Page 26 of Deranged Imposter

I was apprehensive before, but it seems I’ve been slacking in reining her attention.

“I’ll forgive you if you never take off my gift,” I negotiate steadily as I reach for my backpack by the end of the couch.

She shivers from the smooth, thick drawl. Her gaze fiddles between my bare torso and the small velvet box.

“I swear if that’s a ring,” she snarls, glaring remarkably fearsome daggers at me.

Opening the box, it reveals a dainty anklet. The chain and clasp are reinforced, so there is no worry about it being lost. The jewelry erases the confusion on her face, and she lifts her leg for me to clip it on.

When she rejects my gifts the first time, I double them. She won’t accept one, then she’ll be forced to take two. Guilt is a wondrous thing; sadly, I haven’t felt it in a while.

Now, I can track her location down to centimeters.

“What’s the occasion?” she asks, angling her leg to see the glimmering charm. “You know how I feel about jewelry.”

“I thought of you,” I purr and plant a chaste kiss on her raised knee. “I’ll be on your mind, too.”

“You’re very hard to ignore.” She laughs and falls back, trusting I’ll catch her, and I do effortlessly.

She tips her head to glance at the ceiling, the walls, and finally at me.

“Don’t bother trying,” I intone hoarsely, “I see failure, and it’s a white flag.”

A game of silent treatment is foul.

“I don’t admit defeat,” she retorts, conviction oozing from her grin. “Want to bet on it?”

“And let you run away?” I raise a brow, reaching to cup her beaming cheek. “I guess you don’t know me very well. Best friends…you’re tarnishing the purity of it.”

Riveting laughter echoes through the living room as she tries to suppress elated giggles behind wobbly fingers. It brings anticipated serenity to my restless mind.

She peeps, “You got demoted when you wore my fluffy socks.”

“You still wore them after.”

She makes a face.

Chapter Seven

Isabella

If I have to hear another joke about the Glory Hole waterfall, I’ll throw myself into it.

Before this last trip to the Ozark National Forest, one couple broke up while the other stayed sickeningly intimate. The broken couple sees each other as enemies and follows me around like a lost dog.

The precedence is set, connecting the cabin to relationships. I don’t even know them enough to call them my friends. They’re acquaintances. The lovesick couple is closer to me, but I wouldn’t say we’re friends either.

I jot down the last of my notes, scribbling reminders on the side to add this specific data to the research essay I already typed. Closing the notebook and stretching my arms above, I mewl as the bone pops satisfyingly.

The sun is setting, casting a ray of entrancing hues across the green forest below me. It’s a massive land of nature with hazardous cliffs, creepy insects, and crisp oxygen.

The loud squabbling from behind interrupts the serene air, startling birds as they soar through the sky to avoid potential danger. The broken-up couple barks insults and bare teeth, but if I listen closely, there’s no anger in their tones.

It’s better to not poke two bears biting air, or they’ll actually sink their teeth into each other. Or worse, me. I can’t imagine what Mikah would think and do to them, but it wouldn’t be a pretty sight.

Maybe illegal and inhumane.

The last time I got severely hurt, in his opinion, was a tumble down the hill before my third year at the private high school. Some students were running and playing by the hill, launching pencil cases at each other as if they were improvised javelins.

---