Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 158635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 793(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 158635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 793(@200wpm)___ 635(@250wpm)___ 529(@300wpm)
I topple over as the pressure against my neck makes the sensation worse. Or better. I honestly have no clue.
This is the first time I’ve gone through something like this after that experience I buried in the black depths of my soul.
Ever since then, I’ve been the prude Cecily, the ‘why is everyone obsessed with sex’ Cecily, the ‘nerd who’s only at university because she wants to study’ Cecily.
The only exception is him. The one I’m doing a favor for and because of whom I’m in this predicament.
Being groped and touched by a stranger in a mask after I brazenly told him to fuck me and freely divulged that I’m a virgin, when everyone has thought I wasn’t since secondary school.
I said it to bring his guard down so I could escape, but I might as well have done the opposite.
He wasn’t interested in me at the beginning, which is why he eliminated me like he did every other participant, but I went ahead and provoked him multiple times unknowingly, and now, he won’t let me go.
“Tell me.” He squeezes my nipple again, and the harshness of the leather against my tender skin makes me gasp. “What’s a posh kid from REU doing at the Heathens’ initiation?”
How did he catch on after I put so much effort into disguising my accent?
“I asked a question. Where’s your answer?”
I glare at him and his eyes light up again.
“Stop looking at me like that, or I might fuck you, after all, just to see those eyes fill with tears.”
Sick bastard.
I have no doubt that he’ll do all of that and more. He’s been this unpredictable ever since I first noticed him following those guys.
Just when I’m about to think of a method of escape that doesn’t land me in even deeper trouble, a commotion comes from the other side of the property.
We look in that direction and see White Mask and Yellow Mask chasing a group of people and Yellow Mask laughing maniacally.
I don’t think about it as I step on Orange Mask’s foot. The moment his grip loosens from around me, I duck and run.
I don’t look behind. I don’t wait for him to catch up. I run and run and run.
My heart gets stuck in my throat and the only thing I think about is how the hell did I not have a panic attack like I do whenever I’m in any sexual situation.
Most importantly, why are my thighs clenching, throbbing, and demanding I go back to that merciless stranger?
3
CECILY
It’s a miracle that I manage to reach the dorm and sneak into the flat I share with my childhood friends without getting caught.
No lights are on and the only sound is the melancholic cello coming from Ava’s room.
If she sees me like this, covered in scratches, with a hole in my jeans and a frantic look in my eyes, she’ll definitely start a questionnaire that’s filled with drama.
Lots of drama.
I remove my shoes at the door and tiptoe across the length of the living room, wincing every time the cut on my knee and lacerations in my hand throb.
Once I’m in my room, I close the door, lean against it and then slide to the ground, hugging my legs to my chest.
My nails clink against each other as I stare at the walls entirely covered by pages from my favorite mangas. The figures appear shadowy under the dim lighting, looking as if they might become real and jump down beside me.
That’s what I take solace in—the images of fictional characters.
I’ve never been the type who asked my friends for help or told them about what I struggled with. Everyone sees me as the mother figure, the problem solver, and the listener.
Whenever I yearn to be listened to instead, nails dig into my chest, forbidding me from moving. From finding refuge in anyone but myself and fictional characters that don’t exist and have little chance of offering practical advice.
My fingers hover over the injury to my knee and I groan in pain when I touch the ripped skin.
But that’s not the only sensation tearing through me. No. It’s something much more potent and damning.
The pain might start with my skin, but it ends in the dark corners of my psyche. In unknown nameless places that even I didn’t know existed until it slammed me in the face today.
My fingers slide from my knee to the edge of my ripped jeans, ghosting over my thigh. I shiver and clench my leg when I touch my hip.
Something a lot more intense than pain slices through me, and my fingers tremble before they move up to stroke over my breast.
The same breast Orange Mask grabbed so savagely, tortured and dug his fingers into until I was gasping for air. But it’s not the same feeling now. The flesh is tender, my nipples ache, but the electricity from earlier is gone.