Chapter 31 Aston #2
Tonight, they’ll be meeting in person for the first time, from what I’ve managed to gather.
He wouldn’t tell me much, and I only had time to skim the messages before I was busted.
He’s lucky I’ll be otherwise occupied this evening. If it wasn’t for my date, I’d be all up in my little bro’s rear to find out who his mystery lover is.
I don’t even have a name. The number in Eden’s phone was just that—a number. Not even a cute lil pet name.
Heck, I can’t even be certain it is a boy. Though I’d bet the fifty in my pocket it is.
And not just because of Eden’s other little secret.
Of course, he freaked when he caught me snooping through his phone—took me two days of groveling outside his bedroom door to get him to forgive me.
Just like he freaked when he caught me chilling out in his room my first weekend living with them, lounging around a pile of clothes I dug out from a chest in his closet, twirling a lime-green bralette around my finger mere days after he warned me awa—
Fuck.
I wasn’t supposed to tell you that.
Don’t tell Eden I blabbed!
Anyway! I tried to resist invading his privacy…I really did.
But like I said before—desperate times and all.
He was ignoring all my efforts to befriend him, and I was running out of ideas.
Not to mention, nothing tempts me more than a secret waiting to be discovered.
And it was very obvious my new little brother was hiding something.
And I needed something to get him to do what I want.
As for what he was hiding…
Well, I’m not sure yet even he knows, if the flushed, stuttering indignation and panic that took over him that day was anything to go by.
“It’s not what you think.”
“You can’t say anything.”
“It’s…nothing.”
“I don’t know, okay! I don’t fucking know.”
“I was just…curious.”
Really, I don’t get what the big deal is. It’s just clothes. I wear plenty of things that society would probably deem girly. And yeah, it might get me some weird looks sometimes, but who the flip-fuck cares? They’re just jealous they can’t be as fabulous as me, rocking cashmere and pink.
Methinks there’s something else going on with Eden…
Especially given how weird he got when I told him he was pretty that day in my room.
Something that goes far deeper than bralettes, skirts, and make-up.
He just hasn’t figured out what it is yet.
Lucky for him, he’s got me now to lure him out of his shell and help move things along.
Case in point.
After catching him eyeing up the lipstick I had on my desk a few too many times to be just casual glances—the one I use for decorating my diary and mirror with kissy faces—brow furrowed like he was trying to solve an impossible problem…
Well, I figured if ever there was a time to encourage him to explore his femme side out in the open, it would be Halloween.
I’m honestly surprised he didn’t put up more of a fight just now, especially given our recent little tiff over me snooping. But then again, it was just a touch of mascara. It’s not like I forced him into a cute dress and dolled up his hair. Small steps.
Up ahead, a red light flashes, followed by what sounds like chains rattling. The upbeat family friendly music that played in the parking lot gives way something darker and pulse-pounding as I draw closer, giving way to the roar of the rides, and twinkling carnival music, and din of the crowd.
Following in Eden’s footsteps, I take in the sights around me.
Surrounding the rides, vendors line up along the gravel—smoke curling up into the night, the sizzling scents of fried foods and sweets permeating the air.
Past them, a line leads to a booth with a big handwritten sign stating TICKETS above it.
I don’t see Eden anywhere, but then again, there are a lot of people dressed similarly to him.
Yawn. Where are the ghouls and sexy masked men?
Thankfully, the line moves quicker than I anticipated, and before I know it, I’ve got one ticket to the Tunnel of Horror and am making my way toward the line for the mine car that is apparently being used to transfer people back and forth.
According to one of the signs near the ticket booth, it’s a 300 feet descent down the only currently active slope—appropriately numbered for this night: #666. The numbers painted in drippy blood-red above the tunnel entrance.
It’s eerily quiet as I wait, save for the heavy thump of Rob Zombie’s “Dragula” playing from nearby speakers—I know this one because it’s on Eden’s playlist—the low chatter, and the distant sound effects coming from the mine tunnel waiting for me—creaks and groans and the clanging of tools, as if to mimic miners.
Behind my mask, I can’t contain my smile as excitement buzzes through my veins, making me twitchy with impatience.
Is Vale here yet? Is he already down there, waiting for me? Pacing nervously, wringing his hands, plotting all the ways he’ll wreck my ass tonight…
That chain-rattling sound returns, growing louder, and I realize it’s the sound of the mine cars rolling over the track. Now that I’m closer, I can hear the faint whir of a motor.
