Page 47 of Stream & Scream
I collapse against the larger tree trunk and try to make sense of the chaos in my head.
His hands were so strong. He knew exactly what he wanted and took it without hesitation.
And the piercings. Jesus Christ, the piercings.
I felt them when he was inside me, metal balls that transformed an already overwhelming experience into a euphoric high. The way they caught and dragged against my sensitive flesh…
The memory sends another wave of heat through me, and I hate myself for it. My body wants him again. Over and over again until there’s nothing left to give?—
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" I whisper to myself, but the words feel hollow.
I’m scolding myself for what I’ve done, but I don’t feel sorry.
Because the honest answer is that nothing is wrong with me. This is what I am. This iswhoI am now.
"Olivia?"
The voice makes me jump and my heart slam against my chest. I scramble to my feet, looking around wildly for the source of the sound.
Malik Carter emerges from the tree line with his hands raised in a gesture of peace, his dark eyes scanning my face.
"Jesus, you look like you've seen a ghost," he says, approaching slowly like I'm a wounded animal that might bolt at any sudden movement. "Are you okay? I heard… noises earlier, and?—"
"I'm fine," I interrupt, but my voice cracks on the words and betrays exactly how not-fine I actually am.
He stops about ten feet away, close enough to talk without shouting but far enough to avoid triggering whatever fight-or-flight response he's obviously reading in my body language. "You don't look fine."
That's because I have been through hell. Hell that felt like heaven.
"Where's your camera?" he asks, eyes hovering over my naked wrist.
"I lost it," I lie, because explaining that I threw it away after it recorded me getting fucked feels like too much right now.
His eyes narrow slightly, processing the lie. He doesn’t challenge me for the truth.
"Look," he says, his voice gentle, "I know things are getting weird out here. Really weird. People are disappearing, and I don't think it's part of the show anymore. If it ever was."
There's something in his tone that sets off warning bells in my head. Too sympathetic, too concerned, too invested in my wellbeing for someone who barely knows me. Like he's performing care rather than feeling it, following a script designed to elicit my trust and vulnerability.
"What do you want, Malik?" I ask, crossing my arms over my chest.
"I want to help," he says, taking another step closer despite my obvious discomfort. "I want to make sure you're safe. Thereare dangerous people in these woods, Olivia. Really dangerous. And a woman alone?—"
"Can take care of herself," I finish, backing up until my shoulders hit the tree trunk behind me. The position reminds me of being pinned against the rocks, trapped.
"I'm not trying to scare you," he says, but there's something dark in his expression now, something that suggests he's evaluating my responses and adjusting his approach accordingly. He’s trying to say and do all the right things. "I'm just saying that teaming up might be our best chance of surviving."
Teaming up. Like Trent suggested yesterday, like everyone keeps suggesting.
"No thanks," I say, pushing off from the tree and angling away from him.
"Olivia, wait?—"
But I'm already moving, putting distance between myself and him. The only person I can trust is myself.
And even I’m questionable sometimes. I make stupid fucking decisions like moaning out into the night while a masked man in tactical gear pounds into me from behind.
The day passesin a haze of walking and thinking and trying to process the magnitude of everything that’s happened.
