Page 7 of Masked Instincts

“Halloween is going to be over before you pick something,” Chase jokes. “What about this?” He points at a police costume. “Or this?” He points to the nurse one.

“No to both.” I laugh at his fallen expression. Walking up and down the aisles again, I find a witch costume I like.

“All this time in this store for you to be a witch. You could have just shown up if that’s what you wanted to be,” Chase jests and laughs loudly at his own joke.

Slapping his shoulder, I roll my eyes.

“Sorry, sorry. I’m kidding.” We both stare at each other for a moment before laughing, too loud for public, and other customers passing by give us weird stares. We shrug our shoulders in unison and head for the checkout.

On our way back to the campus library, we stop to get coffee and a snack at Sit, Sip, Read. We already went earlier before class, but we need the caffeine again. College life, so they say. Chase gets his usual espresso shot with a corn muffin. I get my too-sweet, about-to-go-into-diabetic-shock latte and a cinnamon toast muffin.

Polar opposites we are. It just means I never have to share my food.

The night runs along without a worry. I almost seem to forget that someone may be stalking me or watching my every move. Chase and I live in each other’s ass for the rest of the day and the next and the next until it’s time to let a little loose at the Halloween party.

five

JAX

As I walk up to the Durane Dorms, "When The Darkness Comes" by Jeris Johnson is booming through the speakers. College students are scattered about with red solo cups in hand. Each person is dressed up. Some creative, some unoriginal. Faux officers, slutty nurses, Freddy Kruegers’, elves, and so many others. A lot of repeat offenders.

The ground in front of the hall is lit with fluorescent field lights. Students dance and grind on one another. I scan everyone, searching for her, but I can’t find her outside—unless she’s wearing a mask. I didn’t get a chance to see what she was coming as tonight. I was too busy getting ready myself at home.

Tonight is the night I make my move in my hidden identity.

As I stride into the building, people nod at me in welcome. Walking through the door, there’s a mirror next to it, and I take a look through my mask. I chose the cliche Ghostface mask. A knife is strapped to the waistline of my black pants. A real knife, not some fake shit like everyone else here.

The pendant I wear is tucked safely into the collar of my black button-down shirt. I lay my hand over my chest, feeling through the fabric that it’s still there. The sleeves of my shirt are rolled up, exposing my tattooed forearms, which are covered in scars that tell too many stories. The tattoos hide them enough, but I wish they could hide them from my memory too. Some scars can't be hidden.

My father really did a number on me, but prison did too.

The dorm hall's ground level is open. Students have set up long, plastic foldable tables with chairs along the walls. There’s another table straight ahead that’s a makeshift bar. I go ahead to the bar and pour myself a cup of vodka. Turning around, I walk into another Ghostface.

“Ha, sick costume, dude,” he slurs as he stumbles back a step. I don't say a word as I stare at him, tilting my head. “Really in the role! That’s neat!” I tilt my head in the other direction. His excitement quickly fades into fear, and he moves around me to grab a drink. I walk around the room, watching and searching for Luna. I stare at everyone longer than I should, trying to figure out which person is her until I see her blonde friend. He’s dressed as a S.W.A.T. officer.

You’re kidding, right?

When my gaze moves a little further to the right, I see her. My moon. They’re standing closer to the food table as they dance to the music. I pause for a moment, watching the sway of her hips, but she and her friend never touch. Despite the lack of touching, my anger grows at the mere sight of them near each other.

Luna is dressed as a witch. A black pointy hat sits atop her head, hiding her face, but I’d know her from anywhere. You could put me in a room with a thousand different women who look identical, but I don’t give a fuck. I would know the real Luna, and I’m confident about that. Even if I haven't gotten close to her or felt her skin, it doesn't matter.

Her lips are painted black and the urge to see them wrapped around my cock is living in the front of my mind. Soon.

She will give in to me tonight, that is a promise, but she still won't know who I am. Luna will feel the touch of my skin, hear my voice, smell my scent, but she won’t see my face. She won’t know the real me until I fucking say she can.

I’m going to break her, make her wonder why she’s giving in to a man she doesn’t know, just to fix her up and break her all over again.

Her body is wrapped in a silky black dress with a corset over top. The dress has a slit going up to her hip and I want to slide my hand up, feeling the heat of her center as she begins to wither beneath my hold. Fish net tights with stars and moons cover her legs. Long black boots hug her calves and feet, giving her a couple of inches in height. The corset over her dress pushes up her breasts, giving a show, but it only adds to my rage despite her beauty.

My dick is hard in the confines of my jeans and I find a corner to adjust myself in. Walking over to the food table, I act as if I’m grabbing something before turning and accidentally bumping into her. “My apologies. A crowded place. I better watch where I’m going,” I say casually. My voice low and husky already. It’s getting harder and harder to hide the lust that I feel for her.

Blondie here is standing with his shoulders squared, scowling at me as if he really is a S.W.A.T. officer.

“It’s okay! It happens,” she says and I melt. Like a popsicle dropped on asphalt on the hottest day of mid-July. Her voice is so much more magical than I could have ever dreamed. It’s soft and sweet, caressing my ears just right.

I bet she tastes soft and sweet too.

“Just open your eyes, man,” Blondie spits out.