Great, just what this day needed, more cowbell.
18
Paxton
There wasa time when being members of the Reapers saved us. It provided us with purpose, and shelter. A place where we felt like we belonged, which is all we ever wanted since those were things me and Cil never had growing up.
Most would classify us as troubled in our youth, but we were more than that. We were broken, cast aside, and abandoned—much like this place—by the people who should have loved us but chose to love themselves instead.
The homes we came from failed us, and the system we were thrown into didn’t help us, either. It was Cillian and me against the world, until we met Zeke. He showed us the ropes of what it meant to be a Reaper, and for us, it meant having a roof over our heads, money in our pockets, and an opportunity to turn our uncanny ability to wreak havoc into something meaningful. Although, looking back, the only good thing that came from being a Reaper was meeting Lola.
From the first time we saw her walk into the clubhouse with eyes like onyx daggers, sharp and alluring, we knew that our lives would never be the same. She seared herself into our world, and by default, we became lost in hers.
I’ll never forget the first time the three of us rode on the Ferris wheel at the State Fair together. It was the first time that Cillian and I not only kissed Lola but that we kissed each other. Which inevitably led to other parts being kissed, licked, and sucked.
Fuck, did we make those six minutes stuck at the top feel like six minutes in heaven.
It was that day that our bodies finally spoke up for our hearts. Those feelings of admiration and wanting to protect one another by taking on each other’s battles were always there between Cillian and me, but it wasn’t until Lola that our caged hearts felt free. Free to satisfy the need to love and fuck, not according to society’s rigid expectations, but to what our souls crave.
And our souls crave the love and touch of one another, just as much as we equally desire to be caught up and never released from the spell that is our wickeddiosa.
Loving her is how we discovered our truth and accepted that life is too short not to love or fuck who we want. And if that person so happens to be your best friend and your other best friend’s sister, then rock fucking on.
Since then, I have lost count of the places, positions, and moments the three of us have shared together. But out of all our trysts, the Ferris wheel is the one I think back to because it was our beginning.
Considering how the last few weeks and, honestly, the last few hours have gone, we need to reconnect. We need to bring alive the confidence we felt in that moment, to remind ourselves of what we created together. Our connection, the three of us, is stronger than life, death, and every concept in between.
Where Lola’s love language is words of affirmation or degradation, depending on the context, and Cillian’s love language is touch, mine is found in sentimental moments. So, I figured while Cillian works out his frustrations and fears on Lola, I will work on cleaning up the Ferris wheel as much as possible so we can hopefully get this evening back on track.
Granted, the Ferris wheel itself won’t work, but if we can reenact the night that set our souls on fire and our love for each other in motion, even on the very bottom, motionless gondola, then so fucking be it.
I’m about to text Cillian and Lola to meet me at the Ferris wheel when my attention is brought back to the group message Cil and I received before in the wagon, or what remained of it.
Unknown: History will try to repeat itself. Only she can stop it, because what lies ahead was meant for her
My eyes scan down, just now realizing that Cillian texted back before.
Cillian: Go fuck yourself
Classic Cillian.
Here we are, getting messages from one of the many potential people furious with us for running off with Lola, and all he has to say is, “Go fuck yourself.” A sentiment I agree with, but it isn’t going to get us anywhere with this unknown asshole.
Messages like the ones that keep taunting Cillian and me come with the territory of being members of the corrupt world we are indebted to. Life after the oath is not meant to exist, and when one’s oath is broken, the price to be paid is death. We made a promise to the club, one that we didn’t keep, and now, the consequence of our actions is trying to catch up with us.
A reality that, the more I think of it, begins to torment me. Thinking of what life or death would be like without bringing Cillian and Lola with me to wherever my tortured soul is destined to be.
But I have to remember that no one knows we are here, or where we are, for that matter. The three of us made sure to be tight-lipped about our plans, and Lola didn’t even know about coming to The Night’s Plutonian until she arrived here today.
It was a difficult decision keeping Zeke out of the loop, but he didn’t fight us on it. Zeke has always been like a brother to Cil and me. He knows how much we love his sister, and that was enough to warrant his approval. Even if that meant that he wouldn’t be in the know of where we end up with her.
At this moment, I feel many things: anger, uncertainty, even desperation. But fear, well, that is an emotion I refuse to give into.
If I let fear win, that means the Reapers win, and it will be a cold day in hell before either Cillian or I let that happen. Because a tally on the scoreboard for the Reapers means we lose more than the games they want to play; it means we lose her, and that is never an option.
She is ours as much as we are hers, and if living amongst decay keeps us alive until we formulate our next moves, then so fucking be it.
As I look at the overgrowth around me, which appears menacing with the dwindling natural light, I question if separating from Cillian so he could be the one to get Lola was a good idea. But I know Cillian. I know that when anxiety begins to take over, shutting down and running off is usually how he copes, so the fact that I even got him to stay and not run away like he was about to helps ease my concern.
