Page 2 of Outbreak (Revolution X #1)
CHAPTER 1
Rue
“ I don’t feel so hot. Y’all should go on without me,” I say, flopping back down on my bed.
My black comforter is littered with copious amounts of discarded outfit choices my roommate is trying to force me into. I’d rather stick needles in my fucking eyes than wear anything but my comfy, worn-out black sweats, a ripped tank, and my bright pink fuzzy socks.
“Awe! That’s so cute, Rue. Not a fucking chance! Get your sexy ass up and get ready,” Noah says, pulling me up by my arms until my socks hit the hardwood floor in defeat.
Mallory tightens her high ponytail, straightens the baby pink ribbon she’s tied around it, and goes about reapplying her lip gloss in the mirror for the thousandth time tonight. She’s adorable; I’ll give her that. With her long blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and award-winning resting bitch face. Outside of these four walls of our dorm, no one would actually think she’s a down to earth girl who’s been sheltered and funded by her rich mommy and daddy for too long. She’s a born and bred preppy cheerleader on the outside, but when it’s just us, she lets the mask slip away.
She takes a minute to check out her ass in her mini skirt before leveling me with her signature look in the mirror that lets me know there’s no way I’m getting out of this party tonight.
“Fine! But I’m not wearing any of that,” I say in sarcastic acceptance, dragging myself to my feet and going into my closet to pull out something I’ll actually wear in public. When I come back out, I toss my ripped black jeans with neon green threading along the rips onto the bed and drop my black Dr. Martens on the floor. If I’m going to be forced to go to this ridiculous party in the woods, I’m going as myself.
“I’ll take that compromise, Wednesday ,” she mocks with a smile, taunting me for my sparkling personality and preference for the darker side of things.
Noah chuckles as he shimmies past us to peek out the window before popping his hip and snapping his ridiculously long fingers at us. “Chop chop, bitches! I’m trying to get dicked down, thrown around, and folded like a taco. Let’s go!”
“Geez, Noah! Don’t be such a desperate little bitch boy,” Mallory laughs as she slips on her absurdly impractical shoes for a party in the woods. The pink iridescent platform wedges shimmer in the light as she buckles the tiny straps around her ankles.
“Mal, baby. Just because you don’t like riding the dick doesn’t mean you have to shit on our parade,” Noah sasses back at her.
I swear to God, these two argue like sisters who steal each other's clothes and boyfriends. “Okay, that’s enough. I am more than happy to sit my ass right here while you go without me—if you can’t play nice.”
“You’re no fun, Mom,” Noah whines as I finish lacing my boots and grab my knife. I never go anywhere without it strapped to me or somewhere within reach.
Maybe one of the skirts Mallory wanted me to wear would conceal it better, but I much prefer to have it strapped to my thigh on display so everyone knows I’m not the one to fuck with. Besides, going into the Louisiana swamps at night to party during a lockdown is monumentally stupid. Even if the drunk fuckboys don’t try something, there’s still a thousand other ways to die out there.
Slipping the thin, strappy sheath over my boot and up my leg, I walk to the full-length mirror and hip-check Mallory out of the way. My reflection feels so much more like myself than the outfits my sunshine and rainbows bestie would have me in.
The black blade blends in well with my pants, concealing it enough to not be noticed unless I want it to be. The cropped tank fits tightly across my chest, molding to my curves like a second skin. Only a sliver of my stomach shows without displaying too much.
I don’t want to explain to a bunch of drunk trust fund babies what the real world is like out there. They’ve had a silver spoon in their mouths since birth. They wouldn’t understand the scars I earned for simply existing. I don’t want their pity and fake sympathies—I survived. That’s all that matters.
Now, I get to exist for myself.
Turning from the mirror, I unplug my phone from my nightstand, shoving my vape in my bra as I check my messages. My douchebag boyfriend still hasn’t returned my messages, and I honestly don’t know why it’s bothering me. I don’t even like him, not really. I wouldn’t even be entertaining him if Mallory hadn’t insisted that I experience the ‘normal’ college lifestyle and convinced me it was important to snag one of the popular guys.
Josh is a junior here at Magnolia State and one of the star football players. He is so far from my type it isn’t even funny—but I’m giving this college thing my best shot. I’ve put all of my eggs into this basket, and I’m going to see this through to the end. I’ve never had a ‘normal’ experience in my entire life. My parents died in an accident when I was a baby, and I bounced around different foster homes until I was permanently placed at twelve. I thought I was finally going to have a ‘normal’ childhood with a family who made pancakes on Sundays and sat with me at night to help me with my homework. But life isn’t ‘sunshine and rainbows’ for people like me.
People always leave— but the scars—they're mine forever.
Shaking off the morose memories, I send one last message to Josh, asking if he is meeting me at this party. I don’t really give two shits about seeing him, but Noah is right. If I’m forced out of this mandatory lockdown and into the wild, I’m at least trying to get some dick out of it.
“He’s still not reading my messages,” I tell them, locking my phone and slipping it into my back pocket as I head to the doorway where they’re waiting for me. I grab my black hoodie and drape it over my arm before Mallory pulls me out the door.
“Maybe he’s sick? Or asleep?” Noah offers as we walk down the deserted dorm hallway.
“You think he’s got whatever this virus is that’s going around?” I ask, slightly concerned considering the school felt the need to shut down all classes to stop the spread on campus. This is a stupid idea. “Maybe we should stay in?”
“We’re going,” Mallory insists, her platform wedges clicking against the hardwood floor as she practically drags me through the building. “I’m sure Josh is already there and just can’t hear his phone. He’s fine.”
The chilly fall air bites into my bare arms as we walk right out the front door. We’re not supposed to be mingling with the sickness going around. My guess is the people who didn’t head home to quarantine with their families are either holed up in the rooms, like we’re supposed to be, or they’ve already snuck off behind campus to the party. Either way, we don’t see anyone on our way off the property.
“Watch your step, Mal. You’re going to break your neck in those death traps,” I say, steadying her on her feet when she stumbles over tree roots and slides in the soft marsh. That’s the thing about swamps. You never know if the ground will be solid or shift beneath your feet.
“Girl, please. My mama put me in heels as soon as I could stand on my own. I’m a professional, born and bred beauty queen. Pageant life is its own Olympic sport,” she retorts a little out of breath but back to standing on her own again.
The lights from the party come into view up ahead. Music spills from the abandoned Victorian house that looks like something straight out of a horror movie. Students are already plastered, littering the yard in various states of undress.
“Looks like we’re late—we've got some catching up to do! I’ll go find us drinks,” Mallory says as she surveys the idiots around us before strutting up the worn-down steps like a woman on a mission. Noah and I follow behind her.
I love old houses, especially weathered ones like this, with the white paint faded on the splintered wood siding. It feels eerie out here in the middle of the swamp, distressed by Mother Nature’s unforgiving forces that plague these parts. Hurricanes and flooding are common occurrences here, but this ol' girl’s still standing despite it all. The porch might be leaning, but she’s still here.
So am I…