Page 25 of SummerTime Madness
“CORDELIA!” he shouts into the soil his fingers digging deep into it as if his sheer will power could drag her back to him.
But it won’t.
The man is almost feral… makes me question if one day, out of hate, or maybe love, he will just snap her neck. However I don’t get in between their games, I’m here to soften blows; this is how we work.
As expected, the Queen never misses, he should have seen this one coming.
Cordelia is calculated.
Careful.
Traitorous little thing.
We never stood a chance. Once we got caught in her web, we were fucked.
I like the power play between them. It’s truly magnificent being caught between a tornado and a volcano, holding your breath while you watch each piece fall into place.
Picking up the unlit joint from the mossy ground, I glance over at Tate, who is still angry.
Once again, he’s lost.
I don’t get it, their rivalry. Why won’t he just give in like his body and heart already have?
But when Tate loses his shit, you have to ride the wave, and let him pump the poison out of his system. But this one is lethal…
He’s infected… a dead man walking, and so am I.
There’s no cure for a poison like Cordelia. The only cure… is to let her consume us like she has since we were too young to understand her coldness. But I guess that’s what happens when you’re warm inside.
Your warmth attracts the cold.
Bringing the joint to my lips, watching my beautiful monster watch with shock and excitement. It’s a look you would expect from an evil genius. Those two are madness and genius personified.
Beautiful.
Mine.
Tate leans in closer, inspecting the plant before looking over his shoulder as if he just added pieces to a puzzle I wasn’t privy to, which happens more often than I care to admit.
But that didn’t matter to me. I know where her heart is, and that’s with me... I didn’t need to be smart when I had her heart. The softness, I was completely and irrevocably consumed by her, and I was okay with that. Accepting was less painful than fighting it.
“What did you discover?” I ask as I inhale the herby smoke.
Tate scoffs softly before smirking and running a hand through his hair to push it back. His black shirt is still bunched up from her fisting the fabric.
We smell like her, and that’s what I enjoy. It feels like a haunting.
One minute she’s here, something feasible… in our grasp to obtain, and then all that’s left is the aftermath–the wreckage of the tornado. Leaving us sated and empty with the smell of her. Tate snatches the joint from my lips.
“Connection, Chase,” he says with a smirk as he takes a long, deep inhale. His head tilts back as he looks up at the night sky.
Connection.
I wonder what that means, but his short answer tells me he’s done speaking. He’s bleeding from his wound... His heart and his mind are at battle. One wants to win, and by the looks of it, the mind is losing. At least in a week, we will be on Luna Island.
Drunk, sun burnt, and fucking on the beach like the world hasn’t ended.
Partying and living.
