Sleet Sugar by S.J. Tilly
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
IZZY
It’s official. I hate everyone. I hate everyone that brought me here. I hate everyone that works here. I hate everyone that helped to design these godawful attractions. I hate everyone having a good time tonight.
After almost dying in the corn maze, I called a bathroom break. I came really close to not making my second goal when that freaking scarecrow leaped at me. And just like everything else here, the bathroom sucked. Because the sign that said “bathroom” was really just referring to a row of Porta Potties. Outhouses, crap shacks, whatever you want to call them.
How do you make a regular outhouse worse? You put the creepy-ass costume people in and around them. That’s how. The door handles have the little red/green things to let you know if they’re in use, and I watched a girl walk right up to an unoccupied outhouse, pull the door open, only to have Mr. Nightmare jump out.
Hell to the Fucking No.
Not wanting to be the person who pees herself two feet from a toilet, I waited until I saw a normal person come out of one, and then I went into that one. No pulling on random doors for me. No, thank you. Hard pass.
Of course, Mr. Nightmare saw me in line, so he was standing inches away from the opening when I opened the door to step out.
I screamed. And cursed. And if I hadn’t just relieved my bladder, I definitely would have peed.
After that, we did another haunted house. And then we did the worst thing ever, a haunted trail walk. Like - through the woods, in the dark, with assholes jumping out at every turn.
Whether by luck, design, or the magic of terror, I always ended up within reach of Zach. I might’ve even been arranging it myself. Subconsciously of course. He really did make a good barrier. Having someone big, and strong, and steady to hold onto was the only thing standing between me and a mental breakdown. So I clung to him. Nonstop.
“Ugh, my throat hurts,” I say to no one in particular, my voice scratchy from all the screaming.
“Seriously girl, you’re probably the biggest chicken I’ve ever met.” Meghan chuckles.
“Har. Har. You can go F- off with the rest of them. You were supposed to be my support tonight. I don’t think you even stood by me except for the first ten seconds of Santa’s Satan Shop before you ditched me.” I huff.
“I was here!” Meghan says indignantly.
“Well, duh.” I roll my eyes. “But you were of no use to me.”
I can feel Zach standing in front of me. “I got you some hot chocolate. Thought the warm liquid might feel soothing.”
I lift my head to glare at him. I feel like I should say thank you for the thoughtful gesture, but it’s his fault that my throat hurts in the first place.
He holds the cup up closer to my face so I can smell the chocolatey goodness.
“I know you’re not talking to me right now. You made that perfectly clear. About a thousand times," he smirks, referring to the rant I half-shouted at him after the last “attraction”. I narrow my eyes. “But please, accept my offering. I openly admit that it will take more than one cup of sweetness to make up for the trauma I’ve put you through tonight. I’m the worst. You’re the best. I’m a troll. You’re a goddess. I’m dumb. You’re brilliant. I’m salt. You’re sweet, sweet Sugar.”
He winks and I can’t take it anymore. I crack a smile.
As I reach to take the cup from Zach, he looks over my shoulder and grimaces.
“Sweet dreams,” Mr. Nightmare says. From right behind me.
I scream.
