No.
I’m simply not allowing those second thoughts to dictate my life anymore.
After a deep inhale, I step out of the car, throw a fleeting glimpse at my surroundings, then shiver at the demon-like trees.
After a thorough inspection of the place, I raise my hand to knock on the old wooden door of the cottage.
Or cathedral. I think this was really a cathedral once upon a time and was renovated to something else.
A creak announces that the door is being opened and I step inside, my legs shaking despite the pep talk I gave myself on the way here.
“Jeremy?” My voice is haunting in the otherworldly silence, interrupted by the occasional haunting owl’s cries in the distance.
My feet come to a stop right past the entrance upon seeing the vintage fireplace.
It’s on the opposite wall, lighting what looks to be an antique living room. Old sofas, a washed-out rug, and wood flooring.
A gust of wind coming from the door disturbs the fire and a slight shudder creeps up my spine.
My gaze strays to the dark stairs on my right. I swear some creatures of the night are lurking up there, waiting for my demise.
Maybe ghosts, too.
“Jeremy, are you there?” My quivering voice has decided it’s going to give away my fear and there’s simply nothing I can do about it.
I take a step forward and stop when the fire dances again and then goes out, turning everything black.
My heart hammers and a chill covers my unsteady limbs. I don’t have to see it, to feel the sudden change of atmosphere.
There’s a presence behind me.
Tall, harsh, and darker than the night.
But before I can move, something cold is placed at my throat.
A knife.
He’s holding a freaking knife to my neck. This isn’t what I signed up for—there was no mention of knives.
“Je—”
“Shh.” His voice has lowered, deepened, and is tugging on a secret part of me. “You don’t say my name.”
I swallow, my throat working against the metal blade.
Right.
We’re anonymous now.
It’s not about us as people, but more about how we’re both tools for pleasure. In this setting, I don’t have to think about repercussions or feel shame for wanting this type of barbarity.
That knowledge fills me with unbounded peace.
I let my body relax and even the freezing weight of the knife doesn’t scare me.
It’s one second in time, a second of silence, of mutual understanding.
But then he’s on me.