CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The tires spun, and my entire body felt like it was flying alongside them. Thick clouds of smoke crowded the air after each turn, and music spilled from the truck's speakers.

It reminded me of riding on the merry-go-round at the fair as a kid every summer, this being the more intense version of that, of course.

I never wanted to get off, not then, and certainly not now. I wanted the world to spin and the music to go on forever.

"Oh my god!" I could barely hear Lydia over all the excitement. "This is crazy!"

I laughed. "I know, right!" The grip on my waist tightened.

His touch was cold—not in the literal sense; I was so out of body that I could hardly feel the wind whipping on my face, let alone his body heat—but there was an emptiness.

His body didn't sculpt into mine like Julian's did. It was nice, of course, to feel his muscles tense around my stomach with every turn, trying desperately to keep me in the truck bed. But it wasn't what I knew, like sleeping in a motel compared to the comfort of your own home.

For obvious reasons, the truck kept away from the fire. The lack of light left me struggling to see his face, the shadows holding his features hostage.

"What's your name?" He asked, his brown eyes looking into mine.

"Faith." My response echoed in my ears, like the words coming from my mouth were not mine at all, but somebody else's.

The truck swerved, and his muscles constricted around me. "I'm Chris."

The static in my stomach flickered its black and white light, the adrenaline strengthening the cracks that kept me in my constant, fragile state.

"What school do you go to?" I called out, his face so close to mine that I could smell the liquor on his breath.

"Southwestern."

He wasn't Julian. But I guess I'm not me anymore either. The girl who loved him was like a stranger that I couldn't place. I was so far from her now—the person I used to be.

"We go to Liberty!" Lydia must've been eavesdropping on our conversation. "Well, we used to anyway."

"Congrats." Said the boy beneath her.

She was a lot more accepting of her partner's advances than I was comfortable with. He wasn't Joseph, but Lydia was a puzzle without a solution; you couldn't keep up even if you wanted to.

The ride ended, against my wishes, and everyone piled out of the truck bed. The boy waited for me on the grass; it was easier to see his build now that he was standing up right.

He was slim and only taller than me by a few feet. The Chevy's taillight shattered some of his mystery, and I could see each dark ringlet that curled at the top of his head.

"You guys wanna come see my tent?" Lydia led us in the charge across the field and towards the furious orange flames. I could feel the heat slowly growing in intensity the closer we got. "Are you guys staying out here tonight?"

She addressed all of us, but I knew that there was only one answer she was really looking for.

"Yeah, that was the plan." Chris' friend replied. "We don't have a tent though; I was probably just gonna sleep it off in the car."

It wasn't just the heat that crept back up on us. I could hear the noises growing with every step we took. The night was progressing, and people were starting to feel the consequences of their delinquency.

"Maybe we could all just share my tent." Lydia was very good at her role as a predator, and the hunt never failed to excite her. "We can wake up early and go swim in the lake."

Chris didn't say anything; he didn't have to. He wasn't going to leave the sun to shine all by herself.

"This is it," Lydia said. "It was my dad's, but he left it behind when he moved out." Hers was the closest to the fire in the small village of tents. It was as nice as tents go—a small, four-person canopy that was staked firmly into the ground.

She unzipped the canvas material, showing us into her shelter for the evening. It had all the necessities—a few blankets, one pillow, and an unopened bottle of vodka.

Beside me, Chris propped what was left of a joint in between his lips. "It's nice." He moved a lighter to his mouth, positioning the flame where the paper had once burned.

"You really don't mind if we stay here tonight?" His friend asked, grabbing the joint from Chris' slim fingers.

"No, I don't wanna sleep in here all by myself." Her laugh sounded like velvet, the flames swimming in the pool of green that were her eyes.

I could hear the fire crackling; its warmth was comparable to Hades' hellfire. It was calling me, luring me closer with its persuasive touch, and I listened.

Someone came up behind me as I stared curiously into the inferno. I felt as their hand pressed softly against the small of my back. "You gonna stay with me tonight?" The hand slowly made its way lower on my body.

Their touch was cold and empty; I knew without looking that it had to be Chris. I wanted to move, but I couldn't.

The point of no return stared back at me, from the other side of the large wall of flames. I could still see his stiff expression, but I didn't know what to make of it.

In a way, this was better. There were no amount of words that could accurately describe what he had done to me; maybe my only solution was to show him just how bad it hurt.

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