Page 7 of Slay Bells Ring

Georgina’s not a nobody. She’s someone, someone who thinks she’s important. I can tell she’s not used to someone not giving a shit.

“It means,” I tell her, “your kind doesn’t usually venture out to these parts. You’re a city girl. I can tell.” I take another swig.

“A city girl, huh? What makes you say that?”

“The way you walk, the way you talk—hell, how you expected me to pack up my shit and leave when you got here. It’s obvious this isn’t your scene.”

She grinds her teeth. The way she looks at me, with those bright green eyes, makes it hard for me. It’s like she already hates me. Maybe I won’t have to push her much more to get her to leave. Simply existing in her presence is pissing her off enough.

Georgina mutters, “And what does that make you? You look like a drunk, not someone who likes being surrounded by nothing but cold and snow.”

“Maybe,” I offer, “I hate the holidays.” That’s not a lie. No family, no friends; it isn’t as if I’ve ever enjoyed Christmas—or any other damned holiday throughout the year. Each year, when this time rolls around, I’m reminded of that job and the kid in the closet.

So, no, I fucking hate Christmas.

“I hate the holidays too,” she whispers. “It wasn’t always like that. There used to be a time when Christmas was my favorite part of the year.”

I don’t care to know, but the wistfulness in her voice is such a switch from her derision that I find myself asking, “What changed?” When I look at her again, she’s staring at the fire, not at me. The orange light from the flames dance across her skin, reflected in her eyes.

As much as I hate her for interrupting my plans, I can’t lie and say she’s ugly. She’s beautiful, and I bet she knows it. Young and beautiful, she must be used to having the world at her fingertips.

“I grew up,” she whispers. “The magic that made Christmas great just isn’t the same when you’re older. Things change. You change. You get cynical and mean…” Her gaze shifts away from the fire, landing on me. “Why did you come here to drink yourself to death, Kane?” The way she says my name makes my skin crawl.

It’s like… fuck, it’s like she knows me. Like she knows something she shouldn’t. I don’t like it.

Now it’s my turn to look at the fire burning in the fireplace. My hand tightens around my bottle, and I go for another huge sip. I’m supposed to get under her skin, notthe other way around, but that question nags at me. It really is like she knows.

Once my throat isn’t burning from my latest drink, I mutter, “I got older.” My answer mimics hers. “There was never any magic for me, but… I got older and things got worse. I thought things would get easier, simpler, but the opposite happened and I’m—” I sigh. “—tired.”

Georgina actually laughs at that, and I can’t help but glare at her as I seethe. “If you’re not tired, are you even alive?” she asks.

I lean forward and shake my head. “Someone like you… you wouldn’t understand.”

“Someone like me? You sure do think you know all about me. You took one look at me and think you have all the answers.” The smile she gives me then is annoyed. “You don’t know anything about me.”

I lift the bottle in the air, toasting her. “And you don’t know a goddamned thing about me.” I take a huge sip before, to my surprise, Georgina outstretches her hand towards me, as if she wants some.

Hmm. I guess I did eat one of her bars this morning.

A single eyebrow lifts as I ask her, “Are you even old enough to drink?”

She scoffs, “Yes! How young do you think I am?” Before I can respond, she leans over and snatches the bottle from me, puts her lips to the rim and cocks it back. Not more than a second later she’s recoiling and gagging as she shoves the bottle back into my hand, acting like she wants to be sick. “Holy shit. That stuff is strong. How does it not knock you out?”

If things were different, I might’ve chuckled at her reaction. You know, if I wasn’t a man set on killinghimself. All I end up doing is shrugging and telling her, “I’m used to it by now.”

A while passes. Georgina doesn’t ask for another turn with the bottle. I think she learned her lesson. We sit there in silence, watching the fire behind the metal grate. I really do wish she’d take the hint and leave. Spending my last days on earth with a stranger is the last thing I want.

As fate would have it, she eventually breaks the silence of the cabin and brings up the one thing I don’t want to talk about: “So, Kane, what do you do for work?”

“I’d rather not talk about it.”

“You get fired or something? Is that why you’re here, drinking like there’s no tomorrow?”

Something in me snaps, and I get to my feet, towering over her sitting position. “I said I don’t want to fucking talk about it, and that means I’m not gonna fucking talk about it, got it? Why don’t you just mind your own goddamned business?”

Georgina angles her head up at me, unimpressed by my aggressive stance. “Hit a sore spot, I see.” The way she says it, so smugly, really grinds my fucking gears.

“You don’t know anything.”

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