2. Her ops are my ops

2

Her ops are my ops

Harkins

S he gives me those sultry eyes in the car, the ones I can't deny no matter how much I want to, even when she has been playing the same band on the radio for six months straight. Camila has that way with me, and she doesn't bother pretending like she doesn't know. She thinks I'm annoyed that I'm being dragged to this haunted prison thing last minute, but the reality is, as long as I'm spending Halloween with her, nothing else matters.

We haven't spoken about last Halloween. There was nothing to say then, nothing that we'd gone through together that needed to be dug up from its grave for reexamining. We went on with our lives, living the Norman Rockwell version of our painting, just grateful that from it, we gained each other. It changed her, though. I know because it changed me too. It started as an itch I couldn't pinpoint, an annoyance, a craving, the start of a vice, but then the feeling grew roots beneath my skin, spiked leaves of annoyance carrying the need through the network of my veins.

"So, eight hours locked in a maximum security prison?" I ask, my hands ten and twelve on the wheel while she scrolls through the details on her phone.

"With real inmates, too." She gives me a mischievous grin, the kind she never would have sported a year ago, when her light was still being dimmed by someone who didn't truly love her.

"I thought it was haunted?" These Halloween attractions make less and less sense every year.

"I think it's both." She scrunches up her face while she thumbs through the flier. "Oh, here it is. Spend eight hours locked in The Blood Reformatory, Ohio's most haunted maximum security prison. A night of frightening blah blah blah, chainsaws, electric chairs, haunt actors, and oh, here it is! Over one hundred and fifty inmates will be joining you behind bars for this event. " She looks up from her phone and gives me an overly excited look. "I can't believe I wasn't paying attention when she told me about this."

I chuckle, dropping my right hand to the inside of her thigh. "I can."

Her hand covers mine, and it feels like my world is complete. She does that with just a touch.

The parking lot of the prison isn't as full as I expect, but when we walk up to the entrance, I'm shocked to find there are over two hundred people in line. "Odd."

"It's a limited event, apparently." Camila's still got one hand scrolling through her phone while we walk. "Only a hundred and fifty tickets a night."

"That doesn't sound very limited." I pocket her phone and grab her attention for one last time tonight.

She gives me a warm smile, her dark eyes nearly black in the night. "It's only four nights a year," Camila says with a whisper, booping me on the nose with her finger.

"I would have come regardless. You can stop trying to convince me." I hold her face in my hand, so small in contrast, but it fits just right when I bring her in for a kiss. She makes no effort to pull away.

"Ugh, you guys are sickeningly adorable." Naya Costa's fawning reaches us, both our heads turning in her direction. "I'm so happy you came!" She runs from her place in line and wraps her arms around my girl.

They squeeze each other in a tight embrace, Naya taking Camila's arm and walking ahead of me back to her place in line. Mila is content catching up with her, a genuine smile on her face while she listens to her best friend mindlessly yap about whatever she missed since they'd last seen each other at graduation.

It makes me happy to see she can find joy outside of us.

Something I'm currently struggling to do myself.

Camila freezes in place just as we get to Naya's spot in line, my eyes following to see why: Kyle Danvers. "You brought him?" Her face is less than pleased, and she makes no apologies for it. "You said you broke up."

Naya's tone is nervous, she tries to mask it by tucking a strand of hair behind her ears. "It's complicated, and you know, I work for his dad now."

Camila is practically grinding her teeth, her lips barely moving when she speaks. "You get a new job. You don't stay with the asshole."

Naya looks at me for help before glancing back to Kyle, still waiting several feet away. "Can we please just try to have a good time tonight? I was really looking forward to seeing my best friend."

Camila's expression is stone cold. "Yeah." She glares at Kyle. "Me fucking too."

"Come on—maybe we can toss him in an empty cell right at the beginning." I try to lighten the mood, grabbing my girl and bringing her into my side.

I give Naya a sympathetic look, and she returns one that says thank you without actually speaking.

But Kyle Danvers can't read a fucking room, and the thing about Camila is, even I can't hold her leash. We stand awkwardly for only a few seconds before he ruins the entire night. "Hey, student-fucker!" He raises his hand to me for a high-five.

I squeeze my fists at my side.

"Maybe you can just knock him out before we go in and hide him behind a bush or something," Camila grits out, loud enough for everyone to hear.

Kyle frowns, Naya bites her cheek to hold back a smile, and I push us all forward when the line finally starts to move. The volunteer's megaphone screeches with feedback before he speaks.

"Welcome to The Blood Reformatory, a four-night-only haunted horror prison event. Attendees, please take the next few minutes to fully review the waivers you should have already signed. Please be sure that you agree to all guidelines and restrictions before stepping foot inside our prison. Once admitted, you relinquish all civilian rights for the next eight hours and become one of our prisoners—"

"Wait, what?" Kyle's head turns quickly.

"—do not, I repeat, do not touch the haunt actors, guards, or prisoners. The guards and inmates are very real. We are not responsible for any injury or harm that may occur if you get too close to the cells. There are no props in this facility; all weapons are real. Again, please do not touch the haunt actors. There are no props here ."

"That's a lot of emphasis on the props being real," Naya whispers loudly, earning a snort from Camila.

"The night starts with a tour around the prison basement. Once we reach the second floor, all guests will be put through intake, receive their inmate clothing, and then the night will begin… Let's hope you survive it." The megaphone cuts off, and the line begins to move quicker.

But Camila's excitement is gone, her focus now solely on the overprivileged, generational wealth asshole next to her best friend, and I'll be damned if I let him ruin our night.

Her enemies are my enemies too, and the way she's staring daggers at him makes me regret willing to spend the next eight hours locked up with him. At least my fists are heavy, and we have all night to make it worthwhile.

I roll my shoulders back and look forward, but it's a tiny squeeze of my hand that forces my eyes down. Camila gives me that knowing smirk, those eyes narrowed like she can read my thoughts. "Are you cooking something up?" She bites her bottom lip, her cheek piercings sinking into her dimples.

"Never."