Horror riddles my body, as I am forced to stare at the image before me.
It’s like I’m looking into a mirror.
Staring back at me, I see myself in a black veil, and on my shoulder is a raven.
My mirror image smiles at me.
I move my lids up and down, over and over, though the woman and the lettering are gone.
My head moves from side to side, but all I see are two pairs of concerned eyes.
“Lola, baby, are you ok?” Paxton asks.
I lunge myself forward, looking past where he sits stationary in the seat. Concern furrows his brow. My head turns to Cillian, who grabs my face, burrowing it in his chest.
“I fucking told you, man. This place is too much for her, too soon,” he mutters against my hair that rests by his lips.
I lift my head up, bouncing my eyes between them, confused as to why we are sitting stationary when we had just been in the middle of the ride. “Why aren’t we moving?” I ask. My voice cracks slightly in anticipation of their answer, to see if they saw what I saw, and maybe that is the cause for the concern.
They don’t answer. Instead, they exchange an apprehensive glare amongst themselves.
“Why aren’t we moving?” I repeat.
Pax nods to Cillian to speak. “We couldn’t get the ride to work, Lo. We have been sitting here just listening to the music Pax set up, until you started screaming,” he says, squeezing my frigid palm.
11
Cillian
Trailing behind Paxton and Lola,far from the Amontillado’s Mortuary, I slip my hand into my pocket, desperately craving whatever warm reprieve the thin denim of my skinny jeans can provide my chilled palm. Even with the summer heat still coating the air despite the fading sun, I can’t shake the bitter cold that bites at my hand. Her frigid touch lingers on my skin, and the look of horror on her usually radiant onyx eyes has imprinted itself in my mind.
My fingers bend, gripping the insides of my pocket, rounding themselves over my phone, which vibrates as if on command. The ripples against my already prickled skin create a sinking feeling in my stomach. Small bumps spread past my hand, engulfing my arm as they travel up my neck, mounting the raised reminder of lingering trepidation.
Usually, I wouldn’t have such a visceral reaction to an incoming text message. However, after the way Lola’s olive skin paled as if she had seen a ghost just moments before, paired with the weird message Pax and I received earlier, it all feels too much.
The more I think about all the strange happenings that have occurred over the last few weeks leading up to today, the more I feel an ominous foreboding hovering over us. One as dark and unforgiving as the clouds hanging over our heads.
Yet, here I am, with the two people I love most in this overrated world, following them through a haunted carnival that earned that title not from its abandoned state but from being the site of a literal murder. I hope my creeped-out intuition isn’t right about this place and everything because, if so, we are so fucked.
My phone vibrates once more with a reminder shake, but I keep ignoring the incoming message. Instead, I cast my gaze on Paxton, who is walking ahead of Lola. I glance down toward his back jeans pockets to see if his phone went off like mine. Although, by the way he has yet to halt his movements and reach for his cell, he either didn’t get another message or, like me, is choosing to ignore it. In any case, I should take that as my cue to snap the fuck out of the mental tailspin I feel coming on.
Before retracting my hand from my pocket, I slide the small button on the side of my phone to silent, eliminating any more unwelcomed messages from reaching me. The constricted motion in my jeans intensifies the lingering sting from Lola’s touch on my hand. I ignore it, freeing my hand from my pocket as I quicken my pace to catch up to them.
As I close the space between where they walk ahead of me and where I have drifted behind, I can’t help but stare at them. Lola raises her other hand onto Pax’s thick forearm, securing her grip on him, and with the way her inked hand looks next to his equally tattooed skin, their flesh camouflages with one another.
I love seeing them together. Lola’s free-spirited nature and Pax’s playful demeanor complement each other so well. Sometimes, I wonder how my brutish self fits in with them, but that’s the thing about the three of us—together, everything just falls into place. They are mine, and I am theirs. It’s a love that defies logic and a feeling so innate that it can’t be explained. And in its unconventional imperfection, it is more than enough for me.
A grin crosses my mouth as I continue to increase my strides behind Lola. My eyes fall to the intricate details of the faux-corseted ribbon inked on the back of each of her thighs. Both with a symmetrical bow and a skull centered, resting right below the plump sliver of ass that peeks out from where the fabric ends of her cut-off shorts.
I can’t help but stare at the way her soft, supple skin bounces with each step. I feel the blood rush to my cock, stiffening in anticipation of kneading her luscious legs with my large hands as I bury my head between them.
Whatever just happened back in the Mortuary was too much, and now that my anxiety is beginning to fill my head with paranoia and lies, I need them now. The way their bodies crash into mine is one of the only times I feel safe from the torture chamber that is my mind.
I hasten my walk to a jog, needing to be closer to them. I feel the desperate lust take over my body. And as if Lola could sense me coming for her, she releases Pax’s forearm from her grasp. Before she can settle her hand elsewhere, I snatch it, squeezing the tips of her fingers with such an intensity that the tips of her almond-shaped nails dig into my palm.
Relieved that the chill that took over her usually warm touch is gone, as is the lingering effects it had on me, I release a satisfied grunt as I seize the lead. Now walking in front of Pax and Lola, I guide us deeper into the maze.
Fallen corn stalks dry as straw cover the dirt-filled ground instead of all standing tall, creating the typical walls you would see if this was a functioning maze. The sun-fried stalks crunch under our feet, echoing against the silence of our movements.
