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“Wonderlust? Shouldn’t it be Wonderland?” I roll my eyes, not buying into this stripper fairy-tale they must have practiced for weeks. Hell, maybe it’s their whole niche.
“It was once, but not anymore. Lust is the only currency our world knows anymore,” T-Dick answers, his voice grave. Holding my eye, he clicks his fingers and points up at the key, like a giddy up pony gesture. I growl at him, full on Bandersnatch-style.
“And how do you propose I get up there? Stand a-top your shoulders while you look up my dress?”
“Well,” T-Douche chokes on his own voice and I peer over at him. “I’d borrowed this from the Lizard just in case, but your idea sounds much better.” Reaching into the jean pocket that’s too tight to fully fit his hand in, he begins to pull out a stick. It keeps coming, defying the laws of three-inch pockets and I have to wonder if the damn thing was actually strapped to his outer thigh. Plucking the last of the stick out, he holds it level in his open palm for me to peer at closer. Hang on, it’s not a stick after all – but a miniscule wooden ladder that he throws on the ground and pushes me back a step before it balloons to full size.
Eyeballing the ladder, I kick the base with my bare foot and feel the very real agony of a stubbed toe. Okay, that was a little trippy. The drugs are clearly still in my system, causing powerful hallucinations. So powerful that when I firmly grip the timber, a splinter pokes straight into my skin and I curse.
Slapping away the hands that try to grab for me, noting the fleeting compassion in T-Douche’s eyes, I climb the ladder until my face is close enough to the bulb to feel the heat radiating back. The key is wedged right in the fixture, causing me to burn the same splintered hand when trying to pluck it out.
The moment its free, the key tries to shoot out of my grip with the power of a rocket. It tosses me back onto the bed, the cuffs rattling from impact while I struggle to maintain my hold. The metal in my palm is also scorching from the bulb, searing into my now splintered and burnt hand. Why does everything bad always happen in threes? Tossing me this way and that, I catch a glimpse of the twins just standing there, expressionless.
“Fancy helping?!” I grit out, forcing myself back to my feet. Neither move and I do what women do best. Handle it my damn self.
Grasping the key between my cleavage as it tries to shoot out in any direction possible, I slide one foot in front of the other until standing before the heavy fire door. Bending in half, I use my tits as support to navigate the key into the lock, my hands now blistered and angrily red. It slots inside and I cry in triumph, wiping at the sweat coating my forehead. Twisting the key, a deadened cu-clunk rings out, refusing to move. Narrowing my eyes, I try the handle and the door freely swings open.
“I said you’d only need to use the key. I never said the door was locked,” T-Dick says, shoving past me. My mouth drops, my rage bubbling hotter than any external injuries I just sustained until I spot a pair of legs sprawled across the floor. Venturing into the hallway, the rest of the Terminator becomes visible, his eyelids closed over his protruding scar. The twins don’t wait to see if I’m following, their legs moving in powerful, synchronized strides.
Peering from the dimmed hallway to the pitch-black sky beyond the barred windows, I start to piece together why it’s so quiet out here. The inmates are all locked up cozy for the night and the guard’s roster only calls for one patrolling attendant at a time.
Rushing to catch up, because what else am I going to do when adventure comes calling, I follow them all the way back to my room. I’d query how they knew where I resided, but since it’s the only room with the door slightly ajar, I put it down to coincidence. T-Douche drops down on the bed, dislodging Polly while T-Dick paces around the small space, muttering to himself about mimsies and mome raths.
Propping a shoe in the doorway, because I don’t want to be locked in with some strippers until I’m certain they don’t have a fetish for flaying their audience and wearing their birthday suits as part of their act, I stand with my hip cocked.
“Okay so you want to take me somewhere? What’s in it for me?”
“It’s not so much a want,” T-Dick grumbles, pausing his pacing to stare into my mirror, “as it is aneed.” He doesn’t sound at all happy about that which only brings more questions but T-Douche is currently drawing my attention. Sitting cross-legged, he pulls Polly into his lap. Licking his thumbs, he begins to rework her face, shifting the curdled paint back to their origins. Lifeless, large eyes, thinly closed smile. Even the freckles fall back into place as he sits her on my pillow and strokes her down her red, wool hair.
“Here’s how it’s going to work,” T-Dick sighs sharply, taking control where there seems to be none. “We’re going to use this looking glass to portal you back to Wonderlust, and from there on, you’ll need to do everything I say if you want a chance at survival. Our world isn’t what it used to be and you’ll do well to remember that.”
