Goddess of Pain

by Katie May

  Him? He’s nothing but a piece of shit who will find himself squashed beneath karma’s damning foot.

  The courtyard is miraculously empty as I step down the steep staircase and stare up at the blinding sun. In front of me, a twisting path through the forest leads to the dorms and football field. In the other direction is the campus parking lot for those like me and Avery who commute. It’s there I head, shrugging my backpack further up my shoulder.

  How dare that man touch me?

  How dare he?

  I debate whether or not I should go to the police, but then I recall the way they laughed at me before, and that thought dissipates in a cloud of smoke. I learned long ago to fight my own battles. If my brothers and father have taught me anything, it’s that you can only rely on yourself.

  My silver Slugbug is parked directly beneath the largest pine tree, providing the vehicle with much needed shade. The air is crippling hot and humid today, and already, a fine coat of sweat covers my skin.

  Biting down on my lower lip, I fumble with the keyring in my backpack pocket.

  “Fuck,” I mutter as I drop it, the key rolling beneath the car. I get onto my knees and clasp my hand around the ring…only to freeze when I spot the bomb mere inches from my face, directly beneath my back tire. “Fuck,” I hiss, and with a blistering speed, I maneuver backwards until my back is flush against a rustic truck parked beside me. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

  Is this my stalker? The 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 eyes.

  And then there’s the scowling man…

  I can’t stop my body’s immediate, carnal reaction as I peer into his dark eyes flecked with fireworks of gold. He has messy stubble on his chin that gives him a rugged, hard look, and his hair is just as long, brushing his chin. His face isn’t as artfully handsome as, say, Avery’s, but it’s rough and sexy. Even his lips, currently compressed in a scowl, demand my complete and utter attention.

  “Ms. Emily Lopez?” the frowning man queries, cocking a brow, and I turn towards him once more. Out of the corner of my eye, I note that the other man’s scowl deepens, almost as if he’s peeved I took my attention off of him.

  “Yes?”

  “We have a few questions to ask you.”

  Almost mechanically, I step back to allow the men entry into my home. My sanctuary. Disgust curdles in my stomach when the first officer brushes his hand against my arm, and I just barely rein in the urge to flash him an infuriated scowl. But that disgust turns into liquid heat when the second man, the angry one, touches me with his elbow.

  What the fuck?

  “What is this about, officers?” I question innocently as I move to the connecting kitchen, starting a pot of coffee. The last thing I want to do is be interrogated by the police for hours because of the car bomb. And…I don’t know why. Shouldn’t I want them to know, so they can protect me? Shouldn’t I spill the truth to them?

  However, the words refuse to leave my suddenly dry lips as a tinny voice in my head demands that I stay quiet. I’ve had this voice since I was a child, since I first started training with my older brothers. It told me when to duck and when to punch back. When to run and when to fight. I trust this voice more than I trust anything or anyone else.

  “I’m Officer Lawson, and this is my partner, Officer Blake,” the friendly one introduces.

  “Are you aware of an incident that happened less than an hour ago to your car?” Officer Blake—or Officer Grumpy-Dildo—fires at me.

  I school my features into one of shock and disbelief.

  “What?” I ask, pleased when my voice trembles. Though, it’s not all an act, at least not entirely. I’m not shocked b
y their words themselves, more so the fact that someone actually tried to kill me.

  Someone. Tried. To. Kill. Me.

  “I-I drove to campus, but decided to walk back home,” I stutter out. “It was too beautiful of a day for me not to. I planned on grabbing my car after my six o’clock class.”

  “We’re terribly sorry, Ms. Lopez,” Officer Lawson says with a sympathetic curl to his lips. “Unfortunately, the car is completely destroyed. Do you have insurance?”

  “It appears to be a prank gone wrong,” Officer Grumpy-Dildo interrupts. “At least, that’s what we currently believe. We found a pack of fireworks beneath your car.”

  Fireworks? I try to smooth over my expression before my confusion can bleed through. I’m not an expert on bombs—that’s more my older brother Colton’s specialty—but I’m pretty damn sure that it wasn’t fireworks taped beneath my car.

