Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 123361 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 617(@200wpm)___ 493(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123361 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 617(@200wpm)___ 493(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
“I was such a troublemaker, my mother threw me out when I was nine.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I piped up.
“I’m not. I dodged a bullet.”
“And your dad?”
“He didn’t.” The man retrieved a cigarette pack he kept in his rolled-up shirtsleeve, a-la Jack Nicholson in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. He cupped his palm over his mouth and lit another cancer stick. I noticed Stoner Guy saw and didn’t say a word. “He was shot when I was a kid.”
“Deservingly?” I heard myself ask.
“Very much so.” Hot Stranger sucked on his cigarette, the orange ember flaring like that thing behind my ribcage. “How ’bout your folks?”
“Both alive.”
“But someone else isn’t. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be crying.” He exhaled a spiral of smoke skyward. We both watched as the gray mist above us evaporated.
“I lost someone tonight,” I admitted.
“Who?”
“No offense, but that’s none of your business.”
“None taken, but just for the record…” he tilted my chin up with the hand holding his cigarette “…everything in Suffolk County is my fucking business, sweetheart, and right now, you’re within county limits, so think again.”
An odd feeling washed over me. Fear, desire, and kinship battled inside me. He was direct and aggressive, a fighter. As unlikely as it sounded, I knew he and I were cracked in the same place, even though we’d both been broken in different ways.
Our cart began to move, slicing through a black vinyl curtain. A giant, plastic zombie leaned forward from a veil of green smoke, laughing lowly into my ear.
“The monster’s gonna get ya.”
There were beasts twirling, screaming zombies that spat water in our faces, and a family of corpses having dinner. A baby’s red eyes shot lasers at us.
The train of carts ascended to the top, slow and steady. People all around us squeaked in excitement.
“Do you ever feel lost?” I whispered.
The stranger laced his fingers with mine on the scratched plastic bench beneath us. His hand was warm, dry, and calloused. Mine was cold, soft, and sweaty. I didn’t pull away, even when danger began humming around me, thickening the air, depriving me from oxygen.
Play with monsters, but don’t be surprised when you get beaten.
“No. I had to find myself at a young age.”
“Lucky you.”
“I wouldn’t use that word to describe me.” He chuckled.
“Not Irish, then?” I couldn’t help but probe.
He didn’t look Irish—he was too tall, too broad, too tan—but he had that Southie accent most blue-collar Irish men sported.
“Depends on how you look at it,” he answered. “Back to the subject at hand—your being lost.”
“Yes, right.” I cleared my throat, thinking about her again. “I don’t think I’ll ever find myself. I don’t have many friends. In fact, I only had one really true friend, and she died today.”
“There is nothing to find. Life is not about finding yourself. It’s about creating yourself. There’s something liberating about knowing your own bones, all the things you are capable of. Being unapologetically yourself makes you invincible.” His voice seeped into me, hitting roots. Our fingers tightened together. Our cart jerked here and there while zombies sent arms flying in our direction, trying to catch us. People around us giggled and screamed.
He hadn’t said he was sorry for my loss like everyone else had. “And who are you?” I breathed.
“I’m a monster.”
“No, really,” I protested.
“It’s true. I thrive in the dark. My job is to implement fear, and I am some people’s nightmare. Like all monsters, I always take what I want.”
We reached the highest point. The peak.
“And what I want right now, Aisling, is to kiss you.”
The cart jerked back, screeched, then tipped down, falling at an increasing speed.
The stranger muffled my scream with his mouth. His hot, salty lips sealed mine possessively. All my inhibitions, fears, and anxiety evaporated. He tasted of cigarettes, mint gum, and sex. Like a man. I let go of the rails, clutching the thin fabric of his black shirt, drawing him close, drowning in what we were in that moment. A monster devouring a princess, with no knight in sight to save her.
He tilted his head and cupped my cheek, his other hand cradling the back of my head. His tongue prodded my mouth open, touching mine—gently at first—before I let our kiss deepen. Our tongues twisted together, dancing, teasing, searching. My stomach dipped, and my anxiety dissolved.
The world felt different. Brighter. Bigger.
Warmth pooled between my legs, and my groin rocked forward on its own accord. I felt achingly empty. I squeezed my thighs together just as I felt a lash of fresh air on my face.
The ride was over.
We were back out.
He broke our kiss, drawing back, his face expressionless. Terrifyingly calm.
The girls in the cart behind us mumbled “holy shit” and “that was hot” and “yeah, it’s definitely him, Tiff.”
Him who?
“First kiss, huh?” He wiped a smudge of saliva from the corner of my mouth with his thumb, cold amusement dancing in his eyes. Like I was a toy. Something laughable, replaceable. “You’ll get the hang of it.”