Page 10 of Wanna Play A Game?
Waking up is a struggle. My head pounds, and I’m groggy. I blink slowly, barely focusing on my room. Everything spins, and I want to throw up.
What the hell?
I try to get up, but I can’t. I groan. Why won’t my legs work? I lie here, staring at the ceiling. I didn’t think I gotthatdrunk last night. I try to get the energy to grab my phone. When I do, I see a bunch of missed messages from my coworkers.
Fuck. It’s noon and way past my shift.
With supreme effort I get up, grab panties out of my drawer, and pull them halfway on before I notice they’re dirty.
“Fuck.” I never put dirty clothes away. Did Ben fuck with me before he moved out, and I just didn’t notice? I sit panting at the edge of my bed. I feel gross, like I’m covered in a crust of nasty. I should have showered last night. That’s the last time I get that drunk.
I barely make it to the kitchen before I’m puking in the trash. My legs tremble, and I wipe the snot from my nose when I'm done. Goddamn, this is pitiful.
When I’m convinced I won’t puke anymore, I grab a can of Coke from the fridge and take a sip. The bubbles irritate my stomach, but it’s all I have at the moment, and I can’t miss work. I am already struggling to make payments on my apartment as it is.
When I go to leave, I notice my front door isn’t shut all the way.
“Jesus,” I mutter. I’m falling apart at the seams here.
I drag myself to work. While there, I feel like shit and puke a few more times in the bathroom. Despite that, I push through my workday. As my grogginess subsides, my pussy starts to ache, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out why.
I barely make it home after work before I collapse on the couch. I lie here for a while, zoned out. I vow never to drink that brand of wine again. I feel like all my muscles got stretched out to twice their size and then folded back in my body.
My phone dings, and I groan. It’s an unknown number again.
Unknown: Tired?
What the fuck? I narrow my eyes.
Another message comes through. It’s a gif of Elmer Fud and says: be very, very quiet. I’m hunting wabbits.
My heart races. Something isn’t right. I sit up and reply.
Cali: Who the fuck is this?
Unknown: You’re pretty when you sleep. Can I call you Sleeping Beauty?
I freeze. This isn’t Ben. This person doesn’t talk like him at all. Plus, Ben always preferred to call. He wanted to hear the background to make sure I wasn’t with anyone. It may be someone he hired to fuck with me, but I know with absolute certainty he’s not the one on the other end of the phone. I glance at my front door. It’s locked.
Unknown: I’ll take that as a yes. You know, you fucked up royally. Fitting for a princess, I suppose.
I stare at the phone.
Unknown: Get it? Sleeping Beauty? Princess?
Cali: Who the hell are you?
Unknown: Are you so sure you don’t know me?
I swallow. I think through my family and coworkers. Is this a client?
Cali: What do you want?
Unknown: Wanna play a game?
I swallow.
Unknown: I’m going to hunt you. You’re going to run. When I catch you, I’m going to make you play.
