Page 6 of Carnival
Rose
I sit up in bed, rubbing my eyes. A yawn escapes me, and the sunlight shines through the windows, causing me to wince a little. It takes me a couple of seconds to remember what went down last night, and as if on cue, I feel soreness between my legs.
With shaky hands, I toss the covers off me and frown. Not only am I wearing a different set of pajamas, but I’m also clean. He cleaned me up before bringing me back to bed; not a single trace, aside from some light bruises, of what had gone down last night.
My eyes skim through the room, and there’s nothing. I half-expected to see him in one of the corners, but I’m relieved that he’s not here. My mind spirals into a frenzy because what the actual fuck is wrong with me?
Why the hell did I let it happen? It feels like a fever dream, and on some level, I can only pray that it is.
The darkness in me is grateful to have been unleashed, even if for a moment, but the rational part of me is screaming that having sex with James in the middle of the forest will come back to bite me in the ass sooner or later.
The strangest part?
My hair is neat. I don’t sleep with my hair tied up, and it gets tangled a lot during the night. Add that to the fact that I was running last night, then got railed against the tree, and James did hold my hair; it should be beyond salvageable.
Instead, it’s styled into a neat braid, falling down my mid-back, tied with a black elastic.
I shake my head, unsure what to make of this. It definitely wasn’t a one-time thing, given that it’s the second time I’ve fucked a clown, and it only serves as proof that he’ll come back for me. Unless I find him first.
A yawn escapes me, and I shake off the thoughts. I have more pressing matters to think about, and with a deep breath, I sling my feet over the edge of the bed, making it creak slightly under my weight. I slide my feet into a pair of fuzzy, warm slippers and head to the bathroom.
Once I’m ready for the day, teeth brushed, face washed with the skincare routine, I stare at myself in the mirror. There are love bites all over my neck, and they’re rather huge. I wince a little, already coming up with an excuse to tell Aria, because there’s no way she won’t notice them.
“Rosalie? Are you awake?” Aria calls out, knocking on the bedroom door. My brows narrow at the usage of my full name, something I haven’t heard in a long time.
“In the bathroom, I’ll be right out!”
I don’t have the time to hide the hickeys with makeup and settle for a turtleneck instead. It covers them enough not to be noticeable, and once I’m satisfied with the look – and not taking the damned braid out — I head toward the living room.
Aria’s sitting on the floor, sipping on her coffee, and watching the news. Her eyes darted to me momentarily before they were back on the television. She pats the seat next to her, with a spare mug of steaming coffee that just seems to be calling my name.
“How did last night go?” I ask, sitting down next to her.
My hands curl around the mug, the warmth flowing through them. I taste it, humming as the liquid slides down my throat, the taste making me feel more awake than before. Once I set the mug down, Aria lowers the volume on the TV and turns to look at me.
“It went…’’ She searches for the right words, eyes narrowed slightly, a small frown on her face. “As good as expected,’’ she concludes with a deep sigh.
Meanwhile, I’m hoping she doesn’t notice that I’m being fidgety. I take the cup of coffee again, sipping on it painfully slowly, gripping it tightly in my hands. If I tightened my hold on it even a fraction more, I think I’d snap it to pieces.
“Yes?” I urge her to continue, watching her over the rim of the cup.
“Apparently, being a De Santis will let me in any place known to mankind, but it won’t give me the information I’m seeking,’’ she groans.
“My main focus was finding out who even owns the carnival. I got different answers from different people. Some said it’s owned by foreigners; others swore up and down that it had to be someone from the city.
In the end, there was only one thing that they all agreed on. ’’
I lift a brow. “Go on.’’
She looks at me, her blue eyes stern. “It’s unique to New Orleans. This carnival doesn’t travel as I originally thought. I mean, I suspected as much, given that there were no information on them anywhere on the Internet, but still… having it confirmed just rattles me.’’
A small sigh of disappointment slips from me, and I’m unable to hide it.
I’d hoped she’d be able to find something — anything to make sense of this.
These killings are anything but normal murders, not that a murder is normal on any scale, but given the nature of her family’s business, I’ve heard a lot of stories.
