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Thirteen by Nina Auril, Abby Gale (15)

 

Avalon

 

3 months later...

 

I lift the candle to my nose and breathe in its earthy scent before placing it on the table in our bedroom. I bought 13 candles for Flint to choose from to use on me tonight.

I squirm in my seat, remembering the last time we explored wax play. It was thrilling, magical, fun, and made me almost euphoric with pleasure. Whenever I let Flint use me as his plaything with hot wax, his face lights up like it’s Christmas. Though, we don’t like Christmas much. Halloween is our favorite, the time of the freaks, the time for all those who are haunted.

I unpack the last candle, a blood red one with a strong and intense scent, I can’t put my finger on. It teases my senses, makes me drunk on its fragrance. Poison, its name; my favorite.

Just when I’m about to make a ball of the newspaper I unwrapped the candle from, I notice the asylum we ran away from 3 months ago.

Tragic fire in asylum, the headline says.

I check the date on the paper, it’s from the day after we ran away. I quickly read the article in the local newspaper.

Last night a tragic accident happened at the city's criminal psychiatric institution. A fire that started by an unknown reason quickly engulfed the institute. Most of the patients have been safely transferred to the closest psychiatric hospital, but two guards were found dead in the fire and two patients are missing; police are continuing their investigating but so far all clues point to their possible death.

I snicker. They think we’re dead. Perfect.

Then, I read the article again. They say two guards are dead. We only killed one guard that night. Well, intentionally. The other guard must have not got away fast enough. I hope it’s the one who beat Flint after he set the humming bird on fire. Trying to remember that night I count the bodies we left behind: two guards, the couple in the gas station, the guy we killed with chocolate (that was pretty fun, really), the assholes who tried to fuck me up, two bitches who were all over Flint, and the barbeque with his parents, the dealer and his fucking bodyguards… thirteen people.

I laugh loudly.

People call 13 an unlucky number, but for us 13 is our lucky charm, our happiness, our future.

“Baby?” I hear Flint holler for me. I quickly walk toward the door and close it behind me so he doesn’t see the surprise I’m preparing for him tonight. But my mouth dries the moment I see him. He’s shirtless, only wearing a leather apron that he insists all blacksmiths wear. It suits him, makes him even hotter. The sweat drips from his arms, licking every muscle on its way. His body gets stronger every day, his muscles more prominent now than the first day I saw him. Just with one look his way my knees go weak, he has me under his spell.

“Are you finished with those knives yet?” I ask, licking my lips when I see soot cover his fingers. He’s making a knife set for me, something that will symbolize our love and I can’t wait to see it. I saw some drawings of the design he thought of doing when he wasn’t in the atelier and it was breathtaking with 13 written on the knife haft and fire licking metal.

“Not yet, but soon,” he says, grinning with pride.

He loves working with metal and fire and he’s very talented. He likes putting raw things into shape, creating something from nothing and I love watching him do that. I like his fire; the fire in him, on him, and in his hands. The way it burns and tingles my skin. I love the way he licks every spot the hot wax hurt me and the way I come for him, each time more intense. But mostly, I love how he looks at me, every second of every day, like I’m his most prized possession.

“What’s in there?” he asks. He doesn’t stutter anymore, only sometimes when he’s too excited or too aroused and only for me. Those moments are just reserved to me.               He is reserved just for me. My love, my sanity.

“A surprise for you,” I murmur, biting my lip as I look at him from under my lashes.

I smile when I see the fire behind his eyes, the bobbing of his Adam’s apple as he swallows. His reactions are my drug and I’m addicted to him.

“When will I see?” His voice husky, his arms wrapped around me to pull our bodies flush together. I moan when I feel his erection on my stomach, but I shake my head with a giggle.

“Not until tonight.”

He groans and kisses me, leaving me breathless in the best possible way. Finally, when I catch my breath I ask, “Why were you calling me?”

“Ah, right. I forgot. A couple came for you. They want you to read their future.” He smirks.

I snort. I’m a fortune teller now. We decided to settle on the farm we killed his parents on. Flint still had a contact a few towns over that set us up with new identities. After throwing most of the furniture out and breaking down walls, we found money in one of the walls. A lot of money. Enough to set us up for a few years yet. Apparently drug dealers don’t use banks. With his blacksmithing and my fortune telling supplementing all that money, we’d be set to live out our days here. It would be a simple life, but we’d be happy and free. Even though our farm is in the middle of nowhere, people come to me to hear about their future. Now, each day I can see clearer, each day I have more and more visions for the world, for the people who come to me, and for Flint and I… for us.

I head to the area where I meet with people, a smile on my face. My dad doesn’t speak to me as much anymore, but I can feel he is proud of me as I greet them, “Welcome to the Doors of Avalon. Come, sit down and let me tell you your future.”

 

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