Page 43 of Cuervo's Carnival
Rain still thrashing at our faces, inches from the tent, I avert my gaze. And there, perched on the flag that pokes through the big top of the pitched tent, is my new black-winged foe.Purgatorio.
I think back to what Madame Eronel said,“One day, he will be yours.”
Only time will tell if the song on repeat is a coincidence or an omen of bad things to come. Either way, I will gladly be the Juliet to my two Romeos, because with them, I have found a love that is worth facing the Reaper for.
“We need to find Pax,” I breathe, my voice muffled from the rain.
Before it’s too late.
20
Lola
Three Months ago…
“Why doyou keep playing that song?” I ask, ripping a piece of bread from the basket.
“Fine, I’ll turn it off. I’m just trying to memorize it,” Roberto says, pressing the pause button before placing his phone on the striped tablecloth.
“I feel like everyone knows “Don’t Fear The Reaper,” I start, before he lifts his hand up, stopping me.
His palm drupes, leaving only his thick index finger in the air as he leans back in his chair. The presenting-himself-stance he sits in works for Pax and Cillian, but Roberto, not so much.
Uninterested in whatever he has to say next, I reach for another piece of bread, tearing into the thick baguette crust with my teeth. Just staring at his chocolate brown eyes, I wait for whatever riveting shit he thinks he will say.
“Aren’t you a rock girl?” he asks condescendingly.
I shift in my seat, squinting my eyes with an unimpressed confusion. “I’m not sure what ‘rock girl’ means. If you meant to say am I a person who enjoys rock music, then, yes… And?” I motion for him to continue, with a frustrating, flailing hand.
A grin wreaks havoc on his already smug face. “Semantics.” He waves his fingers before bringing both elbows onto the table, shifting the tablecloth slightly.
“What I mean, Rock girl, is that you like to follow those two fuck ups you’re obsessed with around at their shows,” he seethes.
I let out a chuckle, mirroring his hunched position with my own, locking my eyes on his. “Are you jealous that my obsession, as you call it, isn’t for you?” I smirk.
He pounds his fists on the table because he knows I am right, and that kills him. It kills him that he means absolutely nothing to me and never will.
“Anyway,” I continue, “as much as I love spoiling my appetite with bread for a dinner I never wanted to be at in the first place, I really don’t understand what the song has to do with anything. And why you are so concerned with who I hang with in my personal time?”
Bringing his palm, which shakes with anger, to his stubbled jawline, he begins, “That’s where you are wrong.” He drops his hand from his chin, reaching for my wrist. He pinches my skin from the friction of his touch.
“Get off me,” I spit, dragging my hand away from him.
He pounds on the table. “You fucking bitch,” he seethes, wiping away the fresh wad of spit on his arm. A sinister chuckle escapes him. “I thought you liked it rough,” he retorts.
I rise from my seat, meeting my eyes with his. Looking into his pathetic stare, I grin. “Oh, I do. Too bad you’ll never find out just how rough I like it. I can spit again on you if you’d like, though,” I tease, glaring down at the way his hairy forearm still gleams with my saliva.
Once more, his fists clench, but he doesn’t slam them down on the table, causing a hissy fit.
“I’ll pass.”
“Such a shame. You look so good when I give your shit right back to you. Now, what the fuck is your obsession with the song?” I ask again.
“It’s a battle flag of sorts. I’m memorizing the lyrics, because I need an anthem when I become a Reaper and eliminate what I deem necessary.”
“And what is that, Roberto?”
“You’ll see.”
