Page 1 of Slash or Smash
CHAPTER ONE
RAVEN
Callme Myrtle and strap aLife Alertaround my neck because the thought of leaving the house after ten pm makes me wanna “slip” down a flight of stairs.
Help, I’ve fallen and I can’t get up.
I don’t know what it is about this year specifically, but the last thing I want to do is party hop around town, hit the usual corn mazes or hayrides, or the same haunted houses we traipse through year after year. It all just seems so…lackluster, the appeal nonexistent in a way it’s never been before. I’d much rather rot on the couch with a cozy sweater and my third pumpkin spice latte of the day, while reading a smutty book or rewatching Halloween movies.
Still, I’ve dressed up as a sexy bat and dragged my ass out of the house because my little circle of friends are some of the most insistent bitches I know. I also don’t particularly enjoy letting them down. Not to mention, Halloweenismy favorite holiday. Fall wouldn’t be complete if I sat on my ass for All Hallow’s Eve.
With a cold beer in hand, I wiggle my hips toThe Cramps“Goo Goo Muck”, hoping the buzz that’s just starting to kickin will make this shindig more enjoyable than the last one. It’s decorated to the nines and thoughtfully planned out, vivid neon lights and Halloween decorations everywhere you turn, but the more time passes, the more I realize I’m just over the party scene. My 20s were full of it, and while I wouldn’t change a thing about that era, I’m in my 30s now. I want to experience new things and make fresh memories that don’t include me being drunk off my ass and having a nasty hangover the day after.
Audrey, my best and oldest friend—we’ve literally known each other since kindergarten—yanks me into her breathing space, her lips settling beside my ear. “Is it me or is this party a snoozefest?”
I instantly deflate in relief and nod my head vigorously. “I don’t know if it’s a snoozefest per se or if I’m just not feeling the party vibes anymore.”
Easing back, the dark waves of her hair swaying beneath the crimson cloak of her Little Red Riding Hood costume, she gives me a knowing look and pulls me off the dance floor without another word. We end up somewhere in the kitchen where she’s already pulled out her phone, her thumbs tapping away at the screen. I don’t have to look, much less ask what she’s doing. She’s texting the rest of our group, who’ve scattered around here doing God knows what. Letti and Nina are probably outside enjoying their childless mommy’s night off. Rose is likely lost somewhere dancing. And Frankie… That girl is undoubtedly in a room somewhere getting her lights railed out. Much to my surprise, though, they all meet us behind the concrete-topped island within a few minutes.
Frankie rakes a hand through the mussed up curls of her bright auburn hair and reaches for my beer, the tight lines of her Poison Ivy costume askew. “What gives? I was just about to get what looked like some bomb head. Two words: tongue ring.”
Told you.
I roll my eyes, shaking my head at her antics, but chuckle nonetheless. “I’m bored, that’s what gives. These people all look like babies, too. I feel old as fuck.”
The girls all nod in agreement, huddling closer as a noisy group of frat bros rush around us to pour themselves another round of drinks. Some of them go for the punch bowl, leaving me in an instant state of disgust. You couldn’t pay me enough money to drink from a communal punch bowl at a party of this size, even if the hosts were friends.
A hint of concern washes over me, too, but it lasts literal seconds as two of the guys give me what’s clearly a fat-phobic once-over and all but push me out of the way. Young Raven would’ve called it a night and gone home to crawl into her pajamas. Adult Raven isn’t remotely phased, my eyes nearly rolling out of their sockets. There’s truly nothing sexier than a confident fat girl who simply doesn’t give a fuck…and I don’t have a single one to spare.
Their shrimp cocktails probably couldn’t handle all of this, anyway.
“I mean, you’re not wrong,” Frankie concedes over the music, pulling my focus back to the group. “Hence why getting my pussy licked was the better option.”
“Was he even good-looking?” Letti asks, taking a sip from her cup. She’s gone out as Lara Croft this year, and it’s really working for her.
Frankie shrugs and downs the rest of my beer. “Don’t know. He had a mask on the whole time. Lifted it enough to have access to his mouth.”
All she had to do was say mask and an aroused shiver zips down my spine.
My best friend shoots me another knowing look and waggles her eyebrows. We’ve discussed the mask kink thing on morethan one occasion at this point. “I say we ditch this shit and do something else.”
“Like what?” Nina pipes up, the sleeves of her Morticia dress nearly brushing the floor.
“There’s that new escape room place in the Square,” Letti chimes. “Drew and a few of his buddies went a couple weeks ago for boys night. They said it was great.”
“An escape room, huh?” I muse. “That could be fun.”
CHAPTER TWO
RAVEN
“Trick or treattt!”a group of crotch goblins yell on Mrs. Branson’s porch as we stroll past her house.
All around us, echoes of the same nostalgic phrase ring out up and down the streets, giggles, shrieking, and the sound of pattering feet on the sidewalks along with it. Every house is decorated: string lights, carved pumpkins, and dried leaves as far as the eye can see. Some keep it cuter and more family friendly, others provide a spookier vibe. Either way, it’s Hollow’s Moor. We take fall—Halloween especially—very seriously around here. Decorating is a must, and everyone is happy to participate.
A group of four little girls zoom right through us, knocking into us like dominoes before cutting a quick left to the next house, their princess dresses and fairy wings shimmering beneath the moonlight.
“I’m sorry about that!” one of their moms yells somewhere behind us.
