Page 36 of Cuervo's Carnival
I know she needs us and running away or, in my case, walking away isn’t going to help anything, but I feel helpless. I’ve never been good at dealing with my emotions. Anger has always been my shield when things become too heavy, and shit becomes too real, like now. I’ve always found it easier to distance myself from what I love because when shit hits the fan, as it always does, it’s easier to accept the destruction from afar than to be subjected to its end with open eyes.
“I said stop!” Paxton shouts, his voice closing in on me when I feel his fingers begin to curl around my arm.
“No!” I roar, trying to pull my arm away from him, but he only increases his grip on me.
“You’re not running away this time.” His hold intensifies, matching the urgency in his tone. Before I can fight his touch, my stride is broken with a forceful yank. He spins my body around, forcing me to look back in the direction of our girl drifting away.
I try to focus on him, but my eyes keep wandering to the destruction all around us.
“I mean it,” he growls. Bringing his free hand to my face, he turns it away from where my eyes are glued, and instead, toward him. “Look at me, Cil.” He redirects my focus.
My gaze trails down to his chest, which rapidly rises and falls. I know he feels what I am feeling. Helpless, lost, scared. But the difference between Paxton and me is that emotion fuels him to rise above. Whereas, for me, emotion fuels my uncanny ability to run away or just fuck shit up even more than it already is.
He cups my chin in his large palm. “We are going to figure this out,” he tries to reassure me.
I jerk my head to the side, trying to break free from where he is now, desperately squeezing my face to keep me where he wants me…here. “Let go,” I seethe.
“I’m not letting go, and neither are you.” He closes the space between us so we are but mere inches apart. His glassy, blue irises are the only visible sign of the torment he feels on the inside.
“She needs us. Fuck, I need us, all of us,” he pleas. “Don’t you dare quit. We knew the risks associated with this,” he says, finally releasing me from his stronghold and lifting his hands, emphasizing our situation.
“I know, but did you see her in there…” I begin, swallowing hard before finishing the rest of my sentence. “She saw something, something we didn’t— Fuck, that we couldn’t see.”
Paxton shakes his head. “She has been through a lot, we all have, but she also lost herabuela. Zeke warned us that this is how the women in their family deal with—”
I interrupt him. “Don’t you dare fucking tell me that all that.” I point toward the wagon, or what is left of it. “This isn’t grief talking. I know you don’t buy into the whole spirit thing, but that wasn’t grief. That was something else.”
“Like what?” Pax asks, rolling his eyes with a tense jaw.
I know he has never bought into the paranormal, the spiritual, or really anything of that sort, but I know deep down, he knows I’m right. This thing Lola is going through…this place we are immersed in, it’s bigger than either of us even know what to do with.
“Don’t dismiss this. I’m telling you, there is something bigger at play here, and if we don’t figure it out, we will lose her,” I warn him.
My own words echo in my ears, making me want to fucking flee, but I won’t. I can’t. I need to fight for her, for him, for us. We didn’t leave the Reapers to be torn apart now.
I lift my phone up, reminding him of the group text we received moments before in the wagon…or what is left of it.
Unknown: History will try to repeat itself. Only she can stop it, because what lies ahead was meant for her
Phone still in hand, I look to Pax. He runs his ringed hand through his beard, trying to formulate what to say in response to the cryptic message.
“Listen–” he begins, but my jaw squares as I grit my teeth, feeling the fear melt into molten anger.
“Listen, nothing. Someone wants to hurt her, hurt us!” I shout. “What the fuck is that about?” I shake my phone, emphasizing my point.
He lets out an exasperated sigh. The tension in his jaw dissipates as he runs his hands through his hair again. “I don’t know, Cil. I don’t fucking know anything anymore.”
“Well, I will tell you what I do know. After what we just witnessed back there…” I point, purposely keeping my eyes on Pax. “I don’t think we should fuck around with this place anymore. Let’s get her and get out while we still can,” I urge.
“Fuck,” he exclaims.
“Yea, fuck is right. Do you want to go get her or me?” I ask.
He runs his inked hand through his beard with a defeated expression on his face. “I just thought she’d be ok here.”
I stare at my phone once more, re-reading the group message, when something clicks.
Looking up at him, I ask, “Who told you about this place? I mean, besides the stories about it, what made you decide that here is where we should be?” I’m not sure why this is the first time I am asking him this.
