Goddess of Pain - Katie May Page 0,4
presence I’ve sensed the last few weeks? Someone else entirely?
In the distance, I can see a silhouette of a tall man leaning indolently against a tree trunk. The flame from his lit cigarette illuminates a chiseled face, half of his features in shadow. Still, I can see his lips curled into a sneer as he presses down on a button in his hand.
I’m already running, my backpack and keyring long forgotten on the asphalt.
The Slugbug explodes, pieces of car flying in all directions. I jump to avoid the blast and consequential debris, using my arms to protect my head from falling objects. Behind me, I can hear the fire roaring, cackling, and hissing. Somebody is screaming, and I spot a professor running out the backdoor of the academic building, eyes wide with alarm.
Someone tried to kill me.
Someone tried to fucking kill me.
Heart pounding in my ribcage, I turn on my heel and sprint as far away from the wreckage as possible. A part of me is terrified, but another part of me? A larger part? She’s giddy with relief, at the thrill of what just transpired and what she survived. She revels in the near-death experience.
But I shush her, as I always do, and lock her behind a steel, heavily-barricaded door.
It’s only when I’m far enough away do I turn back towards where I saw the smoking man. I half expect him to have left, but instead, his smile has widened as he fixes his shadowy gaze onto me. He grants me a barely decipherable head nod before shoving his hands in his pockets and strolling away.
Chapter 3
I’m still shaking when I step into the elevator in my apartment complex a few miles away from campus. Blood bursts from a cut on my upper arm, but I don’t pay it any mind as I mechanically walk towards my apartment.
Avery should still be in class, so I have the place to myself for a little bit. And I need that space. I need a moment to collect my thoughts, to soothe the raging beast that danced beneath my skin like a caged tiger. Fear skitters down my spine as I fumble in my pockets for the apartment key, immensely grateful I hadn’t put them in my backpack.
Someone tried to kill me.
Someone tried to kill me.
Someone tried to kill me.
My heart gallops like a wild horse as I let myself into the apartment before slamming the door shut and locking it. I press my forehead against the hastily-painted white door as my breath shutters in and out.
Someone tried to kill me.
Someone tried to kill me.
Someone tried to kill me.
I never once thought about how fragile life is. How easily it can be sliced like scissors cutting through string. If I hadn’t dropped my keys…
If I hadn’t seen the bomb…
Was it my stalker, the presence following me for the last few weeks? Was it the serial killer from my childhood? Is it the same man who did both?
On wobbly legs, I move from the door to the living room, collapsing onto the couch.
Fuck, I need…something. Chocolate. Sex. Chocolate and sex. Orgasms. Lots and lots of orgasms.
I think a part of me is numb. It reminds me of the time I went swimming in the ocean—the frigid water lapping at my skin like tiny shards of ice embedding themselves into my arms and legs.
Someone tried to kill me.
Someone tried to kill me.
Someone tried to kill me.
Harsh knocking makes me jump in the air, my heart ramming against my rib cage. With great trepidation, I heave myself off the sofa and pad on silent feet to the door, only breathing easier when I’m assured it’s still locked.
Someone raps their knuckles against the wood again, and I step onto my tiptoes to peek through the tiny peephole.
Two unfamiliar men stand in the hallway, their pressed blue uniforms at odds with the gauzy green carpeting and peach-painted walls of my apartment complex. Though their features remain indistinct, I’m comforted by the badges I see glimmering on their chests.
Police.
Before the officer can knock a third time, I pull the door open, evoking a frown from one man and a scowl from the other.
The frowning man is insignificant in every way—the type of man you would glance once at on the street and then look away, forgetting him instantly. He’s not ugly by any means, and I’m not vain enough to judge a man solely by his looks, but he screams ‘average.’ Boyish face. Unruly chestnut curls. Dull gray