The Mating Run

Chapter 37

Game The forest stretches out endlessly, the trees standing tall and imposing.

| follow the map, its numbers and lines guiding me through the forest. The air is cool against my skin as | move with purpose, my footsteps soft against the earthy ground.

The map leads me deeper into the heart of the forest. | squint at the map, trying to decipher its cryptic instructions. The trees seem to close in around me, their branches interlocking like a maze.

As | navigate through the darkness, a clearing emerges before me. Moonlight spills through the gaps in the canopy, casting a silvery glow on the forest floor. The map directs me to a specific spot, and | feel a sense of anticipation.Content is property of NôvelDrama.Org.

| reach the designated location, and my eyes scan the surroundings. The numbers on the map point upward, towards a tall tree that towers above the others. | crane my neck, trying to see what the map is leading me to.

And there, high up in the branches, | spot it — a shack.

The tree stands like a sentinel, its trunk sturdy and unwavering. | wonder how I'll reach the top, but the map insists this is where | need to be. The forest, once at place of mystery, now feels like a puzzle waiting to be solved.

| take a deep breath and begin to climb.

The bark is rough against my palms, but determination fuels my ascent. Each branch becomes a foothold, and | pull myself upward, higher and higher. The night. air grows cooler as | climb, the moon watching over me like a silent guardian.

The shack comes into view, nestled among the leaves and vines that act as nature’s camouflage. It’s decent-sized, blending seamlessly with the foliage. Tall leaves and long vines drape over it, concealing it from prying eyes.

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Game

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The forest stretches out endlessly, the trees standing tall and imposing.

| follow the map, its numbers and lines guiding me through the forest. The air is cool against my skin as | move with purpose, my footsteps soft against the earthy ground.

The map leads me deeper into the heart of the forest. | squint at the map, trying to decipher its cryptic instructions. The trees seem to close in around me, their branches interlocking like a maze.

As | navigate through the darkness, a clearing emerges before me. Moonlight spills through the gaps in the canopy, casting a silvery glow on the forest floor. The map directs me to a specific spot, and | feel a sense of anticipation.

| reach the designated location, and my eyes scan the surroundings. The numbers on the map point upward, towards a tall tree that towers above the others. | crane my neck, trying to see what the map is leading me to.

And there, high up in the branches, | spot it — a shack.

The tree stands like a sentinel, its trunk sturdy and unwavering. | wonder how I'll reach the top, but the map insists this is where | need to be. The forest, once at place of mystery, now feels like a puzzle waiting to be solved.

| take a deep breath and begin to climb.

The bark is rough against my palms, but determination fuels my ascent. Each branch becomes a foothold, and | pull myself upward, higher and higher. The night air grows cooler as | climb, the moon watching over me like a silent guardian.

The shack comes into view, nestled among the leaves and vines that act as nature’s camouflage. It’s decent-sized, blending seamlessly with the foliage. Tall leaves and long vines drape over it, concealing it from prying eyes.

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If not for the map, | probably wouldn’t have noticed it. 88%

As | reach the top, the branches beneath me thin out, and | find myself standing on a sturdy platform of intertwined limbs. The shack looms above me, a mysterious structure hidden in the embrace of the tree.

| approach cautiously, my senses on high alert.

The vines part as | step closer, revealing a wooden door. | hesitate for a moment, my hand hovering over the doorknob. The night is silent around me, and a sense of anticipation hangs in the air.

| can’t help but think back to that first attempt at finding a hiding spot. The moment when | thought | could outsmart the game, evade the chaos of the Mating Run. If only Victor hadn’t ruined it. If only he hadn't taken that choice away from me.

| close my eyes, trying to conjure the memory. The forest was different then, a place of potential rather than confusion. | had found a secluded nook, a spot where the trees formed a natural barrier. It felt like a sanctuary, a brief respite from the impending chaos.

But Victor, with his twisted sense of control, had to interfere.

He thinks everything’s a fucking game.

What if he hadn't ruined shit for me?

What if | had remained hidden, tucked away in that quiet corner of the forest? Would | be mated right now, entwined with someone in the name of some ancient tradition?

Or would things have unfolded differently?

Would | have been spared the confusion, the chaos, the hurt?

| don’t know, and that uncertainty gnaws at me.

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the

It's a bitter taste in my mouth, a reminder that Victor took something from me night. He took away my right to choose, to decide my own fate in this twisted game he orchestrated. The air is cool against my skin, but there’s a heat within me, a simmering frustration that refuses to be extinguished.

| wonder about the what-ifs, the alternate paths my life could have taken;

The frustration intensifies, a knot tightening in my chest. | hate that | don’t know. | hate that Victor, in his arrogance, decided to play puppet master with our lives. | close my eyes again, trying to shut out the haunting thoughts.

| approach the shack cautiously, the wooden door creaking as | push it open. The shack, unlike Ettie’s cabin, is different. It’s smaller, cozier, but it’s filled with more things. The air inside is different too, cooler, and | notice there’s

air-conditioning. As the door swings open, | catch sight of him — Victor.

He’s sitting on a beanbag, lazily flipping through a magazine. The shack seems to swallow me as my eyes widen in shock. He’s laughing at some joke, the sound echoing in the small space, while a swirl of smoke from a cigarette hangs in the air.

I stand there, frozen, my irritation bubbling beneath the surface. Victor glances up, his eyes meeting mine.

His laughter fades, replaced by a smirk that doesn’t sit well with me. The magazine drops to the floor, forgotten in the face of my unexpected arrival.

