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Shit. I’m back to babe. Why does that suddenly freaking hurt?
I feel like a rotting pumpkin. The outside looks perfectly fine and like it was just picked from the field. But you have no idea how fucked up it really is until you slice it open and all the disgusting goo comes pouring out. Ford cut me open last night, and I covered him in goo.
It’s fine. This is what I wanted, right? I don’t want him scrambling my brain with something more.
Friends.
Friends for October—that’s what we are.
Ford reaches his hand up toward me, and right when I think he’s going to grab my face and kiss me in front of everyone, he reaches up higher and uses a finger to flick one of the two foam ghosts bobbing above my head.
“Nice headband.”
I let out the breath I was holding, but I probably should have kept it inside. My body immediately remembersthat fingerin particular being inside me, and I have to cover up a moan with a cough as I lift my chin toward him.
“Nice outfit.”
Ford sighs, looking away from me to glare at the mayor, ironically wearing a giant bottle of ketchup costume while he stands in line for a corndog at one of the food trucks.
“Fucking Phil… I think he ordered the wrong size on purpose. All these goddamn tourists wanting pictures…. Why are there so many Halloween luminaries all over the place? It’s a fucking fire hazard.”
This is good. He’s acting normal and not like I verbally kicked him in the stomach last night and he hates me for it. He’s acting like Friend Ford. Gruff and annoyed. Bitching about everyone and everything, like usual. This is what I wanted. Acting ordinary, like friends, just like always.
You know, until this year. Until I found out whatmorewith Ford Prescott would be like, and this friendship we have suddenly doesn’t feel like enough.
God, this sucks.
“You wanna sit down?”
Ford gestures to one of the bales of hay with a fluffy orange blanket over it next to us as the lights start going off under the tents and everyone starts grabbing seats.
“Are you sure you can in those pants?” I snort.
“Funny,” Ford deadpans as I take a seat on the hay bale and look up at him.
“It will be when they shred like Bruce Banner’s when he’s turning into the Hulk.”
We’re both holding our breaths as Ford ever-so-slowly sits down next to me, the seams in his pants actually groaning in protest as he does. I let out another snort, my eyes moving up to his face to find him staring down at my feet as I cross my legs.
I’m wearing a pair of the Converse he brought to my house last night. A white pair with blood splatters all over them. I don’t know if I subconsciously put them on because I wanted something touching my body that reminded me of last night, or because they were perfect for tonight’s event. It’s not like I needed a reminder of what happened. It’s all I can think about. The good and the bad.
“I thought you’d still be mad at me.”
Here we go. Time to focus and talk.
I have to look away from him when I speak, too afraid that look of disappointment will flash in his eyes like it did last night.
“I’m not mad; I get it.” Ford’s arm brushes against the side of mine when I feel him shrug. “You just want a one-time thing. It’s what you do, right?”
Right, right. It’s what you do. Nod like you understand what he’s saying.
I chance a glance at him instead, expecting to see a carefree look on his face that matches his words. My breath gets caught in my throat when I see a pinched, tight expression instead, like it made him physically sick to say those words out loud.
I don’t nod. I don’t do anything but say a bunch of dumb words that feel like they’re coming from someone else’s mouth.
“I get it too. You don’t just want a one-time thing. You want a once-a-year thing while you’re in town, right? That’s… that sounds great. I’m sure it would be great. Just… great. But I think it would be better if we went back to… you know… before. I’m not really a repeat customer, if you know what I mean.”
God, you sound like an idiot.