Nothing quite like this.
It’s unique.
And if I’ve seen anything, I’ve seen too many crime TV shows, and I know that this is their signature.
Mutilating bodies beyond recognition, then ensuring everything of their victims is wiped clean off the face of the Earth.
It’s bone-chilling, and the fact that I fucked a man who could possibly be working with them just makes me feel disgusted with myself.
“Did you manage to get any other information?”
Aria looks at me for a few seconds, internally debating whether to share. I give her a knowing look, and after another moment of silence passes between us, she relents and nods.
“I asked around about your family.’’
My brows skyrocket to my hairline. “And?”
“The place I visited was filled with people our age, early thirties at most. Even the staff, so since I didn’t know your parents’ names, I gave them your last name — Ashford.
And, well, let’s just say that your parents' reputation was less than a stellar one. When I mentioned the surname to the bartender, he visibly gagged. As in, gagged.’’
“That’s just fantastic,’’ sarcasm coats my tongue, the cup resting between my fingers. The coffee’s getting colder and colder, yet I don’t mind it. In fact, as stupid as it sounds, the object in my hands is the only thing keeping me grounded and preventing me from going into an overthinking mode.
“I know,’’ she nods. “Apparently, Austin was known for being an asshole, and Kiersten was… well, a cunt, to quote the bartender.’’
My parents, Austin and Kiersten Ashford.
Aside from the small, gold locket that I’ve had on me since they passed away and their names, I don’t know anything about them.
Not their faces, not their past, nothing.
Zilch, nada. And it used to bother me to the point I was losing sleep over trying to figure out what happened, how they died, and why I was sent to foster care instead of being taken in by any of my relatives; however, now that Aria’s managed to shed some light on their personalities, it seems like no one wanted to deal with the devil’s spawn.
“Other than that, did they mention any relatives?” I ask, a pang of hope fluttering in my chest. I’m unsure whether or not I’d ever go out of my way to meet them or know them, but curiosity is something that I’ve been suppressing for far too long. I just need to know if I have any family out there.
“The paternal side is long dead; it happened long before you were born. Maternal side, however, seemed to vanish.’’
A small frown attaches onto my face, and Aria takes it as an opportunity to continue. She straightens up, gently taking the cup out of my hands and putting it on the small coffee table, then grabbing my hands in hers.
“They aren’t dead,’’ she explains. “Not that I could find any records of them dying, anyway, but they aren’t in New Orleans. At least, not anymore.’’
“When did they leave?”
“Shortly after your parents died.’’
A small lump forms in my throat. If they vanished, I wouldn’t rule out being killed, either.
If there’s nothing on them in any sort of record, it’s safe to assume they weren’t recognized and simply buried somewhere, with no gravestones or family to send them off into the afterlife.
The thought causes my heart to swell, an unexplainable ache spreading through my chest.
“Basically,’’ I swallow a small knot that formed in my throat, ignoring the burning sensation. “We don’t know anything.’’
“We know that your parents weren’t well liked, that’s for sure. I’ll find out more, but for now, let’s eat and then rest. Tonight is the first night of the carnival, and we need to be prepared. Well, you, mainly. What are you going to do if you see him again?”
I shrug, trying to act nonchalant. If she sees through my facade, she doesn’t comment on it and instead turns back to the television after not getting a verbal response from me.
She can’t know that I fucked him last night. She can’t know that I fucked up majorly. And the question keeps repeating in my head. What will I do when I see him again?
Only God knows.
◆◆◆
Aria’s sitting on the floor in front of the big mirror, a strand of her hair wrapped around the curling iron. She holds it for a few seconds, then releases it and repeats the process with the next strand.
I’m nearly ready to go, with only an outfit left to pick. Aria chose something very comfortable but still presentable. My eyes skim through the selected few options on the bed, and I mentally cuss myself for not bringing more clothes.
I end up choosing a pair of black dress pants, a black turtleneck tucked in, and a leather belt to tie it all together.
The shoes are a different story entirely — mainly because I only brought two pairs.
