Page 13 of Beautiful Nightmare

8

ROYCE

The ride is fast, causing my hair to hang toward the earth, which feels miles away. I am free. The only restraints are the ones crossing over my chest. Adrenaline is how I feel alive in my suppressed world. Each deep breath welcomes fresh air to my lungs, and as the ride spins, the breeze flutters against my skin. I am happy.

Raising my arms, the ride circles around once more, and my body releases a therapeutic scream. Embracing it, I squeeze my eyes shut and give it all I fucking have. Passing the bottom, my body is upright, and my hair falls over my face but doesn’t stop me. Thankfully, straps cross over my waist, ensuring the children and elders don’t get a full view of my coochie, compliments of my dress.

On the last spin, I relax into the bodyboard and just be for five more seconds. The seconds pass swiftly as the ride comes to a stop. It’s my turn to jump off. The carnival worker unbuckles me, and I hop onto the platform. His eyes are looking me over, more specifically my arms. The scars.

Pointing to my largest cut with a ridged scar that most definitely could have used stitches, I toy with him. “I used hedge trimmers, nearly lost my arm.” He’s startled from my casual statement. But I feel no shame. It’s him who should feel embarrassment. His lips move, an apology about to follow suit, but I have no interest in hearing it and instead walk away, silently.

The guy is a goblin, and he should really be the last person to judge, but they are known for being pretentious assholes, just like Prince.

Beckham is waiting for me off to the side. It takes a moment for my eyes to find him, and when I do, my lips stretch in a smile while my eyes take him in. Biting my lip, I skip over to his strong body that’s leaning against the railing. His arms wrap around my delicate frame while my face tucks into the crook of his neck. Inhaling deeply, Beckham’s scent overwhelms me with familiarity and happiness, muskand wood. Lips kiss the crown of my head, and I ease into him fully.

My home.

Small circles trace against my exposed back, and I wish for this to never end. For us to be like this always. And for a few minutes, we get to feel what it always would feel like. No one bothers us; time stands still while I wish for my dreams to come true. But that’s the thing about dreams; they aren’t real, just our minds playing tricks on us, raising hopes while life crushes them.

But I’ll take these moments and remember them always.

The sound of laughing clowns and excitable children echoes in my ears. The distinct honk and then wheezing laughter give them away.

“Is my baby okay?” Beckham’s words make my body tingle.

My heart nearly skips a beat as I nod into him. “Yes, I just like it here.”

His arms squeeze around me tighter, keeping me safe. “Me too.”

The words are simple yet powerful. He chose me, just as I chose him. Two things I’ll never take for granted.

We stay together, intertwined, until a freezing gust of wind prickles our skin. Shivering, Beckham’s hands rub against my skin, and I can feel the entire mood shift, not just with us but all of Fright Night.

Raising my head, I glance at the worried faces. Parents hurry their kids back toward the exit, and teenagers walk cautiously forward with uncertainty.

Looking above, my brow furrows. Clouds are moving rapidly as birds chirp, flying in flocks back to the safety of the forest.

Beckham reads my mind. “I don’t know, Royce.”

He says my name instead of baby. I hate when he does that, and the brat in me wants to stomp my foot, but even I can read a room. This is serious.

The wind picks up, the fabric of the tents flutters, cracking sounds fill the silence, and the rides begin to shut down. More commotion follows as the main paths fill with more people. People still fill the tents; no one peeks out, they are oblivious.

Anxiety riddles my core, the tips of my toes digging into the gravel. Something is wrong.

Just as the thought races through me, a bright white flash fills the dark black sky. Loud screams, high-pitched enough to break a mirror or glass, join as the light remains illuminating.

Beckham’s hand grasps mine. “We need to go.”

Shaking my head, I still don’t understand.

“Baby, this one time, please, I need you to listen to me. This isn’t fucking good.”

The light goes out, the screams stop, and all the air from my lungs start getting sucked out. Hunching over, desperate for breath, Beckham leans with me with panic ruining his gorgeous face. Each time I try to inhale, my body deflates further, my chest begins to convulse, and tears of fear stream down my cheeks. My lungs wheeze; I am dying. With heavy eyes, I begin to collapse as my body loses all strength.

Then, suddenly, the freezing breeze comes to an end, and I’m finally able to catch a breath.

Falling to the ground, gravel sticks to my face as I lie there shamelessly. Beckham grips my face. “Holy shit, you’re as pale as me… maybe even as white as a ghost, baby.” He’s scared. His tone tells all. And if he’s scared, then I should be fucking terrified.