33. Oakley

Chapter 33

Oakley

" S top it!" I scream, my voice piercing the thick, suffocating air. Mr. Bryant's knife slices through the ends of my dress, his eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure. My kicks and struggles are useless against his iron grip. Each taunt from his lips fuels my desperation to get away from him. Why is he doing this to me?

"Such a pretty little thing," he sneers, his breath hot and foul against my ear. "Too bad your pretty boy isn't going to save you." Rage runs through me at the mention of Jeremiah. I can't fathom how he was watching me all the way back then. I never really noticed him. He was always a teacher that didn't give anyone trouble. I don't really even remember anything about him, just those little bow ties he wore every day.

"Get off me!" I cry, my voice cracking as I twist and kick. The room feels like it's closing in, trapping me in this nightmare. His hand inches closer to my exposed skin, and panic claws at my insides. I can barely breathe. "What is it that you want?" He brings his hand up to my mouth, pressing his finger against my lips. I don't know if he's trying to shush me or thinks he's being sexy. I know it's only going to hurt me, but I'll do anything to delay his sick plans for me. I bite down hard on his finger, causing him to jerk back and slap me hard in the face.

"You little bitch!" he yells, soothing his finger with his other hand. It's not long though before he's smirking at me again, the rage he conveyed now subdued. It clicks then that he doesn't want this to be quick. If that were the case, he could have done me in with his knife already. Slit my throat, stabbed me, anything. He wants this to be worth all the time and effort he's put into obsessing over me. He's going to make this as slow and painful as he possibly can.

"You're all mine. And that's all I have ever wanted," he whispers, his hands brushing my skin, sending shivers of revulsion down my spine. But then, headlights flash through the window, illuminating the room in a sudden burst of light. Mr. Bryant freezes, his eyes wide with panic. Could it be Jeremiah? Maybe my call actually went through and it's him riding up.

"Shit!" I try to pull away from him, but even though he's so much smaller than Jeremiah, he's still too strong for me to get away from him with any sort of ease.

"That's Jeremiah. I told you he was coming for me," I lie. I have no idea who it is, but I need to distract this monster so I can gain some sort of ground. He wastes no time cutting me from the chair and dragging me toward the basement stairs. I stumble, my heart racing, fear and adrenaline pumping through my veins. The basement is cold and musty, the concrete walls mirror my dread.

"Move!" he hisses, shoving me forward. The smell of damp earth and decay fills my nostrils as we descend into the darkness. My mind races, desperately searching for a way out, but the shadows seem to swallow every glimmer of hope.

"Please," I whisper, my voice trembling. "You don't have to do this."

"Shut up," he snaps, his grip tightening on my arm. The basement is a maze of boxes and flickering fluorescent lights, each corner hiding old furniture and other long-forgotten relics. My body shakes with fear, my breaths coming in shallow gasps. It's never felt this scary before to be down here.

"Someone's going to find us," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "They'll come looking."

"Not before I'm done with you," he growls, his eyes burning with rage and a sick satisfaction that turns my stomach.

"Now move!" Mr. Bryant's fingers dig into my arm, dragging me deeper into the basement. My heart pounds, each beat a desperate plea for escape.

Footsteps echo above, a glimmer of hope sparking within me. "Jeremiah! I'm down here. He has a knife!" I scream, desperation clinging to every syllable.

"Shut up!" Mr. Bryant hisses, jerking me forward through the basement toward the freezer where we keep the most prized books of the St. Charles collection.

"Hey, Oakley, did you forget to lock up again?" Cindy's indignant voice cuts through the tension, oblivious and irritatingly casual. She must have come back for something and clearly is completely unaware of the nightmare that is unfolding for me.

"Help me!" I scream, but it's drowned out by Mr. Bryant's laughter. His grip tightens, his cruel smile widening.

"She's not going to help you," he sneers, shoving me toward a small door. He yanks it open, revealing a freezer where we keep some of the antique books. The air inside is stale, the metallic scent of the freezer hitting me hard.

"Get in," he orders, his eyes burning with twisted pleasure.

"Please, no," I beg, my voice cracking. But he shoves me inside, the cold hitting me like a physical blow. The walls close in, the space suffocating and unbearably cold.

"Don't worry, little VelvetVix," Mr. Bryant's voice slithers through the freezing air, a hiss that makes my skin crawl. "I'll deal with your coworker upstairs." His eyes bore into mine. He seems to relish the power he holds over me, the helplessness no doubt reflected in my wide, terrified eyes.

"Don't do this to me," I manage to stammer, my voice breaking. The cold bites at my cheeks, my breath forming icy clouds in the confined, suffocating space.