“Well, well, look who decided to drop by,” he says, exhaling a plume of smoke. “What took you so long, sweetheart? | was waiting for ages!”

| shake my head, frustration simmering within me. | can’t even speak. My mouth opens but nothing comes out, my entire body is trembling with anger as | look. around the shack that he’s in.

I step into Victor's shack, my jaw clenched tight. The frustration, the anger they churn within me like a storm. The contrast between the harsh reality of the

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forest and the absurd comfort of his little haven is too much to bear, | can’t even find words to express the intensity of my emotions.

Victor, oblivious to my seething rage, sits on a cushy chair, a smug grin on his face. The shack, a mockery of our struggles, feels suffocating. | glance around, trying to take in the audacity of it all. It’s not just comfort; it’s excess. The incap amount of food, the electricity, the television—it’s as if he’s on a lavish vacation while we fight for our lives outside.

My eyes narrow as | see the bounty of food neatly organized on a shelf. Cans, fresh produce — things | haven’t seen in what feels like an eternity. The anger bubbles, threatening to spill over, as | realize that while | starved, Victor indulged in

a buffet.

He looks at me with an expectant smile. “Impressive, right? | guess my father must have told some of the restaurant owners outside that | wanted them so they

were more than happy to sponsor me.”

| can’t speak. The words are trapped in my throat, suffocated by the intensity of my anger. | want to scream, to unleash the frustration that’s been building within me since the Mating Run began. But all that comes out is a stifled exhale.

Victor, unfazed, gestures around the shack. “Feel free to make yourself at home, Alina.”

| shoot him a look, a silent plea for him to stop treating everything like a joke. But he’s too wrapped up in his amusement, too blind to see the storm that rages

within me. He continues, gesturing towards the electricity that powers the shack. “Oh! And look at this! Electricity in the heart of the

forest. Not bad, huh? My father knew I'll get bored almost immediately without any tv. He couldn’t give me a phone but | guess this should be enough.”

| force myself to move, to take a step forward. The shack seems to close in on me, the absurdity of it all amplifying my frustration. | glance at the television — al luxury | hadn’t even dared to dream about in the forest. Victor seems to revel in my silent shock, as if he’s expecting me to join in his amusement.

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He hands me a can of soda from the mini-fridge, still laughing. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Alina. Relax. It’s not everyday where we don’t have to work. Might as well make the most of it, right?”

| take the can mechanically, my fingers gripping it tightly. | want to throw it across the room, to shatter the illusion of comfort that Victor has created. But force myself to keep it together, to not let him see the extent of my anger.

He points towards a corner of the shack. “And over here, we have a fully stocked pantry. | made sure we won’t run out of supplies anytime soon. You know, Otta stay well-fed during our little adventure.”

| don’t respond. | can’t. The food, the excess - it’s a slap in the face. | think. about the meager rations we scrounged for in the forest, the hunger that gnawed at our stomachs. Victor's little paradise becomes a mockery, a testament to his

arrogance. He grabs a bag of chips and opens it with a casual flourish. He flips throught channels on the television, the images dancing across the screen.

“You missed quite a show, Alina. They were broadcasting the Mating Run and had so much effects! Glad you survived that by the way, oh, and Ettie! Did you know she’s still crying after you left her there? It was so funny!”

| look at the television, a mix of disbelief and irritation bubbling within me.

While | fought for survival, Victor was here, living his best life.

He tosses the remote to me, still laughing. “Go on, choose a channel. I’m tired of watching this shit anyway.”

I catch the remote, my fingers gripping it tightly.

| wonder if he catches that I’m not speaking. | wonder if he notices how thin I’ve gotten, the blood on my clothes, the way my hair was matted. | wonder if he even

cares. | want to scream at him, to shake him out of his casual amusement. But my

Il

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voice is still trapped, held captive by the intensity of my anger. | take a deep breath, trying to compose myself.

Victor looks as if he just stepped out of a spa. He’s freshly showered, his hair still damp, and not a speck of dirt mars his appearance. | glance at myself, clothes stained and worn from days of navigating the unforgiving terrain of the forest.,

He notices my scrutiny, a smile playing on his lips. “Oh! Do you want to take a shower? There’s a small bathroom here, no tub unfortunately, but there’s a working shower. My sponsors said the tub would be too heavy to carry up here in the tree.”

I clench my fists, the injustice of it all gnawing at me. While we fought for survival, he luxuriated in comfort. But it’s not just the clean appearance — it’s the smell. He emanates a fresh, pleasant scent, a stark contrast to the earthy and sweaty aroma that clings to me.

He gestures towards a neatly folded pile of clothes. “Feel free to change if you want. | told them that you're going here one day. Did they give you that map to find.

me? You finally put it to good use!” you.”

| freeze.

“That was from you?”

Victor smiles. “No, it was from a sponsor. | did give them a push to give them to I stand there, silent, my jaw tight.

Without him, | would have died.

But then again, without him, | wouldn’t have been put in situations where | would be worried about my life.

Victor, unfazed by my reaction, offers me a cup of coffee from a pristine coffee maker. The aroma wafts through the air, a cruel reminder of the hardships we faced

outside. 5/7 Dame

“Freshly brewed,” he says, his tone casual. “Nothing like a cup of coffee to start brand new day.‘! walk towards him, my steps deliberate. He hands me the cup, his expression smug. | take it from him, the warmth seeping through my fingers.

But instead of sipping the coffee, | raise my hand and, with a force that surprises even me, | slap him across the face.