“Is he always so charming?” I tilt my head towards T-Douche, yawning widely. As intended, it bristles every nerve in T-Dick’s body and it only makes me ignore him more. The twin on the bed smirks at me, the shadows slipping into the cervices of his face like an old accomplice, giving the appeal of a hollowed-out skull.
“It’s true we came to recover you, but I’m more of an advocate for free choice. Should you so wish to accompany us home, I’ll do my best to assist you. And for the record, you never have to do anything Tweed says.” For the first time, a slow, genuine smile hitches up the corners of his mouth.
“Tweed, huh? Better than Tweedle-Dick I suppose.” I cock a brow at Tweed, finding the inner monster of this man’s temper rising to the surface. It ripples against his creamy skin, shifting in the pulsating of his muscles while his eyes darken to a dangerous shade of army green. If he’s trying to intimidate me, it won’t work, but there’s a high chance the air being sucked from the room will suffocate me before he finds that out. T-Douche stands, levelling a fist in his twin’s jaw in one swift move neither of us see coming.
“That’s enough,” he spits, taking barely a moment to right himself. With a ping on his thumbs beneath his braces, the relaxed smile returns as if it never left and he spares me a small nod. “Since we’re making introductions - I’m Cash. How do you do?” He briefly bows and misses how I scrunch up my nose. “Let’s get this portal open so we can continue this conversation over a nice cup of tea. That sounds much more pleasant, wouldn’t you agree Alice?”
My heel slams down on Cash’s foot before I can clear the blood that floods my vision. Apparently, his unlaced boots have steel-toe caps and I just about manage to conceal the bolt of pain that shoots up my leg. Grunting into my bottom lip, I circle around to sit beside Polly. Don’t look at me bitch, I scowl at her when she tries to mock me.
Blinking the red haze clear neither of the twins seems surprised by my outburst. Turning their backs to me, I crane my neck to see Tweed pull a handful of glittery powder from his front pocket and blow it against the mirror. The powder sparkles as it rolls down the surface, tumbling freely into the sink and hairbrush below.
Bracing on low legs and bent arms, Tweed has a two-step run up before launching himself into the mirror. His face crunches against the wall beyond, his body crashing into the sink and cracking it into several large chunks of porcelain. Water sprays everywhere and I quickly snatch my hand soap, lathering up the bubbles to wash myself beneath the gown. Can’t pass up a free shower. Cash’s eyes trace the movements of my hands, making no move to aid his groaning brother or step out of the gushing spray.
“Want some?” I ask, offering out the bar of beeswax. His vibrant green eyes don’t waver from mine for a second as his long fingers stretch out. Instead of taking the soap, he slides it up my arm, over my dress sleeve and round the back of my neck. The movement puts us chest to chest, his full lips just above my eye level. Soaping up my nape, I drop the bar with a thud on the ground, entranced how he uses the lubricant to circle my neck. His other hand joins, lathering my throat, his thumbs brushing the line of my jaw as he prepares to say something.
“What the bloody fuck-” Tweed curses, pushing himself up against the spray and holding a bloody nose. He slips and slides, using the grip on his twin’s arm to fully regain his footing. The spell I was temporarily under snaps and I shove Cash’s chest, forcing him to step back because I’m sure as shit not moving. No way, no how.
“Payback for the unlocked door,” I shrug at Tweed, unable to find my laughter at both his broken nose and stupidity. “All the mirrors here are synthetic - as in, fake. They can’t trust the inmates not to smash the glass and use it to hold an attendant hostage or cut out the middleman, so to speak, and just kill themselves with it.” A note of distain claims the twin’s faces at that last option, a transient hint of grief that’s locked down before I can grasp it.
The pair suddenly turn to each other, shouting at the top of their lungs. I can’t decipher which words leave who’s mouth but I catch the gist.I told you it wouldn’t work. She has to return. We can’t force her. You’ll do as I say. Your mum’s an ostrich.Pushing my way between them, I cover each of their faces with one of my blistered hands.
“Okay, okay! Jesus titty fucking Christ!” At my outburst, both twins stalk away to different sides of the room, crossing their arms and glaring at the other. Wow, mature much. Lengthening my spine, I take the role of the dripping wet, bossy matron.
“Look, I’ve got my own agenda here so a break-out would work in my favor. But I have two rules,” I brush my hands over my tatted hair, now even more knotted with unrinsed bubbles. “Firstly, you’ll do everythingIsay because somehow, I seem to be the only one capable of results, and secondly, don’t ever, fucking never ever, say my trigger word.”
“And that would be?” Cash asks, sitting forward on intrigue. Holding up a hand to prepare myself, a shudder rolls through my spine.
