Olivia

On those nights, disasters unfold. Nights without stars, souls, or sparks. They're the kind that set the stage for ominous tales. Standing on the cliff's edge, I gaze down at the crashing waves battling against pointy rocks. My feet tremble as haunting images replay in my mind, like a hurricane's destructive force. The engine's rev, the car's slide, and the chilling scratch of metal against rocks echo in my thoughts. No car, no person, just angry waves and solid rocks. Yet, I can't bring myself to blink.

I didn't blink back then either. Staring, reliving the nightmare, I shrieked like a haunted creature. He didn't hear me—the boy who struggled yet stood by me. Now, only the waves' slam and rocks' ferocity persist. I shudder, not from the cold but from the terror of the merciless waves. It feels like weeks ago when Devlin drove me to this cliff on Brighton Island, where the tragedy unfolded.

"No stars, just like tonight," I think, reminiscing about that night on the south coast of the United Kingdom. The moon, bright as pure silver, witnesses the rocks painted with crimson blood—a canvas of loss and grief. Everyone says time will heal, but it only worsens. Night after night, Devlin's face invades my dreams, scarlet red exploding.

A sudden chill makes me cross my flannel jacket over my white top and denim shorts. It's not the cold that rattles me; it's the night, the waves, the eerie atmosphere. A few weeks ago, Devlin and I never imagined it would end in tragedy. Easter break was meant to be with family in London, but I couldn't take it anymore. Impulsively, I drove for hours and took a ferry to this desolate place past 2 a.m.

Sometimes, I want to stop hiding, but it's too hard. I can't lie to Mum, Dad, and Grandpa. The Ryder Thorn they raised vanished with Devlin. I'm here, trying to expel the charge building inside me.

The wind frizzles my honey-colored hair as I stand on the edge. Rubbing my palm on my shorts, I stare down, down, down...

Suddenly, the intensity of my rubbing matches the wind's sound and the waves in my ears. Pebbles crunch under my tennis shoes as I step closer to the edge. The first step is the hardest, but then I'm floating on air. My arms open wide, eyes closed, possessed by an unknown power.

"I'm so sorry," I whisper, recalling Devlin's words before he vanished.

A light slips past my closed lids, startling me. I spin around, my foot slipping, and I shriek as I tumble back toward the deadly cliff. A strong hand wraps around my wrist, tugging with force, stealing my breath.

"Wait!" I gasp as my fingers dig into his arm.

"Changed your mind?" he smirks, revealing a dangerous intent.

"Yeah," I tremble. "Pull me up, and I'll do whatever you want."

"Sure you want to word it that way?" he questions. "Whatever I want might include a number of things frowned upon by the general public."

"I don't care," I reply, desperate for safety.

He tightens his grip and smirks, "It's your funeral."

As he pulls me up effortlessly, I realize the danger in front of me. His eyes, dark and lifeless, reveal a predator's gaze.

"Stunning," he utters, his voice laced with honey but fogged with black smoke.

"Your time is up. Goodbye," he says as he releases his grip.

"Wait!" I plead, realizing I'm at his mercy.

"What do I get in return for helping you?" he asks, toying with the situation.

"My thanks?" I offer.

"I have no use for that," he dismisses.

"Then why did you grab hold of me in the first place?" I inquire, feeling the tension rise.

"To take a picture. So how about you finish what you started and give me the masterpiece I came here for?" he demands.

"Are you seriously saying that your masterpiece is my death?" I gasp.

"Not your death, no. It'd look too bloody and displeasingly gory when your skull is smashed against the rocks below. It's your fall that I'm interested in. Your pale skin will have a wonderful contrast against the water," he coldly explains.

"You're... sick," I condemn.

"Is that a no?" he challenges.

"Of course, it's a no, you psycho. You think I'd die just so you can take a picture?" I retort.

"A masterpiece, not a picture. And you don't have a choice. If I decide you'll die... you'll die," he threatens.

"Let me go," I demand, feeling the icy grip on my wrist.

"Ask nicely and I might," he taunts.

"What's the definition of nicely to you?" I inquire.

"Add a please or drop on your knees. Either will do. Doing them both at the same time would be highly recommended," he suggests.

"How about neither?" I resist.

"That would be both pointless and foolish. After all, you're at my mercy," he asserts, pushing me to the edge again.

"Please!" I plead desperately.

"Being on your knees is highly recommended indeed. Now, should we begin?" he smirks, revealing the sadism in his dark eyes.

Olivia

It can't be real. That's not how it is. It shouldn't be like that.

But when my eyes meet the stranger, who is silent and completely lifeless, I don't know whether it is really happening or whether I am gripped by a nightmare.

Probably the latter solution. And it's not even the brutal grip he has on my hair, and I'm sure if I tried to fight back he could rip my skull off or, worse, drag me off a cliff, just like he did it has been threatening since we met. He Looking back, I should have been prepared for something like this given my family.

I always thought I had great family and friends. Damn, Grandpa is a ruthless sociopath. My uncle too. My brother is even worse.

But perhaps I have normalized her behavior since I have known her all my life. I accepted it as if it were natural. Because they are active members of society and I was never their target.

I was blind and thought I could deal with people like them if I met them in real life.

On the other hand, nothing could have prepared me for being in such a situation with someone I had just met.

The sound of crashing waves synchronizes with my chaotic thoughts. Cold air penetrates your jacket and under your shirt, cooling sweat clings to your skin. I've been on fire since the wave of life flowed through my veins, so this feeling is welcome.

Even though my instincts constantly tell me to run, I am aware that any sudden movement will probably kill me.

“And you will stay until you give me what you promised.”

“I didn’t promise you anything.”

His head tilts to the side like the camera, following the axis of his body in a methodical and captivating movement. – Oh, but you did it. And I repeat: whatever you want, remember?"

“These are words that I said spontaneously. They don't count.

“You are doing this to me. So either give me what I want or…” he trails off and stretches his neck towards what’s behind me. He doesn't have to express it. I can see where he's aiming.

This is an intimidating factor. Imminent threat. And he knows exactly that it works.

“Can I get up earlier?”

“No. What I want happens in this position.

“And what do you want?”

“Your lips surround my cock.”

I remain speechless and hope it's a nightmare.I hope it's a crazy joke that goes too far and I have to laugh about it every now and then and go home and text the girls about it.

But I feel like it's getting worse even if I'm not breathing well.

"If you don't like that option, I'm talking about alternatives." His hand moves from my head to the crook of my cheek and then down to my mouth.

I have never been as cold in my life as I am today. And it's all thanks to his cold touch. He is heartless, callous and absolutely terrifying.

This is what it must feel like when the Reaper rips your soul out. His fingers slide down to my throat and he grips my hips so hard it makes me dizzy knowing who is in control of the situation. “You can get on all fours so I can stick my cock in one of your other holes. Probably both, in no particular order. I wish it was a facade, but there is no deception in his tone.This crazy bastard really won't hesitate to keep his promises.

Only now do I realize how much trouble I really have.

This psychopath will eat me alive.