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Simone sighed as she pushed herself to her feet, slinging her purse over her shoulder as she took her leave from the community center. Only two meetings in and she could already tell this group wasn’t going to work. They seemed to preach the same agenda of Jigsaw himself. For victims, they seemed to be quite sympathetic with their perpetrator.
Stepping out of the establishment, she let out a long, frustrated exhale from her nose.
“No good?”
Startled by the sudden voice, Simone’s eyes flew open.
At the bottom of the steps sat a masked stranger, who donned a baggy hoodie and even baggier cargo pants. Something about their dark brown gaze seemed analytical. Like Simone was simply a rat in a cage— a new science experiment.
“What?” she asked, caught off guard.
“The group. Is it no good?” they repeated, “I’ve been debating on attending but I wasn’t too sure if it was worth my time.”
“Not at all.” she shook her head, “It’s just an hour long spiel of Jigsaws shitty agenda.”
“And what? You don’t bite?” the stranger leaned forward with a furrow of their brow, fishing a pack of cigs out of their pocket. They offered one to Simone silently.
She moved down the few steps that separated them, taking a seat beside the stranger on the concrete, “No.” she deadpanned, taking the offering, “And I take it you don’t either,”
They let out a dry chuckle, fishing a lighter from their other pocket and lighting both their cigs with a few clicks. Simone thanked them with a hum, taking a long inhale, allowing the smoke to pool inside her lungs.
“I don’t know, he was pretty helpful to me,” they admitted with a shrug, taking a deep inhale of the nicotine.
Simone brows furrowed, watching the stranger intently as they spoke, her gaze lingering on their lips as they exhaled a swirl of smoke. Two jagged lines caught her eye.
She’d seen scars like that before. It was only a matter of placing where .
A smirk played on the strangers lips as they looked her up and down. The fixation Simone had on their lips didn’t get past them at all.
Simone turned her head away, face turning hot at the misunderstanding. Exhaling the smoke from between her lips she changed the subject, “So what’d you do?”
“I was a junkie. My trap snapped me out of those habits fast. If it weren’t for him I’d probably be dead in a ditch somewhere,” they put in bluntly, “I have no reason not to thank him.”
“I’m sure a trip to rehab could have worked the same miracle.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You’ve never clung to a substance like a lifeline. Sometimes traditional methods just don’t work for people. I knew I was one of those people.” they retorted, taking another drag of their cigarette, “What about you? What’d you do?”
“I was a money lender. I would send people into debt, knowing they couldn’t pay us back.” the nicotine tasted awful in her mouth now, as she confessed her crimes. Simone frowned, putting it out on the concrete.
“Us?” the stranger pressed.
She crossed her arms, “I had a partner. He died in our trap, it was a competition to see who would give up the most.” her grip tightened on her prosthetic.
“Do you still do that? Ruin people's lives?”
“Of course not. It wasn’t right.”
“So shouldn’t you be thanking him? For teaching you that?” there was that analytical gaze again. They were searching for something in her responses. But what?
“I knew it was wrong when I was doing it. My trap didn’t teach me anything except how painful it is to chop off your own arm.” annoyance was creeping into her tone now.
“Then why did you stop that little scheme of yours?” they continued without even waiting for an answer, “He snapped you back into reality, didn’t he? Made you realize you couldn’t waste your life away, using other people as stepping stones to your own success. You had to make something of yourself. Something good.” there was a glint in their eyes that wasn’t there before— like a rush of adrenaline had taken its effect, like a euphoric memory had sprung back up in their mind, “He made you feel alive, didn’t he? Like you were worth something more.”
It was then that Simone finally placed where she had seen those scars before.
On the news, on a segment explaining the miracle of the first ever Jigsaw survivor— detailing the horrific story of a woman forced to kill to survive.
The stranger sitting beside her was the infamous Amanda Young— the same Amanda Young who she had seen on the news months later, on a segment explaining the horrible events of another game. A game that revealed Amanda to be a part of Jigsaw's sick plans.
For the first time since her game, Simone felt a rush. Fear? Anger? Excitement? She couldn’t quite place it. It didn’t matter. She just felt alive.
Amanda seemed to take note of this immediately as she put out her cigarette on the step, leaning forward.
“You’re feeling it again, aren’t you?” she said in a low voice, shrinking the gap between them to a mere inch.
Her breath was hot on Simone’s face. She was pretty sure now that the sudden rush was anger.
She violently pushed her away, standing up immediately and taking a step back, “Whatever you’re out to gain from this conversation, I don’t want any part of it. I don’t like you, I don’t like Jigsaw. I don’t like this game you’re playing. You didn’t help me. You don’t help anyone.”
Simone expected a swift bite back from the woman but it didn’t come. Instead she was met with such sad eyes. Amanda’s gaze was no longer studying her every move. She had drawn her conclusion. Her gaze hardened.
“You could have made a great accomplice. I thought you had what it took. It’s a shame you don’t see what’s right in front of you.” her voice was venomous as she spoke, pushing herself up to her feet, “You and I could have been so similar.”
Pulling her mask back over her face, she shot one final glare before marching off down the street, leaving Simone to stew in the anger left behind— in the confusion of her last words.
Them? Similar? They were anything but.
Coming back to her senses, she realized a few passerbyers were staring at her, startled by the sudden outburst on this beautiful day. With an aggravated huff, Simone straightened herself out, slinging her purse over her shoulder.
Leaving was supposed to clear the interaction from her mind. Though, the entire way home, Simone found Amanda’s words nagging in the back of her mind, frustrating her further than she knew she could be.
With a new rush of anger, it was there that she decided that that girl had no idea what she was talking about.