Page 7 of The Illicit Play
These aren’t new concepts, people. And it would save me having to grate carrots.
Satch doesn’t seem to mind slaving over a hot stove, but I’m not used to…
One: being in the kitchen.
And two: dealing with quantities like this.
I grew up in a family of four, and when I moved to college, I spent the first few weeks eating in the dining hall and then the last few months…
Dipping my head, I hide my grimace, not wanting to give anything away.
Thinking about how I spent my last few months is the last thing I should be doing right now.
If Wily knew who I’d been hanging out with, and what I’d been doing with them, he’d hit the roof.
But it’s not like I meant to get caught up with my roommate. She just made a different way of living look so exciting. And she was right! It was fucking epic.
We had so much fun together.
Until the trouble started, and then fun turned to shit, and shit turned to life-changing decisions that I couldn’t take back.
Decisions that forced me to?—
Snapping my eyes shut, I grate this carrot like my life depends on it. Stupid idea when you’re trying to dodgethings you can’t fix and your eyes aren’t open… because the chances of grating the top of your knuckle off are a guarantee.
“Ow! Shit!” I drop the carrot stub in the sink and quickly suck my stinging knuckle.
“Are you okay?” Satch whips around to look at me while Wily starts struggling out of his chair.
“What have you done now, butt face?” His teasing grumble would usually appease me, but I’m too pissed off that my big brother, who I’ve literally been looking up to my entire life, is now wrestling to get his crutches so he can limp across the room to help me.
“No, I’m fine,” I quickly tell him. “Sit your ass back down, shithead.” After throwing him a pointed look, I examine my finger.
Gross. I’ve managed to grate a decent flap of skin off my knuckle, and it’s bleeding everywhere.
“Quick.” Satch pulls my hand over the sink so I don’t drip blood all over the floor. “Wash it off, and I’ll find the first-aid kit.”
Wily directs her and I wash off my finger, irritated by the burn and that it’s even happened in the first place. It freaking hurts! And it’s so not helping my mood.
“I can’t reach it.” Satch pops her head back into the kitchen with an apologetic frown.
“Let me help you.” Wily struggles to stand once more.
“No, I’ll get it.” I head for the pantry.
“Not sure you can reach it either.”
“Let me fucking help!” Wily shouts at our backs, his crutch clattering to the floor. “Shit!”
I spin around, blood dripping from my finger when Ipoint at him. “Don’t bend down to get that. You’ll topple over.”
“Stop telling me what to fucking do and let me help you!”
“You helping me is gonna get you hurt, and then we’ll have two injuries on our hands, so just sit your ass on that chair and?—”
“Shut up, butt face!”
“You guys, I can just grab a chair.” Satch tries to squeeze past me out into the kitchen, her cheeks flooding red, as she obviously hates the rising voices in the room.
