Page 46 of Carnival

Rose

T he longer I sit behind the dumpster, hidden, with only a part of my face peeking out, the less real any of this feels. It’s like time is passing by in slow motion; everything around me is getting blurry.

Six months ago, my biggest issue was whether or not James would leave prison.

I remember thinking how much easier everything would’ve been with him by my side.

Six months ago, my deepest, darkest secret was the fact that I killed someone and that I had no way of coping with the information in a healthy way.

Six months ago, I was willing to make all of this work.

Six months ago, I wanted to live.

Now, life seems pointless. Vivian planted the bombs on these people, and they either willingly took on the suicide mission, or they were forced to do it. Either way, tonight will end in the death of many people, and it’s all my fault.

If I hadn’t tried to escape Vivian’s clutches, she wouldn’t have gone off the rails, and none of this would’ve happened. If I had only played the part that she wanted me to play, these people here would get to go home tonight.

It took me seeing destruction about to happen to realize that I’ve been too selfish.

I was naive.

I thought that somehow, eventually, all of this would turn out to be okay. In a perfect world, I’d find a way to overcome my insecurities, learn how to live with the guilt I feel about killing Willow, and spend the rest of my life with James by my side.

But life isn’t perfect, and I don’t deserve one.

If I’d stayed put, I’d be the one to eventually die. Not all of these innocent people.

My eyes are glued on a couple nearby. They just exited the circus; the girl’s genuine laughter fills my ear. Her partner wraps his arm around her shoulders, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

My heart clenches, and on some level, I’m just thankful this event doesn’t allow children.

All of these people are someone’s children, someone’s family.

Although nothing has happened yet, the guilt is starting to eat me on the inside. A void appears, and it’s deep enough that it’s starting to swallow me whole. The monster that is the darkness of my mind promises not to leave anything alive until I’m drowning in the iniquity I’ve created.

I take a deep breath, glancing around for Maverick.

Once I’m positive he isn’t around, I push myself off the ground, wincing at the pain that shoots through my entire body.

Days of continuous hitting, wearing heels while my feet haven’t recovered, start catching up with me at the worst possible time.

The snow beneath me isn’t lessening the pain this time. Instead, it reminds me of how much I’m struggling to stand, how much all of this is affecting me, to the point of not being able to take a single step forward without feeling as if someone is stabbing my legs with needles repeatedly.

“Excuse me,’’ I raise my voice a little when I reach a young woman, seemingly in her early thirties.

“Yes?” She turns to look at me, scanning me head to toe. A frown is on her face, especially when her eyes dip down to my feet. “Are you alright?”

I laugh it off. “Ah, I work here. This is just a costume,’’ I lie through my teeth. “I lost my phone. My shift’s ending soon, and I need to call my dad to pick me up. Can I borrow your phone?”

“Sure,’’ she responds, a bit uncertain, but whisks out the device from her purse. She unlocks it, and hands it to me. “Here. If you run away with it, let me warn you, I’ll hunt you down.’’

I give her a tight smile, stepping back just a little as I take the phone from her hands. My fingers tremble as I type out the only phone number I remember by heart and press the call button. I put the phone to my ear, hearing it ring.

It takes four rings for the call to go through.

“Arlo speaking.’’

“Arlo,’’ I whisper.

“Where the fuck are you, Rose?” His voice rises immediately, and a sigh of relief comes from me. He recognized my voice. He actually recognized my voice.

“At the Carnival. I don’t know the exact address.’’

“Still in New York?”

“Yes.’’

“Are you okay?”

I pause. “I’m alive.’’

“That’s not an answer, Rosalie.’’

“I’ll be okay. Please, come get me. Vivian put bombs on people.’’

“She what?!”

“I don’t know when she plans to set them off. Please, hurry,’’ I croak out.

The sound of Maverick’s voice calling out my name hits my ears, and I drop the phone, my hand still close to my ear.

I’m paralyzed in fear, the reality of the situation dawning on me.

Faintly, I hear Arlo’s voice call out from the phone that’s now on the snow, and the girl whose phone I used isn’t impressed.

Before I can think about the next course of action, I start running. Tears roll down my face as the harsh winter wind hits my face. My cheeks redden from the cold, tears drying out quickly.

I don’t know where I’m going. I don’t know if Arlo will manage to get here in time. All I know is that I can’t let Maverick get to me. I didn’t think there was any fight left in me, but when I heard his sinister voice, I realized that I can’t just die.

The worry in Arlo’s voice is the reason I’m running.

I have people to live for.

They’re far from perfect, but they’re my family. Noelle’s famous cooking skills and attempts to poison Hudson. And Hudson, who’s always willingly eating whatever his wife serves him, because he lives to serve her.

And Aria.

We might’ve had our fair share of arguments over the years, but when Wyatt took me, she came for me. Her worried expression appears behind my eyes while I’m running through the crowded Carnival, the loud music overlapping with the intense beating of my heart.

