Page 1 of A Very Gay Halloween (Curious #19)

THE GRIM REAPER hates me, and it's my fault.

I poke my head from around the corner, scanning the inside of the old, industrial warehouse.

Elaborate, glow-in-the-dark spiderwebs loom from every corner.

When I don't immediately spot him, I step out from the tiny, musty nook I've been occupying for the past twenty minutes. It's risky, but I need to stretch.

I shake off my limbs, groaning. The white apron I'm wearing must weigh at least twenty pounds, mostly because the blood smeared all over hasn't had a chance to dry yet. Such is the fate of a butcher, I guess.

We still have some time until showtime, so I pace back and forth in the narrow corridor that wasn't here just two weeks ago.

There's a black plywood wall to my left, and two barred gates to my right, separated by a rusty faucet leaking blood.

Fake blood, of course, but the sound makes me shiver all the same.

If I had known things would turn out this way, I would have never agreed to this in the first place.

It was a fun idea on paper. A horror house experience to kickstart a night of drinking, and trick or treating, and pumpkin-shaped everything, meticulously designed to bury the hatchet between two fraternities.

It was Jason's idea, and he's spent the past two weeks organizing, planning, and bossing everyone around.

It was supposed to be fun . But of course nothing in my life can ever go smoothly, and two days ago Jason twisted his ankle, passing the baton to none other than—

"Butcher!"

I stop dead in my tracks, my body going rigid. I count down from three, taking deep breaths that do fuck all to calm me before I turn around to the source of the voice.

Cooper .

Drunk on his newfound power, he glares at me, face partially covered by the massive hood of his black robe. And he has the audacity to point his scythe at me.

"Why aren't you at your post?"

Because we still have ten minutes, you absolute dimwit , I almost say, but stop myself at the last second. It's not worth it. "Sorry," I mumble instead and make my way to my designated nook.

He huffs before disappearing around the corner.

Yes, the grim reaper hates me, and even though it's absolutely of my own doing, I can't help but mentally stick several needles into my imaginary Cooper-shaped voodoo doll.

It all started during rush week.

***

"COOPER," HE'D INTRODUCED himself as we stood next to each other in a large, half-circle of freshmen, eager, hopeful, and scared shitless.

"August," I'd said, and with the handshake that followed, a new friendship began. A friendship that never was.

For the next few days, we were inseparable. Us against the world. Against all the other people we were yet to meet, against places we didn't belong in, against classes we didn't understand, against the entire Greek system we were so desperate to be a part of.

Until Thursday.

It all went to shit on Thursday. I remember—I've journaled about that Thursday for weeks after.

That one bloody Thursday when we stood just a little bit too close. When I noticed the body heat I had no business noticing. When his smile, bright and genuine, did something to me, something I didn't understand. Or didn't want to.

Something dangerously fucking close to sparking the type of appreciation for that smile that I'd always reserved for women and women only.

And I wouldn't have minded, if I'm being honest. College, right?

Perfect time for experimenting, for inconvenient crushes, for writing long lists of pros and cons and reevaluating who I was and who I wanted to be, even if those things fell on opposite sides of the spectrum. I could have dealt with that just fine.

And I was fine all the way until that evening, when Cooper's girlfriend showed up to visit, giving him a long, sloppy kiss and grabbing his ass right in front of me.

And that, I couldn't handle.

It took me about zero-point-three seconds to decide right then and there that I was straight, damn it, and straight guys don't get fucking butterflies in their stomachs for other straight guys, and that all of it was a massive bout of confusion caused by a new chapter, anxiety, and lack of sleep.

I turned into a monster.

As if possessed, my brain decided to handle what I wasn't ready to face in the most fucked up way possible: hostility.

I told him to fuck off the same night. No reason given.

It's hard to imagine what he must have thought. One second we were friends, the next, I was acting like he killed my puppy.

He did ask why. Twice. After that, he gave up, keeping his distance, throwing confused glances my way.

On Saturday, I received two bids—one I was ready to die for, the second, my backup plan.

I waited until the last second to find out which one Cooper picked.

Kappa Tau. My dream. Naturally, I went with my backup option, a rivaling frat, less prestigious, less desirable, less than.

It did have one thing going for it, though—Cooper wasn't in it, and I no longer needed a reason to be openly antagonistic.

By the end of the following week, Cooper hated me too.

***

A SOFT CHIME breaks out of the speakers, interrupting my train of thought, which means one thing—showtime.

Good. The sooner we get it over with, the better.

I step deeper into my nook just as the sparse lights go out and darkness consumes everything around me.

I move the heavy, black curtain so that the nook blends with the wall and blindly reach behind me to make sure my exit route is good and ready for the fifteenth time.

