Total pages in book: 179
Estimated words: 167819 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 839(@200wpm)___ 671(@250wpm)___ 559(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 167819 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 839(@200wpm)___ 671(@250wpm)___ 559(@300wpm)
Sin grabs my hair, yanking my head back, and places his face in front of mine. His eyes search my now tear-streaked face with satisfaction as if he likes seeing me like this. “If you want to come, you’ll show up tonight.” Then with that, he and his two best friends exit the classroom.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
ELLINGTON
THE FREAK SHOW. Ten o’clock. Wear your Halloween costume from last year.
I read over the text for the hundredth time. Sin sent it to me an hour ago. I stand in the parking lot by my car. I just arrived, and it’s a quarter to ten. After I managed to get myself together, I exited the classroom and went straight home. I took a shower and woke up a few hours later in my bed. I didn’t mean to take a nap, but I was exhausted. Then like an idiot, I got out of bed and started getting ready for him.
Why the fuck am I here?
Why not?
I’m the one using him, right? I have always had darker thoughts when it came to sex, and I always believed that what I wanted was wrong. No one has ever told me that. I just know it from overhearing my mother’s sessions with her clients. She never judged them. They did enough of that themselves. Who wants to be choked, slapped, and treated like a piece of meat? We’re supposed to be treated like queens, not cheap whores. Maybe that’s what I am. What I’ll always be.
The Freak Show is the old fairgrounds tucked back deep into the woods of Pennsylvania. Once abandoned, they reopened it about five years ago. It’s here all year round. Every day is like Halloween. Hence the name Freak Show. People come from all around to visit.
My phone vibrates, and I look down to see it’s a new text from Sin.
You have three options: pick one.
Trick or treat
Run to hide
Bleed and die.
I read over the message a couple of times, trying to decipher his riddle. I have no clue what it means.
Trick or treat. I answer, thinking that sounds the most self-explanatory.
Sinful, sinful, little demon. You are my light like the devil is to freedom.
My frown deepens. Light? Devil? What the fuck is he talking about? Another message comes through, and I open it up to see it’s a picture of me standing in the middle of the parking lot.
I look up to see where the picture came from, and it’s the house of mirrors. Swallowing nervously, I start to make my way in that direction and almost trip over my heels in the rocky parking lot. This is what I wore to the guys’ Halloween party last year that they had at the house of Lords, which included heels. I should have switched them out for tennis shoes.
Making my way through the crowd of people, I enter the crooked house. I haven’t been here in years. The last time was with Kira. I was rolling my ass off, and she was my designated driver.
I grip the metal railing and walk up the stairs inside. The sounds of clown laughter fill my ears, making the hairs on the back of my neck rise. I know it’s fake, but it’s no different than sitting down and watching a scary movie, knowing damn well it’s not real. You can’t control how your body reacts.
Misattribution of arousal is physiological confusion. My body confuses itself as to why it’s being aroused. For example, fear. When I experience a massive overload of adrenaline, I get turned on. I get off on the unknown.
There’s a hallway to the left and another to the right. I take the one on my right, slowly walking down the narrow pathway. My arms are out to my sides, running my fingers along the floor-length mirrors. Red and blue lights flash from above, making it hard to see. It’s as if the walls are closing in on me, but it’s just an illusion. I stumble in my heels, my breath coming faster and faster by the second while “Thank You for Hating Me” by Citizen Soldier comes from the speakers lined along the ceiling.
I come to the end of the hall and look at myself in the mirror. I’ve got black leather bunny ears on. They cover the top half of my face; all you can see are my eyes. I’ve got them done smoky with black eye shadow, eyeliner, and mascara. My lips are blood red to match my nails. I wear a strapless black leotard that has a built-in bra to push up my large breasts, and I top it off with fishnet tights. It’s a slutty Halloween outfit at its finest.
Reaching out to touch the mirror, I fall forward but manage to stay standing. There isn’t a mirror there. What? What the hell was I looking at, then?