It’s not about being eliminated, but more about getting out of here in one piece.
I use the bushes as camouflage and shove my way through them. Fallen branches and stray thorns cut my hand and scratch the side of my neck in a symphony of minor violence.
The sound of his footsteps follows right after me, long, hard, and so damn persistent that my heart speeds up.
It’s like that feeling back in childhood when playing hide-and-seek with friends. When you felt someone at your heels and you released a squeal of both excitement and fear.
But this time is slightly different.
Only fear locks my muscles together and crowds my mind. My limbs shake and my pulse buzzes in my ears, despite my mental attempts to remain calm.
Because I know that if he catches me, I’m dead meat. I’ll be unconscious like all the other participants he pummeled to the ground.
Hell, maybe I’ll have to be admitted to the hospital and my parents will hear about this reckless decision I made and be disappointed in me.
No.
The closer he comes, the faster I run and run, andrun.
But no matter how hard I do, I don’t lose him.
Not even close.
Hell, he’s hotter on my heels with every passing second. And for some reason, I feel he’s delaying catching me on purpose, judging by his even footsteps.
He wants me to run and see how far I can go.
Damn that sadistic twat.
If I keep going like this, I’ll be no different from a mouse that’s being played with by a suburban cat.
I search my surroundings and, in a snap decision, I hide on the side of the dirt road behind a large rock.
My harsh breathing resembles that of a trapped animal, but I force myself to remain still.
Thethud, thud, thudagainst my rib cage increases in volume, in desperation and regret for what I’ve done.
Did I lose him?
My eyes stay glued to the path I escaped down to make sure Orange Mask has left.
I wait and wait, sweating in my T-shirt and jeans, but there’s no trace of him.
It doesn’t make sense.
Since he was hot on my trail, he should’ve caught up to me by now.
Unless…
My swallow gets stuck in my throat as I slowly look behind me. Sure enough, he’s standing there, casually leaning against a tree, arms and legs crossed and the club hanging from his left hand like a threat.
“Is there a reason why you’re always hiding?”
The ripple of his deep voice carries in the air and vibrates against my skin. It’s less robotic now, as if he’s deemed me worthy enough to be acquainted with the less apathetic version of him.
That’s by no means good news, considering his real image could be the personification of a devil.
His voice makes me pause, though.