“What?” X smiles widely, shaking his head like he has water in his ears. “Sorry, angel. I must have misheard. What did you say?”
“I don’t think you misheard,” I say, finally dropping the sickly sweet tone. “Get off me, before I rip out your intestine, blow it up, and knot it into a fucking balloon animal while you watch. How’s that for a private, personal show, you sexist, psychopathic little freak?”
X’s eyes widen. “W-what?”
“Get off me.” When he doesn’t move, I flatten my hands on his chest and shove him so hard he lands sprawled on the floor. He looks up at me, his glasses sitting lopsided on his nose, his pale eyes wide and wounded.
“No,” he mutters. “No, no, no. I—” he runs a trembling hand through his dirty hair. “I don’t understand.”
“I’m sure you very rarely do,” I bite out. “Don’t worry, I’ll use nice, small words.” I stand up, advancing on him slowly. “I. Don’t. Want. To. Fuck. You.” I jab my finger at the door. “I’m done playing your games. Let me out. Now.”
He slaps a palm on the ground. “Why do you have to keep ruining things?” He cries out. “I have imagined this so many times in my head. But you keep doing the wrong thing. Why? I know how this is supposed to go.” He glares up at me. “I’ve been sending you presents for months—”
If that’s true, I need to deep-clean my mail room. “Aw, shit, I forgot I could be bought. I guess you own me, then. I’ll have my agent write you up a receipt.” I shake my head. “What the Hell is wrong with you? Are you really so desperate for action that you have to make up a whole relationship in your head? Are you so goddamn annoying that you don’t have any friends to give you an intervention?”
He glances sideways to the chloroform-soaked gag, and I scowl at him. “Try it. I’ll snap off your skull and vomit down your throat, you ugly piece of shit.”
He jumps to his feet. I step backwards into the dining table. Keeping my face turned towards him, I pat around behind me for the bread knife.
“Screw you!” He snarls. “I did everything right!”
I snort. “Says who? Where did you get these dating tips? You know You is supposed to be a thriller, not a how-to guide, right?” My hand skims over my cold, gravy-filled plate, and I fight the urge to wince. “Listen to me. I will never want you. If you were the last man on Earth, I’d cross the ocean to get away from you. And so would any woman, you little mop-haired, musty-breathed freak.” Shit, where’s the goddamn knife?
His eyes blaze. “You know what? They were right! You are a bitch! The biggest bitch in the world!” He shakes his head. “Why do you have to be so cruel? How could you hurt me like this?”
My fingers skim over cutlery, plates, glasses. No knife. “I hurt you?” I ask, my voice rising. “You’re the one who bombed me, drugged me, kidnapped me and tied me up!”
“So we could be together!” He insists. “I have dedicated my whole life to loving you, and you don’t even care, do you? You don’t care about me at all.”
My hand finally closes on the cool, thick handle of the knife.
X is still raving. “God, how could I have been so stupid? You lied to me, all this time. You pretended like you loved me!”
“I never pretended anything, you demented idiot! You made all of this up in your head!” I carefully lift the knife up, trying to keep the movement subtle.
X steps forward. He’s panting like a dog. “Stop. Lying.”
“I’m not lying. You’re the one who’s deluded.”
I flip the knife behind my back, turning it blade-up. There’s a soft clink. To my horror, I hear a glass fall over, rolling across the tabletop. I shut my eyes as it falls and shatters on the ground.
Shit.
X glances behind me. His face hardens. He grabs my wrist and twists it hard, yanking the knife from my grip. “You little bitch. What, you were going to stab me? After everything I’ve done for you?” His eyes are on fire. He looks terrifying. “Years and years, I’ve loved you. And now you’re just rejecting me. You’ve wasted all those years of my life.” He steps closer, dropping his voice. Fear wells up in my throat. “I don’t understand why all women want to hurt me.” He lifts the knife, and we both watch it gleam under the cabin lights. “You need to pay for hurting me.” He decides. “I want you to hurt, too.”
Shit. I stumble a step back, my eyes on the knife tip. “X—”
“Fuck you,” he snarls, and stabs me.
I scream as I feel the knife slice into my hip. Oh my God. Oh my God. I didn’t think he’d actually do it. X yanks the knife out, and I shout as the serrated edge cuts into my skin. Blood gushes up from the wound, soaking into my red dress. Before I can respond, he lifts his hand and stabs at me again, aiming for my face. I jerk away at the last moment, and the blade slashes right across my cheek. He pulls back his arm a third time, and my old combat training finally kicks in. I twist automatically, slamming my shoulder hard into his neck. It’s a good trick to take people off-guard; everyone expects you to fight with your hands. It works on X. He staggers backwards, grabbing his throat.
I nod to myself. Okay. That’s good. This isn’t a totally unfair fight. I’m rusty, but I can still remember plenty from all of my martial arts training. He’s untrained, but he’s much stronger than me. We’re on a somewhat even playing field.
I’ll just have to get creative.
Lunging for the table, I grab the carving fork stuck inside the chicken and rip it out, aiming straight for X’s eyes. It’s a wild, uncontrolled swing, but I’m not actually trying to stab him—just distract him. As his gaze follows the fork, I slam my knee into his crotch.
