Page 226 of Broken by my Bully
She waves at me, pursing her lips. When we get to the front of the short queue, there’s two people standing there wearing scruffy animal masks. We’re pointed down the path toward a small enclosure made of canvas strung up between the trees. More lamps light our way, and we push through a flap to a small makeshift room.
There are three other girls inside here with us.
Everyone’s naked.
Haven
“Nope. Nuh-uh. Not gonna happen.”
Melissa catches my wrist as I try to leave, pulling me back. I’d have walked straight into the pair of girls that push through the flap, anyway.
“Here.” She hands me two small, round stickers.
“The fuck is this?” I snap.
“Now you won’t be naked.”
I scoff, pushing her hand away. The girls behind me are already stripping off their ball gowns, chattering about whether this guy or that one’s going to be at the party. Trying to decide what UV body paint to put on. Shoving their shiny little purses into one of the empty cubbyholes lining the wall.
Most are already full, and all I can think is how many cellphones, credit cards, and stacks of bills must be in there.
Not that I’d take any.
Just thinking.
My eyes keep going back to the translucent trash bag. The stacks of glowsticks.
The piles and piles of evening gowns tossed in a nearby bin. Even more shoes thrown in the one beside it.
“You’re wearing panties right?”
“Well, yeah, but?—”
Melissa snatches my hand, forces it open, and slaps the stickers down on my palm. “Then all you need are these and a shitload of body paint.”
“And the bags?” I hiss.
“In case it rains. Because if it does, and you don’t have one of those, you’ll definitely be naked.”
She’s already busy stripping. The girls behind me are starting with their body paint.
I’m just standing there, wondering how the fuck I ended up here when, a few minutes ago, I was ballroom dancing on my professor’s feet.
Agony Hollow sure likes its curveballs.
Melissa peels off a pair of stickers and smooths them over her nipples, then glances up at me and gestures wildly at my dress. “Come on. Hurry up. It’s only going to get more crowded in here.”
As if to illustrate her point, another girl old enough to be a senior half-falls through the flaps with a giggle. She barely hesitates before pulling her dress off her head.
She doesn’t bother with the stickers or the body paint. She plucks up one of the modified trash bags, yanks it over her head, and pushes her way past me and Melissa to exit.
I hear her yell, “Baby! Baby, I’m done! Baby, where are—“ before the pounding music swallows her voice.
Melissa is slathering body paint over herself. “This’ll go faster if you help.”
Groaning, I pull my dress over my head. But I admit, there’s a twinge of satisfaction as I dump the dress into the bin. Like I’m metaphorically dumping control-freak Bastian.
Then the cold hits me, and I wish I had the skimpy thing back.
