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Tumblr, it is.
Willow hasn’t reblogged anything in weeks. Her account is practically dead. Mine is almost the same, but I’ve got a couple gif sets from the latest season of American Horror Story on my feed. I haven’t had time to make anything in a while.
No edits. No gifs. No videos spliced together. I want to blame it all on time, but deep down I know it’s something else.
Something more.
Fuck it, I’m doing a questionnaire. I find the tag and click into the first one.
Current Location
I pop my head up just to see Daisy hoisting two cinnamon rolls in either hand. “My right bun is smaller than my left bun.” She speaks to her husband.
Ryke is sitting beside her. Teetering back on the legs of his chair, he glances right at her boobs.
Her graphic tee says boo-fucking-tastic, and photographs of Daisy wearing that shirt have already spread over social media. To the point where the thing sold out on H&M in minutes.
Ryke focuses on Daisy’s eyes. “Your buns look fucking perfect to me, Calloway.”
The intense flirting is something I’m used to seeing from them, and it used to make me super happy. I think because Willow loves Daisy and Ryke, and seeing them together is a good thing—but now I just see two people in love. Who get to spend time together.
And I don’t have that. My stomach twists in horrible knots, my soda not settling well.
I’m bitter, I realize.
I hate being this bitter.
Daisy licks the icing off the right cinnamon roll and breaks into a huge laugh. “You’ll like this one.”
“Why’s that?”
“It’s really wet.”
Ryke casually uses two fingers to swipe some icing off the dough. Then he sucks them while staring too deeply into his wife. When he drops his hand, he says, “Not wet enough, sweetheart.”
I grimace.
I see Loren seriously cringing.
Current Location: pretty sure this is some circle of hell Dante hasn’t invented yet
The kind made for bitter souls.
Daisy barely lowers her voice, teasing Ryke. “Will you still eat me?”
His I want to fuck you eyes answer her.
“Hey,” Loren snaps.
Both of them casually turn their heads to him. Like this is just another day, and conversations about oral sex and cum are completely normal.
Lo adds, “Lily wants you to stop flirting.”
Lily gapes. “I do not!”
Loren feigns surprise. “I could’ve sworn she said that you were making her nauseous.”
Ryke raises his brows at me. “Sounds like you.”
Mockingly, Loren touches his chest. “Never.”
I almost snort.
Back to the questionnaire…
Height: 5’11’’
Eye Color: I always thought they were bluish green. My girlfriend calls them aquamarine sometimes. So we’ll go with that.
Why does every distraction I have make me think of her even more? Jesus…it’s like running and hitting a brick wall and turning around and hitting another.
It’s useless. I click out of Tumblr just as Loren is snapping his fingers in my face. “You. Garrison. Follow. Now.”
I pocket my phone. “What, you forget how sentences work?”
Rose and Connor have already gathered their maps, Lily’s hand is in Lo’s, and Ryke walks away from the table, leaving Daisy in the safe zone.
Guess we really are heading out.
Loren drives a glare into me. “Says the guy who uses internet shorthand like brb and tbh.” His half-smile meets me, but it doesn’t scare me.
I just glare back.
He adds, “ICYM, I’m a sarcastic prick. Move your ass that way.” He points in the direction of the first maze.
The Exorcist themed one.
Park security lets us discreetly skip to the front of the line. The perks of being around super famous people, I guess. It happens all without alerting the massive crowds that we’ve cut. Loren says it’s for our safety. Waiting for hours in the roped off sections with park-goers is a sure way to cause stampedes and hysteria. They’ll want autographs. Selfies.
We need to blend.
I’m not used to the constant scrutiny as much as them, but I can understand not wanting to be approached.
Ahead of Loren, I enter The Exorcist maze that’s decorated like a little house. Pitch black. I can barely see in front of my face. Demonic cackling echoes around us, and the rest of our group walks in a single-file line.
“OhGodOhGod,” Lily mutters.
I glance back to see her wide-eyed expression, and she’s grabbing onto the back of Loren’s shirt, so much that the collar is tight around Lo’s neck.
Willow and I never went to one of these fright night things together. She’s not into the scary shit as much as me, but I can imagine her here. I’d have my arms around her. She’d be pressed up to my side—
Shit, stop thinking.
Quickly, I look back ahead.
We enter the bedroom area, and a mechanical version of Regan MacNeil sits on the bed. Her head spins three-sixty degrees. It looks like whoever built the robot did a pretty damn good job.
“Cool,” I say, impressed by the production quality. Even speakers are set up that narrate the exorcism from the movie.