I don’t know where this sudden will to live came from, but I’m holding onto it. I’m holding onto the hope that the people that claim to love and care for me will be there to catch me right before I fall.

A scream pierces through my lungs when I feel someone grab my hand, pulling me behind one of the food tents. A hand immediately comes to muffle any sounds that may come from my mouth, and I halt.

A sharp knife is pressed against my throat. It’s right against one of my arteries, and if I were to move a single inch, it’d cut it open, and I’d bleed out right now. My eyes adjust to the poor lighting, then widen in surprise.

The hand slowly moves from my mouth, grabbing both of my wrists together. The grip on my skin is tight, and I don’t dare to move a single inch. I swallow harshly the knot that formed in my throat, blinking the tears away.

The familiar clown mask, with the same crack in the corner and the exact same design. The shade of red and black matches the one I’m used to seeing perfectly, and even the blood drips from it, just the way I’m used to it.

But it’s different.

The man’s shoulders are less broad, and he’s half an inch shorter than James. Their hair color differs by a mere shade, and the eye shape is what does it for me — whoever this is, it’s not James.

“Who are you?” I rasp out, being careful enough not to move too quickly, terrified of the blade pressed against my skin.

The man freezes momentarily, taken off guard that I could tell the difference between him and James. The two don’t smell even remotely close. James’ scent is deep and rich, with something that is uniquely him. This man smells like he poured half a bottle of cologne on himself and called it a day.

A small laugh comes from him, filling my ears. His hand continues to tightly hold my wrists, but he moves the hand off my throat, pocketing the knife. Slowly, his big hand splays over the mask, and with ease, he pulls it off.

“Missed me?”

“Chase,’’ I breathe out, half in relief, half in uncertainty.

“I’m surprised you could tell the difference; I went to great lengths to obtain this,’’ he tosses the mask aside. “Then again, of course you could tell the difference. You’ve been fucking that bastard for years, haven’t you?”

“That’s none of your business.’’ I try to pry my wrists from his grasp, but it’s useless. He’s stronger than me, and isn’t shy in showing it. He leans in closer, carefully looking into my eyes, with something sinister, dark, and menacing lurking behind the stoicism he’s trying to show.

“Mm, but it is my business, sweetheart,’’ he murmurs.

The way he uses the term of endearment makes my stomach churn in disgust. A prickling sensation shoots up my spine. causing me to straighten up. My eyebrows shoot up, drawn together, my mouth going a little dry.

“Why?”

“You see,’’ he hums, creating enough distance between us so that he can get a clear look at me. “If we ignore how Vivian promised you to me, I did want you for a long time.’’

“Are you that obsessed with me?”

“Obsessed with you? No,’’ he chuckles. “Obsessed with the thought of seeing you suffer for the rest of your life? Absolutely.’’

“I didn’t do anything to you.’’

“Didn’t you?”

My eyes dart to the left, then to the right, then behind him. He’s hidden me well from the eyes of the people at the Carnival, the back of this little food tent providing enough darkness not to be seen.

From the day Danica introduced Chase to our study group, the two of us clicked. We shared similar interests, and our procrastination skills were something that connected us, much to Danica’s annoyance. We liked the same food and shows and always had something to talk about.

I cannot remember a single instance where I’ve been a bad friend to him, where I’ve treated him with disrespect, or done anything to warrant this. Then again, he did approach me on Vivian’s orders, so it doesn’t surprise me that he’s always held a grudge against me.

“What did I do?”

His gaze hardens, his jaw locks in place, and the hold on my wrists tightens a fraction. Frustration, mixed with annoyance, radiates off him, and he’s clearly unhappy. He takes in a sharp intake of breath, then speaks, his voice low and menacing, and it manages to shock me to my core.

“I’ll make you suffer, Rose. I’ll make sure you suffer just like she suffered.

I’ll make sure to find your biggest weakness, then use it against you.

Just like you stood over her, watching her die, I’ll do the same.

Until you feel as hopeless and as helpless as she did, and until you die, like a rotten bitch that you are. ’’

It finally hits me.

The reason he’s always been so familiar. The reason his eyes always seemed to hold something sinister in them, but up until we met in Vivian’s manor, I thought it was just a fragment of my imagination; I thought it was my paranoia acting up.

The image of the young boy flashes behind my eyes, and my heart almost leaps out of my chest. The ringing sensation drums in my ears, memories flooding me like tidal waves, clutching my chest tightly.

“Do you get it now?”

A smirk is tugged on his lips, the teasing tone of his voice making this all that harder to deal with. He steps closer, releasing my wrists to grip my chin tightly. His fingers push into my flesh, and he forces me to look up at him.

“That’s right, sweetheart,’’ he mocks. “It’s Gabe.’’