A pair of basic Converse and a pair of cute boots.
I’d pick Converse, but as pretty as they are, they’re the most uncomfortable shoes I’ve ever had the displeasure of wearing, and if tonight ends up involving any sort of running, it would be a hassle.
I opt for the black boots and put them on, then stand behind Aria as she finishes up doing her hair. I run my fingers through my blonde hair, loosening up the tight curls and letting them fall messily down my mid-back.
“What do you think will happen tonight?” I ask, stepping back and giving her space to stand up. She unplugs the curling iron and sets it by the window, away from anything flammable.
“I’m not sure,’’ she admits. “If it’s anything like the first time we were here, we can expect to be scared shitless. Do you plan on going to the same terror house tonight? Or are you going to wait a night or two?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. We have seven days to find out anything. We’ll definitely find something, right?”
“I get that this entire trip started off as you wanting to satisfy your curiosity, and although I still think it’s fucking stupid, I feel like there’s more to it, isn’t there?”
Yet again, Aria reads me like an open book. I take a deep breath and nod, then grab my leather jacket and put it on, glancing at the way I look in the mirror before turning my attention back to Aria.
“It really did start as some sick curiosity,’’ I confirm. “But it’s more than that now. These murders, and the fact that you believe my parents might’ve been the victims of it… it makes it impossible not to think about it or want to know more.’’
Aria nods understandingly, then brushes out the curls and grabs her coat.
“I get it. I’m here for you, and I’m on your side. We’ll find something. But…’’ She pauses, almost unsure of how to formulate her question.
“But what?”
“What are you going to do when you see him again?”
Try not to fuck him again, for one.
Instead of saying it out loud, I take a deep breath. “I don’t know. Even back then… there was something so familiar about him, but I just can’t pinpoint what exactly.’’
Aria lifts a brow. “You mean you’ve met him prior to that night?”
A small groan slips from my lips, and I slump down on the bed, lying down and staring up at the ceiling. Aria follows suit, settling next to me and following my line of vision.
“I don’t know.’’ My eyes close for a moment. “It could be possible that we’ve met at some point in our lives, or it could all be just in my head and I’m overthinking it.’’
She chuckles. “Yeah, you do have the tendency to overthink shit.’’
“Fuck you.’’
Aria laughs, then stands up. She grabs me by the wrists and yanks me to my feet, smiling. There’s a certain glint in her eyes that I’m not sure I want to decipher. She doesn’t voice it out and only flicks my forehead.
“Now, are you ready to tackle this entire thing?”
“I’m ready,’’ I breathe out, giving her a firm nod.
Aria doesn’t waste any time and grabs her gun, tucking it in the waistband of her pants, hidden beneath the trench coat. It’s making me slightly uneasy that she’s carrying a weapon, but then again, she always does, and I know she won’t use it unless absolutely necessary.
Thankfully, the carnival is an adult-only event, and no children can sneak in. There’s a ton of alcohol, too, and overall, I’m still confused how it’s allowed, especially after the murders that had taken place there.
I shake off the thoughts, grab my phone, and head out of the door. Aria rented a car; hence, she’s the one driving. I’m in the passenger's seat, looking out of the window as the darkness settles around us.
My heart is thumping against my ribcage furiously, and at this rate, I’m scared of what might happen later in the evening. My mind drifts back to last night, and although I’m no longer sore, I can practically feel him between my legs.
I clench them together, my hand curling around the hem of my jacket. I shouldn’t have let it happen. I should’ve been stronger and resisted the urge to feel him. But why did it feel so good, so liberating?
It was like a switch was flipped inside me, and I had no control over my body or my actions.
The chemistry was undeniable, the way my soul yearned to have him near.
And that’s not good — because I’ve met the man twice, and both times I ended up having sex with him.
A nagging feeling at the back of my head won’t go away, constantly telling me that at this rate, I’ll end up falling for him, and I’ll fall hard.
For a fucking murderer.
I know it’s wrong, twisted, and downright disgusting. So why does my heart skip a beat at the thought of belonging to him?