The last thing I need is for Cooper to give me shit for not making it on time like he has twice during last night's rehearsal.

He's petty enough to take this shit seriously.

Ambient sounds break out from the speakers—gushing wind, crows, and hinges squeaking.

From a distance I can hear Donna's voice, explaining the rules to the first of three groups, scheduled to come in fifteen minutes apart.

A show for a single group should last about an hour, which means we need to circulate, finding our posts in the dark, three different times.

I squat and go by ear. Giggles and whispers of the first group grow closer as I wait.

Finally, I can hear their footsteps and move the edge of the curtain with my finger.

The only source of light appears at the end of the makeshift corridor—a tiny flashlight held by whoever's walking first, doing jack shit to illuminate the space, but helping the actors know where people are.

The second the person with the light walks past me, I poke my hand out and blindly grab a random ankle, brushing against two others in the process.

Chaos ensues—yelps and gasps and a single high-pitched scream, followed by a few giggles.

I pull my hand back momentarily, wait two seconds until a sound of thunder breaks from the speakers, and use it as a decoy to open the door behind me and quietly close and lock it, the group already fiddling with the curtain.

One down.

I rush down the maze of hallways to my next post where I press my back against the wall, blending in. Then, I wait. They should be here in about three minutes.

I lean against the wall and immediately jump away from it as a spiderweb I forgot about brushes against my arm. It's fake, but still. Ugh.

The group emerges from around the corner, and this time giggles are replaced by panting and curses, which means Justin nailed his job.

The faint light from the flashlight marks the spot, and once I establish they're about halfway, I grab my own, proper flashlight from the pocket of my apron with one hand, and a faux axe with the other.

I press the flashlight to my chest, and then simultaneously jump forward, turn the light on so that it illuminates my makeup-covered face in a disturbing way, and do my best to produce the most guttural sound I can muster.

A symphony of screams breaks out from the group as I make my way toward them, slowly, giving them time to back away.

Miraculously, it works, and the group scrambles backwards, screaming and laughing until they're out of my dead-end corridor.

Last one, then rinse and repeat.

I kill the light and exit the corridor once they're gone and make my way in the dark, hoping memory doesn't fail me now. Left, left, right, left—

"Fuck," I snarl as I bump into something that wasn't supposed to be there.

Another flashlight turns on, momentarily blinding me. I squint, covering my face with my arm.

"Watch it!"

I don't need to see the face to know whose voice it is.

The audacity of this guy, I swear.

I lower my hand once my eyes adjust to the blinding light he's shining directly onto my face. On purpose, I'm sure. "You're not supposed to be here," I snarl.

"You sure about that?" The light vacates my face and moves to illuminate a barred gate to our left. Shit . "Idiot."

I grip my props so hard I'm giving myself calluses. Yeah, so I fucked up. It doesn't change the fact that I want to punch him square in the jaw.

"Whatever," I mumble, walk past him, and march to the end of the hallway reaching for a handle that isn't there.

I turn on my flashlight and my eyes are met with a solid wall.

Oh, give me a fucking break .

Sighing, I roll my eyes and turn on my heel until my eyes meet Cooper's gloating face. "I'm lost, I guess," I somehow manage to speak through clenched teeth. There goes my pride.

Cooper scoffs. "Of course you are."

I throw my hands up. "Are you going to help me?" I half-whisper. "Or are we just going to hang around until they catch up?"

He makes a show of shining the light on his face, making sure I don't miss his eye roll before he finally moves, without a word.

I follow him through the maze, and make sure to step on the hem of his robe, making him lose his balance. Twice.

He doesn't acknowledge my antics and turns another corner, where he stops abruptly, making me crash into his back. God, I hate him.

Cooper points his light to the corner I recognize as my final spot. "There. Will you make it from here? Or do I need to walk you?"

My mind produces a ' la la la ' to drown out his smugness as I march past him, body-checking him as I do. He takes a sharp inhale, to say something dumb again no doubt, but a clipped scream reaches us from where we've just come from, signaling the group is getting close.

"Try not to fuck up next time," he says and walks away, black robe rustling as he does.

Once he's gone, I take a deep breath to ground myself.

It's not fair.

And yes, I know I'm the one who's in the wrong. Again . But it doesn't stop the lead ball from rolling around in my stomach, my heart hammering against my ribs, radiating hatred.

One of those days. One of those days, something will happen, something will finally go my way, and I'll have the upper hand for once. And then I'll show him where to shove it.

I'm spiraling so hard I register a horde of footsteps at the very last second and duck behind a piece of plywood just as the tip of a good-for-nothing flashlight appears from around the corner.

Yeah, one of those days. Today, I have a job to do.