breath.
“It’s Gage, Skyla.” He says it flat as though I should give into the idea that Gage would never hurt me. Even if deep down inside I want that to be true, it’s not at this very moment. The revelation is still fresh with its offense.
“I know it’s Gage,” I whisper. “That’s why it hurts so damn much.”
***
At regular intervals, the lights go out for what feels like a solid span of hours. They come on slowly, glowing like embers as if to rouse us naturally from our slumber. We’ve had no food for weeks, save for the water in the bathroom, and oddly, we don’t crave fluids either.
The useless board games provided by Demetri’s incompetent staff are rife with missing pieces. Box after box of well-worn boards, marbles, plastic houses, and paper money as worthless as our powers within these foreign walls. Then there are the books. Each of them written in some foreign script with fonts that run in dizzying patterns, the characters round and shapely like the figure of a robust woman—it’s almost obscene to try to make them out—calligraphy bordering on pornographic.
The tiny serpent in the water globe amuses us. It quickly becomes our demented little pet. Logan and I track our fingers over the hollowed out glass, and it follows dutifully wherever we lead. It holds a menacing appeal, but there’s a desperation it emits when we try to pull away that says, “play—stay a little longer, don’t leave.” Now and again it bears its silver, pointed teeth. It dares us to think we have power—that we are anything but impotent. It lets us know that it would kill us and eat us if given half a chance.
I drape the velvet blanket over myself like an evening gown, while Logan remains shirtless with the black pants he was wearing at prom.
The bathroom comes complete with a gold toilet. It erects itself from the stone floor like a monument to stupidity, as crass and egotistical as the Counts themselves.
“You think my mom and Tad are looking for us?” I peer over my cards at Logan. We’re embroiled in a heated game with no stakes and loose rules. Really we’re just going through the motions, so we don’t succumb to insanity like they want us to.
“I think everyone’s looking for us.” He lays out a pair of cards with twin symbols printed on them, birds with talons three times the size of their bodies—probably some kind of flying Fem we’ve yet to encounter.
“OK, you win.” I go over and lie on my stomach, pointing at my shoulders. “That means you get to massage me.”
“Very funny.” He moves in next to me, depressing the mattress as he takes a seat. Logan kneads his hands into my back, gently moving in a circular motion. He leans in and brushes his lips over the rim of my ear. “If you’re the prize, I always plan on winning.” He seals the sentiment with a searing kiss, high over my cheek.
Fighting off Logan’s advances has been the real challenge, not that he hasn’t tried to be a perfect gentlemen. Thankfully, he’s no Holden Kragger. Logan wouldn’t breathe in my direction if I asked him not to.
“Tell me something I don’t know about you.” He scratches my back in a series of lethargic circles.
“You know everything about me.” I purr as his assault over my shoulder blades picks up pace. If Chloe the Frankenstiened cheer-bot didn’t snap my back in half, Logan just might. “Slow down, please.”
He reduces the tension by half. “What do you love?”
“You for doing this—you in general. Chocolate, sushi, malt shakes. All things I’m highly deficient in at the moment. Well, other than you.”
“What do you hate?”
“Chloe and clowns. Come to think of it, Chloe is a clown.”
“Other than Chloe. What do you dislike? I want to know you—know everything about you.”
I twist around and study him from this angle. There’s a sweet innocence about him, and Gage wanted me to believe Logan was nothing but a womanizing panty snatcher before I came
“It’s Gage, Skyla.” He says it flat as though I should give into the idea that Gage would never hurt me. Even if deep down inside I want that to be true, it’s not at this very moment. The revelation is still fresh with its offense.
“I know it’s Gage,” I whisper. “That’s why it hurts so damn much.”
***
At regular intervals, the lights go out for what feels like a solid span of hours. They come on slowly, glowing like embers as if to rouse us naturally from our slumber. We’ve had no food for weeks, save for the water in the bathroom, and oddly, we don’t crave fluids either.
The useless board games provided by Demetri’s incompetent staff are rife with missing pieces. Box after box of well-worn boards, marbles, plastic houses, and paper money as worthless as our powers within these foreign walls. Then there are the books. Each of them written in some foreign script with fonts that run in dizzying patterns, the characters round and shapely like the figure of a robust woman—it’s almost obscene to try to make them out—calligraphy bordering on pornographic.
The tiny serpent in the water globe amuses us. It quickly becomes our demented little pet. Logan and I track our fingers over the hollowed out glass, and it follows dutifully wherever we lead. It holds a menacing appeal, but there’s a desperation it emits when we try to pull away that says, “play—stay a little longer, don’t leave.” Now and again it bears its silver, pointed teeth. It dares us to think we have power—that we are anything but impotent. It lets us know that it would kill us and eat us if given half a chance.
I drape the velvet blanket over myself like an evening gown, while Logan remains shirtless with the black pants he was wearing at prom.
The bathroom comes complete with a gold toilet. It erects itself from the stone floor like a monument to stupidity, as crass and egotistical as the Counts themselves.
“You think my mom and Tad are looking for us?” I peer over my cards at Logan. We’re embroiled in a heated game with no stakes and loose rules. Really we’re just going through the motions, so we don’t succumb to insanity like they want us to.
“I think everyone’s looking for us.” He lays out a pair of cards with twin symbols printed on them, birds with talons three times the size of their bodies—probably some kind of flying Fem we’ve yet to encounter.
“OK, you win.” I go over and lie on my stomach, pointing at my shoulders. “That means you get to massage me.”
“Very funny.” He moves in next to me, depressing the mattress as he takes a seat. Logan kneads his hands into my back, gently moving in a circular motion. He leans in and brushes his lips over the rim of my ear. “If you’re the prize, I always plan on winning.” He seals the sentiment with a searing kiss, high over my cheek.
Fighting off Logan’s advances has been the real challenge, not that he hasn’t tried to be a perfect gentlemen. Thankfully, he’s no Holden Kragger. Logan wouldn’t breathe in my direction if I asked him not to.
“Tell me something I don’t know about you.” He scratches my back in a series of lethargic circles.
“You know everything about me.” I purr as his assault over my shoulder blades picks up pace. If Chloe the Frankenstiened cheer-bot didn’t snap my back in half, Logan just might. “Slow down, please.”
He reduces the tension by half. “What do you love?”
“You for doing this—you in general. Chocolate, sushi, malt shakes. All things I’m highly deficient in at the moment. Well, other than you.”
“What do you hate?”
“Chloe and clowns. Come to think of it, Chloe is a clown.”
“Other than Chloe. What do you dislike? I want to know you—know everything about you.”
I twist around and study him from this angle. There’s a sweet innocence about him, and Gage wanted me to believe Logan was nothing but a womanizing panty snatcher before I came
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