  Are the police in on it?

  My shrewd eyes assess them nervously, attempting to gauge their reactions, but they play their parts perfectly. The grumpy, sexy bad cop contrasted by the sweet, smiling good one.

  And then I remember the man in the shadows, smoking languidly on a cigarette. It’s entirely possible he went back to the scene of the crime and replaced the bomb pieces with…fireworks? No, that sounds crazy, even to me. Unless I’m dealing with a professional assassin or something.

  The mere thought is laughable. I’m Emily Lopez, trained martial artist and the girl who smiles and waves at everyone who passes. I’m nothing special, certainly not someone another person would target.

  Fuck, what if this attack was random? What if the bomber will now go after another victim? Isn’t that how serial killers behave? Or maybe they’ll continue attacking me until I’m dead.

  I’m so lost in my thoughts that I’m barely aware of Officer Lawson requesting me to come down to the station for my statement. I’m fortunate they believe my bullshit story…though I have to wonder if any of the security cameras had caught me at the scene of the crime. Fuck, are there even security cameras pointed at the parking lot? Did I just screw myself over? Surely, they would’ve said something if that was the case, right?

  My heart judders in my chest as I grip the kitchen countertop tight enough for my knuckles to whiten.

  Someone tried to kill me.

  And I have the distinct impression that they’ll try again.

  And again.

  And again.

  They won’t stop until I’m dead.

  CHAPTER 4

  I tossed and turned all through the night. Every time I tried to close my eyes, I was bombarded with images of flames eating away at my poor car. In the distance, the man’s face was curved upwards into a devilishly wicked grin, reveling in my pain.

  Now, it’s five in the morning, and I haven’t slept a wink nor do I plan to. My bedroom feels almost stifling hot, even with the window open a crack to allow natural wind in.

  With a grunt, I push aside my blankets and waddle over to my closet. I grab a pair of spandex leggings and a lime-colored sports bra. After quickly changing out of my cami and sleep shorts, I brush my dark hair into a high ponytail.

  I refuse, absolutely refuse, to allow that jackass to destroy me. I’ll never be the type of girl to wallow in a corner, sobbing and screaming and blaming the universe. No, the universe doesn’t control me. I create my own destiny, craft it from the shitty blob of clay I’ve been given.

  Maybe it’s stupidity. Maybe it’s bravery. All I know for certain is I refuse to cower, refuse to show fear.

  I grab my headphones from my nightstand and queue up my favorite jogging playlist. Immediately, Ruelle’s “Monsters” blares through the speakers as I duck out of my room, walking on quiet feet towards the front door.

  Of course, I should’ve remembered that Avery sleeps even less than me. He’s already up, humming beneath his breath as he pours himself a cup of coffee.

  My eyes can’t help but drag over his well-defined golden chest and to his wildly tousled hair. He looks like a rumpled angel—a fallen angel. Everything about him screams perfection and beauty, even with the morning shadow on his chiseled jawline.

  I bite my lip tentatively as I watch him sway back and forth to a beat only he can hear. He’s a complete morning person. I’m pretty sure he rolls out of bed with a jovial smile on his face, showcasing his plump dimples. Even now, bare-chested with a baggy pair of basketball shorts riding low on his hips, he reminds me of a museum art piece. He’s just as ethereal as something you would see on a canvas.

  “Shit, Em!” Avery exclaims suddenly as he spins around and spots me. Crimson colors his golden cheeks as he ducks his head sheepishly. “How long have you been standing there like a creeper?”

  “Five or six hours,” I deadpan.

  “Well, shit. Then you witnessed my morning masturbation, correct?” he teases, and I roll my eyes to cover up the instinctive blush. Because Avery masturbating? That visual does strange things to me, things I most definitely shouldn’t feel for my best friend.

  “Whatever, dork.” With a huff, I bend down to grab my tennis shoes before plopping on the edge of the table to lace them up.

  “Where are you off to?” he queries with genuine confusion. “It’s not even ten yet. And you haven’t even had your normal two cups of coffee.”

  I give him a dry look. “I’m going on a run, obviously.”

