Page 74 of You Were Always Mine
Then, right behind me, breath at my ear: “Gotcha.”
I jolt, spin — but he’s not there. Just air. Just shadows. My knees buckle, the humiliation making me burn hotter.
“I can smell you from here.” His laugh is cruel, playful, echoing through the dead rides. “Little Rabbit thinks she’s clever, but her body gives her away.”
My heart is going to rip through my ribs. I want to run, but my legs won’t move. I want to scream, but all that comes out is a broken sob.
“Keep hiding,” he purrs, voice slipping away again, as if he’s already stalking another angle. “It only makes me harder.”
The silence is worse than the footsteps. Worse than his laugh. It presses in on me, thick and suffocating, until I swear the shadows themselves are leaning closer.
I dig my nails into my thighs, trying to anchor myself. My pulse is chaos. Every rustle of leaves, every creak of rusted steel sounds like him.
“Scarlett…” The whisper comes again, softer this time. Too soft. Like he’s crouched right beside me.
My body jolts, scraping back against the booth wall. Nothing there. Just darkness swallowing more darkness.
“You’re trembling,” his voice floats from farther away now, casual, cruel. “Do you know how fucking hot you look when you’re scared of me?”
“Stop,” I whisper into my palms, though I don’t mean it. My breath fogs the air; my chest is heaving.
He hums. “Beg me to stop and I’ll hunt you harder. Beg me to keep going…” His chuckle slices straight through me. “…and I’ll tear you apart when I catch you.”
I can’t take it. My body moves before my mind does. My sneakers slam against the cracked pavement, and I’m running again—down the midway, past rusted prize stalls, broken glass crunching under my feet.
The fairground swallows me whole, every turn a dead end, every corner another place for him to trap me.
Behind me, faint but steady: his boots.
Not fast. Just close enough to remind me he’ll never stop.
“Run, little sister,” he calls, voice carrying across the empty rides. “The longer you make me chase, the filthier I’ll make you pay.”
My lungs scream, but I force my legs to move, pushing off the booth and sprinting deeper into the maze of broken rides. Rusted carousel horses leer in the dark, their painted eyes cracked, their grins chipped. I weave between them, my breath ragged, my palms slick.
Every step feels louder than it should. Every gasp like it’s echoing down the whole fairground.
Behind me, somewhere — a laugh. Low. Merciless.
“Run faster, Scar. Make it fun for me.”
The air snags in my throat. I nearly trip, catching myself on a horse’s cold flank before darting into the yawning mouth of the funhouse. The painted clown face is peeling; the teeth jagged with chipped white paint. It swallows me whole.
Inside, it’s worse. Darker. Mirrors cracked and smeared. The smell of dust and rot pressed in.
My reflection stares back at me a hundred times over — wide eyes, tangled hair, lips parted, chest heaving. A ghost girl multiplied.
“You picked the wrong hiding place.” His voice slithers through the funhouse, everywhere at once. “Now I get to watch you panic.”
I spin, my reflection spinning with me. Every angle looks like him stepping closer.
My knees are jelly. My heart is tearing itself apart.
And still, I don’t stop running.
I lunge deeper into the funhouse, glass catching flashes of me from every angle. My hands smack against cold mirrors, my breath fogging the glass as I stumble left, then right, chasing the promise of an exit that never comes.
Everywhere I turn, I see myself. Wide eyes. Shaking hands. A girl unravelling.
