuse to move, and while I continue holding my ground, a hand brushes my hair over my shoulder. When I lean back into him, the press of cool metal to the bottom of my skull gives me pause.

“I said,” he growls, low and angry, grinding the barrel of the gun to my head. “Fucking run.”

Tomasz pushes me forward, and I do.

Tearing away from him, I ignore the rage clawing at my insides. Confusion and guilt scream in my ears as I blur past paintings and sculptures in vast hallways. I run without direction or a finish line, and no one stops me. The shadows don’t chase as I skip, hop, and jump down the stairs in my bare feet.

When I reach the bottom, I fully expect the double-width doors overlooking the sunken garden to be locked as I look behind me, expecting him to be following me. It’s just me, the darkness, and my escape.

Stupidly, I falter. Something inside me keeps pulling me back as I grasp the door handle and twist. I watch the moonlight sweep through my surroundings as I wait apprehensively for Tomasz’s footfalls to stalk me. Nothing but quiet greets my expecting ears, and as twisted and wrong as it is, disappointment threatens to floor me.

After everything, he really is letting me go. I’m walking out of the devil’s lair as though I am a welcomed guest. It doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t add up. Why would he keep me prisoner for so long only to free me after an unwitting game of chess?

Why is he letting me go at all?

The question keeps rounding my head as I step outside and take a deep breath. Procrastinating isn’t something I saw myself doing if this moment ever came. The longer I was locked in that room, the more I doubted I would ever get to walk out of this house, and now I must force myself to keep on moving even as my body aches for me to turn back.

As I push forward, his words come back to taunt me.Petrushka…puppet on a string.

It’s exactly what I am right now. I’m running from him like he commanded me to. Even so, he’s got a hold of me, tugging and drawing and plucking me back with every stride I press onwards.

Petrushka… Little Red.

Zapustit! Run! Run for your life, krasnyy…

His words are the only thing that keep spurring me into the thicket, beyond the tree he hung me from. The swing is back in its place. That night is nothing but an almost distant memory, and yet, it feels like the most important moment of my life—the night I died.

The girl he stole, and no one came for, is gone. It doesn’t matter how hard I try to get her back, the only things I can hold on to are my grandma’s words—always pick power over duty.

Funny thing is, I don’t want power. It’s never been something I’ve wanted or strived for. Love, that’s all I yearned for. The only sin I committed was to covet someone’s love. I wanted to be special enough for someone to look at me and want me. For someone to stop and care. Everything I’ve done and all the choices I made were for them. The men I would never be good enough for.

My breath scorches my lungs as I gasp and run faster. Away from him. Away from me. Away from everything that’s pulling me apart and robbing me of my sanity.

Run, Little Red. Run!

Fucking run! Run for your life!

The echoes are deafening, impossible to ignore or mute as I stumble and fall into a tree. My feet scream in pain, and as I lie on the mulchy ground, the cold finally seeps through my flesh, deep into my bones. For the first time in my life, the tears that I cry are unstoppable. Every fear, doubt, and insecurity I’ve ever had descends on me, picking at my carcass before I’m really dead.

The high-pitched whistle silences my sobs as the familiar growl and grunt of the dogs sounds near. I don’t know what I’m actually scared of—the canines, the animal sending them for me, or that I want them to find me.

Pushing up onto my hands and knees, I crawl away from the shelter of the large tree. Digging my hands into the earth, I drag myself over the thick, exposed roots. The scent of the wet dirt hazes my senses as ice makes it harder and harder to move and tug my dress free of the snags.

Little Red. A pretty doll…puppet on a string. A pet.

I collapse into the ground, unable to find the air or strength to calm my racing heart. Fast footfalls grow louder. When they come to a stop, I look up.

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