  The crease between his eyes deepen. “Did the zombie apocalypse happen overnight?”

  “You know what…” Jumping gracefully to my feet, I grab an apple from the fruit bowl and toss it at his head. He sidesteps the throw easily, a smirk dancing on his lush lips. “You’re an asshole.”

  “Nah, I’m hilarious.” Immediately, his smile fades, replaced by a look of concern. “I heard about what happened yesterday. Are you okay? What the fuck—”

  “It was just a prank,” I say dismissively, my heart thudding at the lie. I want to tell Avery the truth—about my stalker and the smoking man—but I wouldn’t be able to survive it if I accidentally put him in danger. Avery’s too good for this world, too pure, and I don’t want my darkness tainting him.

  “Do you think it’s safe for you to be—”

  Once more, I cut him off. “Avery, seriously, I’m fine. It was just a prank that probably wasn’t even intended for me. Now, I’m going to go on a run. And not because there are zombies chasing me.”

  Avery still doesn’t look convinced, but he concedes with a nod of his head.

  “Be safe. Bring your pepper spray.”

  Giving him a two-fingered salute, I duck out of the apartment before he can demand to come with me. Because, knowing Avery as well as I do, I wouldn’t put it past him. Actually, I’m surprised he’s allowing me to go off by myself in the first place. He must have something important to do before his morning classes.

  Maybe he has a date?

  For some reason, red flashes across my vision like errant fireworks at the thought, but I dismiss my reaction immediately. I don’t have a claim to Avery. We’re best friends, nothing more. We’ve always only ever been best friends.

  Instead of focusing on my tumultuous emotions, I shove them in a steel box and lock it shut, burying it miles below the ground. No one, not even me, can access them ever again.

  It’s still dark when I finally exit the apartment complex and do my usual pre-run stretches in the parking lot. I can’t remember the last time I put my body through strenuous activity. Weeks ago, most likely. Maybe even months. When I left home for college, I also left a part of my life behind—the part that spent her days in the gym, throwing punch after punch into the precariously hanging bag. It always made me feel like a pariah when I was younger. While most girls my age were signing up for the student senate or the volleyball team, I was training in hand-to-hand combat, as well as a variety of weapons. The only sport I ever did was cheerleading, and that was to increase my flexibility for…well…certain activities.

  I start my pace at a slow jog, my feet poun
ding against the asphalt. There’s a route I like to run when my brothers come and visit me. Less than a mile from the apartment is a quaint park with a multitude of hiking trails. Some are harder to maneuver than others, but I love the challenge. At this time of morning, I’ll be lucky to see another person besides myself.

  The rising sun illuminates the steel slide and rusty swing set in the park as I veer to the right, choosing one of the more difficult paths. This one will lead me up and down numerous hills before curving around the diminutive lake our town’s known for. It’s approximately fifteen miles, but I should be able to finish it within the hour if I go fast enough.

  I pick up my pace as I enter the dense thicket of trees, their branches appearing almost malevolent and eerie in the reddish glow of the sun.

  It almost feels as if the tension settling on my shoulders like an unbearably heavy weight is physically ebbing with every step I take. As my breaths saw in and out, I allow myself to momentarily forget about what just transpired. There’s nothing but me, the trees, and my erratic panting as I climb up a steep dirt hill.

  I’m safe. No one can hurt me.

  No one can—

  A gunshot reverberates through the air, and I release a startled scream as I fall to the side, skinning my knees on a protruding rock. Terror pulses through me as I begin to crawl behind a fallen tree, my heart racing.

  The gun sounds again, and bark shoots off from the branch.

  “Fuck!” I hiss, wrenching my headphones from my ears and tossing them onto the ground. One glance at my phone confirms that I have no service, not that I’m surprised. I’m in the middle of fucking nowhere. How long have I been running? Seven miles? Eight? I haven’t even reached the lake yet.

  I hear footsteps behind me, and I peek around the edge of the tree to see a broad-shouldered man huffing up the hill. He’s dressed entirely in black, practically blending into the shadows, and a facemask obscures his features from view. In his hand is a small, silver handgun.