The mine car looks more like a very shallow train than a car, with six box-like carts made up of dark, gnarled slats of wood.
It’s a lot bigger than it looks at first glance.
I figured I’d have to wait at least another trip, given there’s about fifteen people ahead of me.
But I manage to squeeze in with a group of two girls and two guys in the last cart.
Rather than pair off, the girls stick together with one of the guys. Leaving the bench facing theirs for me and the fourth member of their group.
Whereas the dude across from me wears heavy zombie make-up—not unlike one of the girls; finally, some holiday spirit—making it impossible to determine if I know him or not, my bulky neighbor is dressed more similarly to Eden in a black Archers hoodie and jeans.
Only he doesn’t wear a face covering, so I can make his features out easily.
Well, as easily as I can through my mask in such poor lighting.
He looks vaguely familiar. His voice sounds familiar too. Pretty sure we share a class together—math maybe?
The girl dressed not as a zombie, but as a vampire—with fangs and blood and all—I don’t recognize. She spots me looking her way, and her mouth twitches around a quiet, “Hey.”
For a long moment, I just stare at her. Loving the way her heavily lined eyes start to dart around nervously, her expression faltering. It’s only then, when the air is thick with awkwardness, that I lift my hand, and give her a wiggling wave of my fingers.
Her brow knits and she quickly drops her gaze.
The others seem to have caught on to the shift in the air, making the space feel all the more confining. And as someone who is not a huge fan of small spaces, I use their growing unease as a much appreciated distraction.
“‘Scared, Sydney?’” the guy next to me says deeply. If it wasn’t for the sour smell of beer wafting from his breath, I’d probably be a little turned on.
Vampira kicks him. “Very funny, asshole.” Whether or not her real name is Sydney remains to be seen.
“Aw, don’t be like that. He’s harmless.” A heavy arm is slung around me, and I tense. The beer on his breath and eking from his pores makes it hard to breathe suddenly. Yep. No. Definitely not turned on. “That right, Stu?” he says on a laugh.
Under my mask, I roll my eyes and huff indignantly. I could be Billy! Asshole.
“Dude,” Zombie-guy says with a shake of his head.
Slowly turning my head toward the guy next to me—the one who couldn’t be bothered to wear a costume—I smile from behind my mask as I feel around for the knife in my left-side pocket.
Some blood smeared around his face would sure help him fit in more…
I’m dimly aware of a throat clearing just as someone else climbs into the mine car, squeezing into the vacant spot next to me. I catch traces of cologne—something familiar—but I’m too focused on the drunk asshole with his arm around me to pay it much notice.
My lips rise in a manic smile he can’t see as I lean toward him, getting all up in his space. He stiffens, and everyone seems to be holding their breath.
Soft music playing from hidden speakers inside the train car fill the strained silence. Some mash-up of spooky sound effects—creaking and ghostly moans—interspersed with a little girl humming the lullaby from Rosemary’s Baby.
It only heightens the thrill of the moment.
Quietly—but not too quiet that the others don’t hear me—I say, “I have a boyfriend, you know. And he’s waiting for me.
” I tilt my head ever so slightly, rubbing my mask along his face, breathing heavily for effect.
“‘He’s big, and he plays football…’” I say sweetly, before baring my teeth Through them, deepening my voice, I all but snarl the rest of the words, “‘And he’ll kick the shit out of you.’”
For a moment, he remains completely motionless.
And then when it seems to click what I said, the guy coughs out a short laugh. “Ha. Funny.”
Yeah, it’ll be even funnier when your insides are on the outside, I think, as I open my knife, and poke into his side, hard enough to be felt through my robe and his sweatshirt, but light enough it doesn’t break through the barriers.
He stiffens, a heavy, expectant silence permeating the tension-thick air once more, save for the humming and chimes.
My fingers twitch, and with slow, jerky movements, the arm around me slinks back to where it came from.
And I didn’t even have to stab him!
#winning
Without any warning, the door to our car slams shut, extinguishing all traces of light. Much to my irritation, I flinch.
“Jesus,” someone mutters at the same time another yelps. A slimy chuckle fills the space—who it came from, I have no idea.
Closing the knife, I grip it tight enough to leave grooves in my palm.
The stench of stale beer combined with the cologne coming from the quiet lone straggler on my other side has saliva flooding my mouth.