My head swivels for him, my sight adjusting to the brightness while scouting around the rollercoasters the crew has been…
I’m actually not sure what they do. I assume test runs and tightening bolts here and there… Even though bolts are prone to flying off… Occasionally. Not all the time.
It does happen.
Walking past Scream of Hades, I elbow Ora for her attention, still panning over the fluorescent orange shirts making last minute adjustments on the triple loop that would make a professional medical advisor faint. “Why do they get to leave but we don’t?”
Her vape pops, the smoke puffing out in a controlled cloud before she quickly sucks it back in. “Not a clue. I’ve learned it’s best to not question the strangeness of this. There’s no point in killing ourselves with the unknown… Not unless wekillhim,” she finishes under her breath, darting her jaded eyes over to Carl yelling at someone with a clipboard.
She’s not wrong.
Having so many unanswered questions weigh on your chest only sinks you further into the dirt you’re choking on.
We were all specially handpicked for this. Cross my heart and hope to die, we were.
We’re too good at what we do.
It’s not just the fact that we all woke up in the trailer one day with no recollection of who each other was… Or who we were… It’s the uncanny way Carl is able to look us in the eyes and lie, say we all suffered head injuries from a massive accident that left us confused and that we’ve been working atVorefor years.
If anything, I have a head injury from him hitting me in it all the time.
The relentless dread of being out of control drifts up my chest, locking my throat with a parched knot that pricks my eyes with a pathetic mist.
All the fried foods are starting to get cooked. The soaring weight of hot oil and batter weaves around every corner of this place. Which usually leaves me unfazed, but it’s currently reminding me I skipped breakfast this morning and is making me even more uncomfortable existing here.
I sniff away the trickle in my nose, stealthily raising the back of my hand to wipe my eyes. Thankfully, the case of my rollers blocks my face from Carl as we pass by. Seeing me cry some more today would send me back to the tent.
Which is… kind of what I want.
The bikes rumbling against the hot pavement in the distance flip my stomach and encourage me to run to the nearest trash can.
I don’t know how long Razor’s been listening to me shower. I’ve never noticed anything suggestive from him. So, the knowledge of him preying on something private is flaming my nerves.
Even if he is being a little creep. He’s creeping onme.
Why? Why not Aries? She spends a lot of time with the guys and manipulates fire with her mouth. Or Ora? She can chat away with anyone and sees beyond this realm. Duse is able to charm snakes, and Gwen has the southern voice of an angel. Or why not some freshly manicured collegegirl fawning over him on his bike and waving her touchscreen in his face for his number?
I swallow hard, turning the corner to their steel mesh globe stationed in the center of circular bleachers.
Several yards away, Aries strikes her long braids over her shoulder, shouting something at Cash that gets slaughtered through the intentional rev he does to tick her off further. The laugh erupting from his big smile sneaks a grin onto my face. But catching Razor’s dark eyes and acknowledging his black overalls undone, the loose fabric folded down over his hips, leaving his honeyed, suntanned muscle to collect more rays, sinks my heart right to my butt.
I’ve never felt so weird with him. Even when I woke up tangled in his limbs. Andthatwas weird.
That was, uh… Hmm. Two years ago, now. I think. Yeah, it must be two years, since this is the second summer I rememberVore.
Tearing away from him drying his bike, I gorge my lungs on oxygen and follow Ora up the bleachers farthest from him. Images of him are already polluting me. Visuals I’ve seen too many times to count. But for some reason the sweat glowing on his sculpted waist is playing like a frustrating music box.
I have to share a roof with him. A bathroom. A kitchen. He helps with laundry sometimes. He gets my tampons and hormonal snacks. His room is next to ours…It would be easy to…
Bad, Bunny. Bad girl.
Having such sinful thoughts in a suboptimal situation squeezes my growling stomach with pressure that drips through my pelvis.
The blazing heat punctures through the beads percolating on my forehead, weakly shuffling up to Ora already throwing a leg around and straddling the bleacher she wants to set up shop on.
Planting my butt on the grooved metal in front of her opening my makeup, the bleachers start clanking and shaking, splitting my harebrained focus to the sweaty abs and wet, rich brown hair racing up the steps.
I muffle a wince, swiftly swiveling to face Ora and keeping my stiff back to the thunk of his boots.