"Begging already?" He chuckles, a sound devoid of any warmth or humanity. "How sweet. I bet Jeremiah loves that about you. You're so soft and gentle. Do you think the bitch upstairs will beg me too?"

"Leave her alone! She doesn't deserve whatever you plan on doing!" Desperation claws at my throat, every word feeling like a futile attempt to grasp onto something solid in this nightmare.

"Maybe I'll carve her up a bit, teach you a lesson about keeping quiet." He leans in closer, pushing me further into the freezer. He grabs me roughly by the throat, leering down at my exposed breast that I've tried my best to cover. "Do you know how long I've fantasized about this? How long I've thought of tying you up and fucking you senseless?" I gag at his words, bile rising in my throat, and for some sick reason this seems to make the whole situation better for him. It's almost like he wants me to be grossed out by him .

"You're a sexy little thing, Oakley. But that wasn't what drew me to you. It wasn't because I could dominate you, twist you up and do the vilest things to you. It was because that Blackwood kid had you wrapped around his finger. He had everything. You would have let him do anything he wanted to you, and he didn't appreciate it." His words are like a punch in the gut. "And then I was hooked. I followed your every move and when you stopped doing the cam shows, I needed my fix. You gave me the courage to finally do what I'm meant to do to you." Then, with one last smile, he slams the freezer door shut, locking me inside the oppressive darkness.

"NO!" I scream, the sound tearing from my throat, raw and primal. My fists pound against the metal door, each impact sending shockwaves of pain up my arms. The walls of the metal coffin press in on me, the musty stench of old books mingling with the acrid tang of my own fear.

"HELP!" I cry out again, but the sound is swallowed by the thick, heavy silence. It's as if the darkness itself is mocking me, wrapping around me tighter with every passing second. The cold seeps into my bones, making me shiver uncontrollably.

"Jeremiah." My voice echoes back to me, distorted and hollow. Tears spill down my cheeks, freezing quickly, leaving icy trails across my skin. Each sob feels like a knife twisting in my chest, the weight of my helplessness pressing down on me. I know he's not even on campus, but I was hoping he would have gotten my call and rushed back to find me. To save me. I'm suddenly transported back to the night I was attacked. My hair being pulled, the assault, and right before I was knocked out, Jeremiah's name was the only thing on my lips.

The air grows thinner the longer I'm in here, and every breath feels like a battle. My lungs burn, each inhale more desperate than the last. The realization hits me like a sledgehammer—I'm running out of oxygen. Panic surges through me, its icy grip tightening around my heart. I forgot that after so many minutes the system starts depleting it. We only ever have ten minutes max down here when we have to do anything with these items.

"Shit," I gasp, my voice barely a whisper. "Shit, shit, shit."

My breaths come faster, shallower. I clutch at my chest, feeling it tighten with each passing second. The cold is relentless, invading every part of me, making my movements sluggish, my thoughts hazy.

"Jeremiah," I murmur, his name a lifeline in my suffocation. "Please...I need you."

I'm going to fucking die down here, but I'm not going without a fight. I'm gonna go all Blackwood on Mr. Bryant as soon as he fucking shows his rat face again.

"Fuck!" I slam my fists against the walls again, feeling the sting, the warmth of blood. But it's no use. The walls are unyielding, just like the fear that grips me.

But my strength is waning. I need to conserve as much of it as possible because I'm taking him down with me, but all I want to do is pound relentlessly on this door. The exhaustion creeps in, a heavy weight dragging me down. My legs buckle, and I slump to the floor, feeling my vision blur, dark spots dancing before my eyes.

"Help," I murmur again, my voice a broken plea. "Someone, please…"

I press my hand against the freezing floor, trying to push myself up, but my body feels heavy, unresponsive. The cold is a vise, squeezing the life out of me. Each breath is a struggle, a fight against the inevitable. I claw at the hinges. There' s no glass window to break, no handle to pull on. I'm truly stuck with no way out. I'm trying to count like Jeremiah taught me, to keep myself from panicking. I know the more worked up I get, the quicker I'll use up the remaining oxygen left. Chills are all over my body and my lips are starting to go numb. I know that even if he does make it back to the library, there's a slim chance he would look down here. My fingers are stinging and I try to rub them together, but that only makes the burning sensation worse.

I try to focus, to cling to a sliver of thought, but everything feels distant, slipping away like grains of sand through my icy fingers.

My eyelids grow heavy, fluttering shut despite my desperate attempts to keep them open. My senses dull; the once piercing cold now feels like a distant memory, a dream fading into oblivion.