The Eyes Of Wonderland

#Chapter7-04

#Chapter7-04

Without so much as a ‘bye’, I turned on my heels, making for the door. The war drums in my head had eased slightly, the pressure that had been building behind my eyes less demanding, but passing another incense, breathing in another nosefull of lavender, it seemed to jumpstart the shitty feelings.

“Hey, wait.”

I had my hand on the handle. Should have turned it and marched out. Instead, almost on instinct, I turned to face him. Stopping a foot away, he offered a small, wary smile.

“What do you want?”

“To apologize. Properly. Last night . . . I don't do things like that. I’m sorry that you regret what happened between us but — "

“Shut your mouth.” Jabbing a finger at him, lip curling into a sneer, it took everything I had to force my volume down from a shout. The witch behind the counter had pulled out a magazine to read, but even still, I swore I could still feel her gaze. She didn't need the glossy details of last night’s revolting escalation. “I’m not gay, alright? I have a girlfriend. Last night didn't happen. At all.”

Or, at least, I had a girlfriend. f**k knows where we stood now. It’d been at least a week since we’d last spoken after our last row. She’d sworn —as she always did — that we were over this time, but I doubted it.

The wind rattled the windows in their frames, the sound echoing around the small quarters, but Deacon seemed unphased. His focus had zeroed in on me, unblinking for an agonizing moment, before he gave a curt nod.

“Pretend it didn't happen if you like, Isaac, but I think you’re in denial.” He straightened. Seemed to grow on the spot until it felt as though he was towering over me. “You were drunk, sure. But you weren't that drunk. There was lucidity among it. You knew what you were doing. You just can’t handle the truth. You wanted me. You want me. You’re just afraid of what that means. But good luck with your girlfriend.”

“f**k. You,” I spat, enough venom in the words to bring down a full-sized elephant. He was wrong. Whatever f****d up delusion he was suffering, he was wrong. He’d done something to me. Must have. Drugged me maybe? Put a hex on me? It was the only plausible explanation.

I wasn't like Blake, and I sure as hell wasn't going to suffer the same social suicide he had endured when he’d announced that he liked gobbling d**k. Not over a mistake. A drunken mistake, at that.

“If you breathe a word of this to anybody,” I continued, the burn creeping back into my system, fueled by the terrifying thought of Micah and the boys finding out and branding me with the same stick as Blake, “And I’ll tell everybody what kind of f****d up s**t you’re into. Don’t think I forgot what you made me call you.”

“Don’t threaten me, sweetheart,” he said in the same aggravatingly calm tone he’d used since I’d arrived. It was infuriating. Had my molars locking so damn hard that pain erupted through the back of my mouth. “You don't have to worry about me telling anybody. Besides, that’s not how it went, remember? I didn't make you call me anything. I asked you if that was what you were into because of how you were behaving and you said — ”

“Stop f*****g lying.” Boom. Boom. Boom. Harder and harder, the pounding against my chest was relentless. “Just shut your mouth. For good. Or else.”

“If you were to tell people what I’m into,” he said, having the audacity to smile, “You’d have a hard time keeping it quiet that you went along with it, wouldn't you? I’ve already given you my word. There’s no need for idle threats.”

With no answer and hellfire for blood, I spun on my heels, yanking the door open so hard that smacked against the wall with a loud thump.

Blake had waited for me. The music was cranked, leaking out through the sealed windows, and his seat was reclined, arms behind his head. He bolted upright when I yanked the door open, face buckling into a frown.

“Didn't go well, I take it?” he asked, eyes darting between me and the store behind me.

“He said I could pick it up once he’s done at work,” was all I offered.

“Alright,” Blake murmured. “Oz has only got a half day today. We were heading to your mom’s once I picked him up. You tagging along?”

Well, considering that I still lived at home and refusing would have only been spiting myself, I gave a sullen nod, yanking on the seatbelt so damn hard that the safety mechanism kicked in, stopping it dead. It took two more attempts to get the thing into the clicky-locky majigy.

“Did he piss you off?” A ten minute drive later and nothing but an uncomfortable silence having festered between, Blake’s words brought reality crashing back. The car had stopped, wayside to a still, trafficless country road. Fields spread out to the left, bowing into a dip as a small slice of construction sprouted up.

Off the beaten path and home to eggs and unprocessed meat and s**t, the farm shop stood as proudly as a shoddy, barely noticed shop could. The paint had flayed, peeling from the woodwork, and few cars loitered in the carpark. Working there would have been a hell unlike any other, but Oz loved it there for some reason.

“Why are you talking to me?” I snapped in reply. Oz had begged me to be civil to Blake. That even if I wasn't ready to patch up the bloody hole the betrayer had torn between us, I’d at least try and offer a sense of common decency; I had tried, but it was so f*****g hard to maintain when he had a habit of trying to make things the way they were before.

Last night, crawling to him in my pitiful state, it had been as much of a mistake as what had happened with the freak. It had been the drink getting to me. Nothing more.

But obviously the son of a b***h seemed to think it made us pals again.

“Because I’m worried about you,” came the eventual reply. He didn't turn or look away from his straight-and-forward position. “Sorry for caring, I guess.”

I didn't answer. Refused. Throwing him a sour look, I let my head fall back against the seat, eyes squeezing shut.

Tomorrow will be better, I promised myself, ignoring the snide snigger of doubt that seemed to chase after it. Then, an afterthought, added, probably.