Page 63 of Wicked Sins

Rise.

Fall.

Exhale.

Ebb.

Flow.

One, two, three, four, five—

Brackish water floods my mouth. I wrench my lips away from hers, gagging as bile and dam water coats my tongue. When another retch threatens, I grab Candy’s shoulders and drag her onto her side.

Suddenly, there’s a huddle of girls around her, some more hysterical now that she’s showing signs of life than before when she could have been a department store mannequin someone had found floating in the dam after a wayward prank.

She’s gasping and gagging as I stumble to my feet. I force back the urge to hurl, and instead drag my hair out of my face and haul enough air into my lungs to push my chest out.

A hand lands on my shoulder. “Jo—I—dude, I’m so fucking so—”

My fist cracks into Sylvester’s jaw. His head spins to the side.

For a moment, I think I imagined everything. That I’m light headed from standing up too fast or some shit. But then someone gasps, and Sylvester stumbles, tumbles, falls with a grunt.

My knuckles creak. I stomp closer, blood singing in my ears as my fist begins to ache.

But hands, arms, urgently low voices stop me.

“Josiah, don’t.”

“He’s sorry, man.”

“…Was an accident…”

“…get punished if…”

White noise.

A low drone.

My breath stops as my body solidifies, and a strangely calm logic floods my brain.

Not now, Jo. You’re so close. Keep it together, or you’ll be stuck here like them. Just another teenage reject.

I take a step back, and I could be moving through tar.

Another.

Another.

“Joah.”

I wave my hand at the voice. I’m done. The anger’s fading. Everything’s coming up fucking unicorns.

“Joah!”

That familiar voice lures me from a seductively dark introspection—a place I should never go back to, should never have been in the first place.

Candy.

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