Dead of Summer

And that’s the moment I see the handcuffs. He’s too fast for me to move away completely, and before I can do more than gasp, my wrists are cuffed to the headboard, taking advantage of the vertical slats that run along it and the wall.

“Kayde—” I can’t help it. I jerk against them, yanking my arms down towards my face, to no avail. “Kayde, I can’t?—”

“Yes, you can,” he murmurs. “You can do it for me, baby. Be good for me, just a little. Just enough we don’t wake anyone up, hmm? Unless you absolutely need me to stop?—”

“No!” I hiss, too loudly. “No, I’m not—” But I still jerk on the cuffs like a deer caught in a trap. It’s quieter this time, as my arms shake and my wrists twist in the metal cuffs.

“Then take your time,” Kayde invites. “You can fight it out a little; figure out they’re not going to hurt you and that you can’t get away.” He turns away to go back to the drawer, leaving my full attention on the cuffs and how much give they allow me.

It’s not until the bed dips near my thighs that I look back at him, and more importantly, to what he’s playing with in his hands.

The metal from the wicked-looking hunting knife is an almost ghostly shade of grey, and glints in the low light. But he doesn’t seem to notice. Not when his eyes are on me, and my renewed struggle.

“N-no,” I whisper, trying so fucking hard not to scream. “Kayde you said—I thought?—”

“Sweet girl, I’d like to remind you that you didn’t give me any limits on what I could or couldn’t do to you,” the blond points out, putting down the knife just long enough to sweep his hair into a bun to get it out of his eyes. "Remember that? Remember how you told me that you’d do anything for me, in order to save these kids?”

His fingers grip my ankle, massaging it in a way that would actually be soothing if it wasn’t this situation. “Are we regretting that now?” I hate how his voice sounds. How empathetic and perfect he manages to be. “Do you think, maybe, they’re not worth it?”

I force myself to suck in deep breaths, shaking my head to deny his words. His grip on my ankle tightens, and all I allow myself is a soft whimper as he pulls my leg straight, then moves to kneel between my thighs in the space he’s created.

“They’re always worth it,” I tell him, keeping my eyes shut hard. If he’s going to kill me here, like this, then I’m going to try to deprive him of some of my fear. Though the fact that I’m shaking so hard the handcuffs rattle against the headboard probably isn’t helping my cause.

“Are they?” His voice is close to my face, and yet I still refuse to open my eyes. “Aren’t you going to look at me, sweetheart?”

“If you’re giving me a choice, then absolutely not.”

“Summer, you always have a choice.” His voice is so soft, it feels like we’re trading secrets. “Every single time…every single move I make, you have a choice of whether you let me.”

“Stop doing that.”

“Stop doing what, exactly?” He knows what he’s doing. And he knows what I mean; I hear it in his voice.

Slowly I crack my eyes open, just enough to stare up at him through my lashes. “Pretending you were ever giving me a choice.”

His predatory grin is quick to appear, and I see him try to swallow it back, only to fail once, then twice. Finally he shrugs, and seems to embrace it, leaning over me with one hand holding himself up. “If you want,” he agrees at last. “If that will make you feel better.”

“Like I said.” My reckless smile isn’t as authentic as his. “The only thing that’ll make me feel better is?—”

“To kill me, right?” he cuts me off enthusiastically, and his other hand appears, bringing the knife close to my face. “You want to take this from me, Summer?” I shy away from him, but he follows me, until he can stroke the flat of the blade along my cheek.

The metal is cold, and I can’t help the soft, defeated whimper that bubbles out of my throat. He’s going to kill me here, in his cabin, in the middle of the second to last camp session for preteens.

He’s going to slit my throat and I won’t be able to do a damn thing about it.

“Hey. Don’t go away on me. Stay with me, baby.” He turns the knife until the edge is stroking along my cheek. “Don’t want you spacing out, so just breathe, Summer.” He sucks in a slow, deep breath and lets it out, tapping my cheek with the knife before doing it again.

With a flinch I mirror him. My eyes are locked on Kayde’s as we both pull in deep breath after deep breath, letting them out after a few seconds of holding the air in our lungs.

I hate that it works enough that I’m no longer spacing out.

I hate that he’s good at this.

“There you go. Just breathe for me, okay? In…” He waits for me to take a breath, then says, “And let it out. Slow it down, baby. You’re okay.”

“I hate you,” I whisper, unable not to.

“I know,” he assures me. “Like I said before, that’s what makes this so much fun.” But he glances to the side when he says it, his eyes narrowing just slightly, almost unnoticeably, like something he’s said bothers him.