I look up to see the Thunderdome’s striped awning just ahead, complete with rope swags and fairy lights. It looks like home. Relief sweeps through me with unexpected vehemence.
I just need to get back there and regroup, rest, refuel, and figure out just how I feel about this rabbit hole I’ve fallen into.
Dived into, more like. Head first.
At our campsite, I grab water and a bag of chips, then collapse onto the grass.
Lazy clouds float above. Seahorse. Rocket. Elephant. Why’s there always an elephant?
The trees’ bright green leaves don’t move at all in the still heat. It is hot today, isn’t it? I polish off the bottle and tear into the chips like a starving woman.
“Hey, hot stuff.” A silhouette blocks out the sunlight. Once the first thrill passes and my eyes adjust, I recognize Zed. He’s wearing board shorts and flip-flops, looking like he belongs in the sun, on the water, except for the mask covering most of his face. Today’s mask is leather, with holes for breathing and straps buckled behind his head. It’s less Batman and more steampunk.
Geez, even wearing that, he’s really stunning.
“Hi,” I say through a mouthful of chips.
“Hungry?”
“Why do you say that?” I snag another handful and scarf it down, then offer him the bag.
He hesitates. “Mind if I sit?” How very Kink Camp of him to ask. Gotta love the constant requests for consent.
“Be my guest.”
He accepts the bag and settles onto the grass. After watching me for a time, he flops back to watch the sky from my angle. “How’s camp treating you?”
“Good question.”
“Uh oh.”
“No, it’s fine. Just…a lot.”
“I’ve been coming for years and it’s still overwhelming on occasion.”
I turn toward him and catch my breath. Seriously. That’s what he is: breathtaking. With the mask covering his mouth and nose and the rest of him mostly bare, he’s mysterious and outlandish, like something from a comic book. I squint. Definitely a villain.
“Hang on.” I don’t stop to think before looking around for my pad and pencil.
Shit. Where’d I put them?
“Lose something?”
“I don’t know.”
“What are you looking for?”
“A little brown sketchpad. Black pencil.” They’re not on the trestle table or the lawn chairs or anywhere else. I check the tent. “Dammit.” It takes me a minute to a remember that I’ve got a small notepad in my bag, along with a pen. It’s better than nothing, I guess, since the compulsion to draw’s not letting up.
Still a little worried that I’ve somehow lost my pad, I grab the replacement, unearth a tablet of chocolate from our supplies, and settle into a folding chair.
Zed rolls onto his side, leans his head on his hand and watches me, which would be unnerving if I weren’t about to do the exact same to him. “You’re an artist, huh?”
“No.” My answer’s low and definitive. “It’s just a hobby.”
His lush lips compress the tiniest bit into an expression of disbelief. “Are you drawing me?” His thick lashes flicker with every stroke of my pencil. In this light, his eyes are a saturated green. They look fake.
I nod. “Is that your real eye color?”
