Page 15 of Cracked Ice (The F*cked Up Players #1)
My back straightens and the hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention.
My focus sharpens and the haze lifts but when I peer at the road, no one’s there.
I look at the username again, my other hand back around this guy’s throat to keep him quiet in case he decides to scream for help and the ‘someone’ nearby hears him.
I’m not sure if it’s necessary, but the more I stare at the screen, the more I note it’s no one I recognize.
I look out the window again, the glass fogging up from all the mouth breathing and hot coffee.
He’s huffing out breaths at a pace faster than what’s considered normal breathing.
That’s probably not a good thing. Fuck, this idiot better not die .
. . at least not here. I let go of his throat, and once again this piece of shit starts coughing on me.
I swear to God, if he gets me sick . . .
I’m still not satisfied, but I’m in loads of a better mood, so I reach for my empty coffee cup and open the driver’s side door, casually stepping out. All’s right with the world again . . . at least for now.
I press a hand on the roof of the car and lean forward.
“You breathe a word about this, I won’t just burn your tongue, I’ll burn your whole goddamn house down with you still in it. You understand me, Jerry?”
“You’re . . . fucking crazy!” he whines, tears streaming down his face as he trembles. Shaking like a leaf in the wind. Beautiful.
I grin. “You flatter me.”
He snivels and my grin drops. Erased like it was never there.
“I better not ever see you at my coffee shop again, Jerry.”
“M-my name’s not . . .” he splutters.
“Does it look like I give a shit about your real name?” I bark.
He shakes his head, cheeks jiggling with every protest.
“Good. You have a good day, Jerry . I know I will.” My smile returns, bright and full. Softly closing the car door, I stretch my back, strolling back onto the street and whistling my favorite tune until I hear my phone dinging again.
@BladeSpinner
Well, that wasn’t nice.
@therealLucifer
Who’s this?
@BladeSpinner
Your friendly neighborhood Spiderman.
@therealLucifer
I was always partial to DC comics.
Now, seriously, who the fuck is this?
@BladeSpinner
You seem the type.
@therealLucifer
Who is this?!
@BladeSpinner
Guess.
@therealLucifer
What?
@BladeSpinner
I said guess.
@therealLucifer
How the fuck am I supposed to do that?
@BladeSpinner
I feel like you’re not very familiar with the concept of guessing.
It’s when you take a shot in the dark and see what happens.
@therealLucifer
You obviously don’t know me very well. I don’t take shots in the dark.
@BladeSpinner
Sure, you do.
You did it last night.
The fuck?
@therealLucifer
Were you in the arena last night?
@BladeSpinner
Maybe.
@therealLucifer
Who the hell is this?
@BladeSpinner
Guess.
I squeeze my phone. I’m both intrigued and pissed off. This had better not be anyone from the team. I’ve only just managed to get my good mood back and this fucker is trying to ruin it again.
@therealLucifer
Chauncey, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll stop playing on my fucking phone.
@BladeSpinner
Wrong answer.
@therealLucifer
Trevor?
@BladeSpinner
That’s all the time we have now, folks. Better luck next time.
@therealLucifer
Seriously?
@BladeSpinner is offline
*Blocks user*
@BladeSpinner has been blocked
@user00_00 message request
Somebody’s a sore loser.
*Deletes message*
“What the hell?” I mumble, looking around to see if I recognize anyone acting out of the ordinary or being suspicious.
There’s only regular, unsuspecting passersby who don’t even spare me a second glance.
At least, not more than usual. After blocking the second username too, I head home to my on-campus dorm, the one I stay in when my mood is off.
Typically, I’d go on a run right about now, but being among the public isn’t feeling like a smart move.
What I did was reckless. I could have just gotten his license plate number and tracked him down later.
Broad daylight was a little bold, even for me. But, fuck, I needed the release.
I make it to the dorm and shut the curtains, immersing myself in the dark for a minute, standing amid the silence until my skin grows hot. Until I’m sweating. Until my eyes are so screwed shut, the headache starts to set in right around the same time the visions do.
Glass shards spread over the ground, lining the street, leading to the body of a young boy.
The boy comes to consciousness only to be met with a crumpled vehicle that looks a lot like the car he was just in, except he’s not in it now.
He’s outside of it, in the cold with a scraped knee and glass in his palms. He looks at the car and . . .
My eyes flash open and I rip open the curtains, flooding the room with fresh light. The shining sun chases away the dark visions. Flopping onto the bed, I peer at my empty, cold pillow. I shift to stare at the ceiling instead, the view less melancholic and pathetic.