“Bitch!” he screeches, dropping to his knees as I dodge past him towards the front door. I throw myself at the pane of metal, but it’s locked solid. I can’t even jiggle the handle. I try ramming my shoulder into it, and cry out at the impact. Behind me, I hear X scramble to his feet, so I change tactics, turning on my heel and flying down the hallway. I fall through the first open door I come to, spinning and slamming it shut behind me, then look around wildly for something to barricade myself in with. There’s a ratty-looking wooden chair in one corner of the room, and I grab it, wedging it under the door handle. Does that actually work? I don’t know, but I’ve seen it in movies, and my options are pretty limited right now.
The room is dark. I pat around the wall for a light switch. When the ceiling lights flicker on, I lean heavily against the door to examine my stab wound. The fabric on my left hip is soaked through with blood. Wincing, I lift the hem of my dress to check out the cut. The slash is wide, but I can’t tell how deep it is through all of the blood. I look around the room for something to stem the bleeding—and almost throw up.
Oh my God.
It’s like a shrine.
There are pictures of me everywhere. Everywhere. Posters, magazine covers, printouts of movie stills. Several candid pictures of me, which I’m pretty sure X took himself. They’re pasted all over the wall, overlapping two or three images deep. In one corner of the room is a door leading to a dirty-looking ensuite; in the other, there’s a stained mattress shoved against the walls. A grimy white body pillow is poking out from under the sheets, with a crude naked woman scribbled on it in Sharpie. Judging by the bright yellow hair, I think I can safely assume it’s me. I smother a sob.
There’s a knock on the door behind my head. “Angel,” X calls, and another sob rises up in my chest. “Angel, love, open the door, or I’ll shoot you through it.”
I keep my mouth shut, closing my eyes.
And that’s when I hear it. Sirens.
They’re far, far away in the distance, but they must be for me, right? They have to be. Some of the tension in my chest eases. I take what feels like my first breath in minutes.
My tiny second of rest is interrupted when the door suddenly buckles inwards, breaking the wooden chair into pieces. I scream, scrambling back as X appears in the doorway.
He looks nothing like the mild-mannered, awkward guy I first met. Now, his chest is heaving, his face is flushed red, and my blood is staining the side of his shirt. He looks like a monster. And he really is holding a gun.
I’m so fucked.
I shake off the rising panic. I need a weapon. I look around the room, but there’s nothing. Lunging for the broken chair on the ground, I yank off one of the legs and straighten, wielding the piece of wood like a club as I back up against the wall.
The sirens are louder now. They’re coming for me. I just need to distract X long enough for them to get inside.
“I lied,” I spit. “I am sleeping with Matt.”
He blinks. “What?”
“My bodyguard.” I force myself to smirk. “He didn’t force me at all. In fact, I’m sleeping with all three of my bodyguards. They’re great in bed. Massive dicks.”
Maybe it’s not the smartest move to antagonise him, but right now, I just want to keep him talking.
X’s face twists into a snarl. “You Goddamn whore!” He shouts.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m sure it looks that way to someone who can’t get any action.”
“Why? Why? What the Hell do they have that I don’t?” He runs a hand through his hair, tugging hard. “You’ll open your legs for any goddamn idiot, just because he’s handsome, but not for me? I worked for this! I’m smart! I’m a nice guy!”
“Yeah?” I pant. “Well, I guess I’m not a very nice girl, then.”
He points the gun at me and pulls the trigger. I scream and duck as a bullet shoots towards me, smashing into the wall over my head. “You coward,” I scream. “You want to fight me, fight me fair!”
“I don’t want to fight you, you stupid woman.” He lunges at me, pressing me up against the wall. I struggle against his heavy weight, then freeze when I feel the barrel of the gun pressing into my thigh.
“Wh-what do you want, then?” I choke.
He grabs my face and forces it closer to his. We’re practically nose to nose. His muddy eyes blaze. “To have you.” He hisses. “I want you to be mine. And if you’re not going to play nice, that’s okay.” I try to shove out of his arms, but he’s too strong. He tugs me back. His hot breath strokes the side of my face. “We can die together,” he whispers. “We’ll live together forever in Hell.”
I close my eyes. The sound of the sirens is much louder now. Maybe I’m hallucinating, but I swear I can hear shouts coming from outside the house. Whatever sound insulation X is using, it’s pretty shit quality.
“They’ll come for me,” I say, gasping. “You hear that? They’re coming now.”
He throws his head back and laughs. “Yeah. I figured. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of them.”
I frown, but before I can ask what he means, an explosion shakes through the ground, trembling the floor under my feet. Dust rains down from the ceiling, and I twist, looking for the source of the blast. Ice slides down my spine when I realise the sound came from outside. “What was that?”
“What? You really think I left this place unprotected?” He tightens his grip on my jaw, his dirty fingernails digging into my throat. “I knew people would come looking for you. I couldn’t let that happen.”
My eyes widen. “What do you mean?” I whisper.
“I planted explosives around the house. Sounds like one of your friends just stepped in one.”
