He stood face to face with me, staring directly at my eyes.
It felt like he was memorizing my face—every detail.
I tried to run, but he suddenly placed his hand against the tree, blocking my way.
Sounded like a romantic scene, right?
It wasn't.
He leaned in slightly and opened his mouth.
"Don't tell anyone what you saw here, okayyy?" he said, dragging out the last word.
Then he paused.
His eyes flicked down to the knife, still dripping with blood.
"Or else I…"
He didn't finish the sentence.
He looked back at me. "Deal?"
I didn't know how to respond. My lips wouldn't form words. So I just stayed quiet.
Suddenly, he grabbed my cheeks and gave them a hard squeeze.
"Deal?" he asked again, more forcefully.
"Umm…" I whimpered helplessly.
"Okay then," he said, letting go. "Now leave."
He pushed my cheeks back into place with the flat edge of his knife. It scraped against my skin, leaving a sharp sting—and later, a scar.
Terrified, I turned and ran without daring to look back. My legs barely moved, but somehow, I forced them to.
My cheeks throbbed in pain, and my heart felt like it was about to explode.
But I made it home.