Grabbing a game controller, I sit up, opting to skip my classes for today to play some video games and blare my music until the sun sets. Until the RA is banging on my door to tell me that it’s lights out. Until the nightmares inevitably return.
SYDNEY
My fork stabs into the eggs on my plate.
It clinks against the glass at a steady beat, coming away with yolk on the tips, only to drive right back into the imploded center.
My eggs lay murdered, ripped to shreds with no hope for survival after the twentieth stab wound.
Clearly, I have no interest in these eggs anymore, but they make perfect substitutes for eyeballs.
I fling some of the golden goop around the dingy ceramic plate and a bit gets on the printout of Lucien’s schedule.
Dammit.
I pull a flimsy paper napkin out of the metal box on the table and wipe at the paper.
This thing cost me $500 from the lady in the Admissions office. I’m not about to let it get ruined by egg guts.
“Not a fan of the eggs?” asks the Bean Cup employee I’ve grown to loathe.
I glare up at the waitress whose unique sandy-brown tresses are annoyingly whimsical even on this cloudy day.
“No, Mary . They were a little . . . soft for my taste,” I spit.
She peers down at the mess I’ve made, her discomfort evident in the pinch of her brows. Good .
“Oh, um, I’m sorry.” Her lips poke out and her unpainted fingernails tap at the tip of her cupid’s bow. Shit, even I have to admit she looks adorable. “I can ask the kitchen to make you some more?” she offers, her tiny left shoulder tilting into a small shrug.
Fuck, she’s sweet, too. She’s making it difficult to stay mad at her, and for good reason because there should be no reason for me to be mad at her.
I’ve dealt with the constant disdain of members of my own team, believing I stole my place here or bought it, and have never once cared enough to be mad at them.
I don’t like all of them and make no move to be their friend or anything, but I genuinely don’t care enough about them to have any strong feelings either way.
My mind keeps wandering through all the reasons I can try to be mad at Mary. Does Lucien think she’s prettier than me? Of course, he’s never actually seen me, so . . .
Staring back at his schedule, I try to figure out how to look accidental when running into him since we don’t share any of the same classes or even classes in similar fields.
His are all science stuff. I mean, Advanced Bloodstain Pattern Analysis?
That doesn’t exactly overlap with Intro to Business Law.
“Did you want more eggs?” Mary asks again.
I totally spaced out.
“No, it’s alright. Don’t bother,” I answer with a tight smile, despite my growing sense of hatred.
It’s game day today and everyone is wearing sports gear. Even Mary here is donning a Belle U Titans hoodie over her regular shop uniform.
Mary hugs the empty tray like it’s her support blanket.
“Maybe I can offer you a muffin instead. They’re fresh,” she beams, her bubbly attitude kindling for the burn in my chest. I consider her offer for a second, internally dying to try the muffins Lucien seemed so excited about that day, but I’m distracted by the bright blue sixty-six written on the back of her hand in marker with a red heart around it.
I stare at it, wondering if it’s possible to chop the offensive limb off with my butter knife, but think better of it.
My attention gets pulled to Lucien at the smoothie joint across the street.
He goes there on Fridays for a protein shake.
I can see him from here, but he won’t sit long because, according to this handy dandy schedule I managed to snag, he has class in fifteen minutes.
I doubt Virgin Mary even notices his proximity.
Or maybe she does, and she’s been waiting for him to walk in and talk to her again.
She flirts with him every time he comes in, throwing in free cookies or giving him extra stamps on his reward card.
Ugh, I bet she’s a Satanist and plans on sacrificing herself so she can be reborn as his future bride or something.
I mean, I’m a virgin too, but you don’t see me making any blood offerings or skipping around with hearts in my eyes.
That’s because your eyes have ice picks in them.
“So, that’s a no then?” Mary startles me back to reality.
“I’m sorry, what?” I ask, realizing I totally spaced out again.
“On the muffins?” she clarifies.
“Oh, yeah, no thank you.” I wave her off.
They’re poisoned. Yeah, that’s it. That’s how she got him to like her, there’s a love potion in the pistachio muffins.
“Alrighty then. Well, just pay up front when you’re done.” She turns to leave.
“Just pay up front when you’re done,” I mock her childishly in my head.
Pay?
That’s it!
“Hey, Mary,” I blurt.
“Yeah?” she smiles, her super-cute freckles adding to her whole hot-girl-next-door act.