Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 70445 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70445 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
“You really were,” I agree and watch as she roots around the area, unearthing more treasures. An ancient Barbie, covered in soil. Cans of Coke, gone bad by now. A box of colored pencils, a coloring book, a journal so waterlogged and rotten the words are all gone, plastic My Little Pony dolls, Backstreet Boys CDs, and a dozen other trinkets.
“My escape,” she says and turns her back to me, rubbing her face. I can’t tell if she’s crying or trying to calm down or what. “I shouldn’t be surprised that it’s all still here, but I am anyway.”
“I guess your family doesn’t make it out here much.” I scoop up a half-rotten Vogue Magazine and hold it pinched between two fingers. “You had a very… eclectic reading habit.”
“I read everything,” she says, shaking one of the drums. “Whatever I could get my hands on.”
“Did you have friends?”
Her eyes flash to mine. “That’s a weird question.”
“And I notice you’re not answering.”
Her jaw works, but after a moment, she turns her back on me. “No, I didn’t,” she says and walks to the edge of the clearing. “Not when I was younger at least. I made friends at school, but when I was coming here the most—” She only shrugs slightly, her back tensing and relaxing. “It was lonely.” She turns to face me again. “What about you? Do you have friends?”
I let out a bitter laugh. “I have secrets.”
“Is that a fancy way of saying no?”
“That’s a fancy way of saying nobody likes the guy that does the dirty work. Nobody likes the guy that knows where the bodies are buried.” I avoid her gaze and stare down at the rotting magazine instead. Isn’t this supposed to be about her right now? I should be teasing her about the Dungeons & Dragons and the video games and the high fashion, but instead I feel more exposed than I’ve been in a long while.
There’s always been a gap between me and everyone else. I want to pretend it’s a recent thing and a product of all the jobs I’ve done for the rich and the filthy over the years, but I know the truth. It’s always been like this, even back when I knew Melody in school—the lies I tell myself and the stories I spin for everyone else create a gap between the me deep down and the person I present to the world.
That means nobody gets in. Nobody sees past the veil. And for a long time, I liked it that way, at least until I met somebody with narrative armor as thick as my own.
Melody brushes her hair back and smiles. It’s a sad smile, one tinged with pity. I hate it, and love it—the way her lips pull up, the way her head tilts, the gleam in her pretty eyes—and I move closer to her. She doesn’t back away, only tilts her chin up to meet my gaze, like a challenge.
“Why’d you run away from here?” I ask quietly, and the wind buzzes through the trees. Melody goes stiff, her jaw tightening. It was the wrong question to ask but curiosity’s stabbing me in the guts. She clearly loves this place, so what drove her away? What, aside from her asshole cousins? What would make her turn her back on this land, these animals, this life? Once she came of age, nothing else would matter—so why turn her back on it?
“It’s an ugly story,” she says and brushes past me, coming close enough that I can smell her, soft and floral. “And I don’t feel like telling it.”
“Would you tell me the truth even if you did?”
She doesn’t answer, only finds the path and heads back to the house.
We don’t come across anyone until we get close to the barn. A couple guys are there working on a fence, fixing a fallen post. Melody doesn’t seem to recognize them, but both stop what they’re doing to stare, and I get a bad feeling down my spine. When we get close to the house, the girl Daisy from earlier steps out the back door and stares at Melody, her nostrils flared. I feel like we just walked into a trap like an old-timey gunslinger rolling into town only to be ambushed by the local sheriff and his corrupt cronies.
“I really couldn’t believe it when I saw you,” Daisy says, her eyes locked on Melody, who stands a few yards away. I linger close and let everyone know how things stand: Melody’s mine to keep safe, and I don’t care how much these cousins hate each other, I’m not about to let anyone get close.
“And I really can’t believe the state of this place.” Melody’s tone is barely restrained anger. “Seriously, Daisy. What’s going on here?”
“Nothing’s going on,” Daisy says, making a face. “You always thought you were better than everyone else, Melody, and it looks like nothing’s changed.”