Page 135 of The Deceptions

If I'm going to make it through the rest of the night without slipping up, I need my crutch. My cold, delicious crutch of goodness that will help me bite my tongue on the subject of Waffles and why he likes me. And then after I’ve had my fill, this binder is on the chopping block. Sweatpants will be mandatory. Ice cream in my face. Comforter tucked around my body, and the TV on with nothing but Buffy or Dexter, with plans of not moving for two days.

I can’t fucking wait.

But for now, I have to keep up pretenses as Oli. A dude. Who doesn’t get periods or pains from it.

I roll my eyes and grab a carton of ice cream from the freezer, pop the lid, grab a spoon, and sit on the couch next to Simon.

Fuck bowls. Tonight is a—eat straight out of the carton—kind of night.

“Why is everyone surprised by that?” I quip, taking a large bite of my favorite ice cream and humming my approval.

“Because their dog doesn't like anyone,” Wade says, taking another large bite of ice cream. “Especially since…” Wade trails off, swallowing his bite. “Well, you know.” He gestures toward the window overlooking the graveyard, and my spidey-senses tingle.

“Don't leave us in suspense,” Simon whines, nudging his shoulder into Wade. “We know nothing…”

Wade snorts, putting the lid back on his ice cream and licking the spoon clean. “Something happened before the kings ruled Greenwood U. Something tragic back when they were in high school or something. I don't know the whole story.”

The hairs on the back of my neck prickle and awaken, standing on end when Wade’s gaze surveys our small shared space.

Simon peeks an eye open, looking at Wade. “You're shit at gossip,” he quips. “What was the tragic event? Did they eat pizza and mess up their perfect abs?” Simon laughs, waggling his brows.

Wade chuckles softly, but a sobering expression tightens his features. “It was a house fire on their property. They lost someone or something.” His gaze sweeps over the two of us. “Or at least, that's what I've heard. The remnants of that house is still there. Somewhere. Some big mystery in town. I remember my mom talking about it, but she didn't know either. Their dad kept everything tight-lipped. But what do I know? That happened before I came to town.” He shrugs one shoulder nonchalantly.

A home on their property. My house. The small prison my father kept us in. We were his birds in a cage. Whenever he saw fit, he'd take us out and torture us.

We were never free. Only in death. But Raphael Viotto is still at large.

And I’m not fucking dead or free.

Sweat glistens on my skin when I shove more ice cream into my mouth, swallowing not only the cold substance, but forcing my emotions back in.

My home is still there. The remnants, anyway. After five years, Franco hasn't bothered to tear it down. I wonder why? Why keep such a piece of history around? Maybe to look at whenever he’s feeling sentimental with the guys.

Maybe it's time I face my demons. I could traipse through those woods and find it easily. Do I want to? That's the question of the hour.

Maybe when I'm brave enough, I will.

The last time I glanced at my home, it was engulfed in flames with me lying on the floor, bleeding uncontrollably. Good memories rest in the ashes, probably blown to sea by the breeze.

What remains? The structure? Our burnt-up possessions? Memories of days past.

“Whoa! Wait! You're tell-telling me the gods of Greenwood have baggage and a past?” Simon mock gasps. “A fire? Losing someone? Tell me more.” He bats his eyelashes at Wade, who snorts.

“It's all rumors, bro. I don't even know if that shit is real. What do you think, Oli?” Wade’s gaze connects with mine, sparkling with mischief.

“No idea,” I blurt. “I don't know much about this place.” I shrug it off, tamping down the panic growing inside me at the mention of my past. Especially by someone I don't know.

“Everyone's got a past. What they do with it matters to the future. Those assholes are crypts of secrets and bullshit.” Wade rolls his eyes, disdain flowing through every word. “One day, their past and shit will come back to haunt them.”

I lick my lips before shoving more ice cream into my face again. It's the only defense I have right now, so I don't end up saying–oh, hi. Hello. It's me. Their past! Nice to meet you.

“Facts!” Simon says with a groan as his phone buzzes incessantly in his pocket. “SlamApp must be popping off.”

“You have alerts for SlamApp?” Wade snorts, sitting back on the couch and rubbing his temples.

“Daily gossip, duh,” Simon slurs. His tongue pokes out when he finally fetches his phone from his pocket. “Let's see thedrama. The…” Simon turns rigid, sitting up straight. All the color drains from his face, and his lips pop open.

“What's happening?” Wade asks as we both lean over and look at Simon's phone.