2. Cash

This carnival lookslike it’s straight out of a horror movie. Everything glows a faint gold and red, casting shadows that seem to move around every corner. It’s filled with red-and-white-striped tents, crude dirt paths outlined by candles leading the way. How they stay lit or don’t catch the entire place on fire is beyond me.

And the people working here are otherworldly gorgeous, from the man working the ticket booth to the fire breather and acrobats. There’s something about them that makes it difficult to look away when they catch your eye, and there’s someone watching me—I can feel it. Ever since I stepped foot in this carnival, I’ve felt eyes on me in the crowd, and I can’t find the source, no matter how hard I look through the mass of people.

The lights dim in the ring, and the main event starts. I pull the guitar pick out of my jean pocket and stick it between my teeth. It’s been a nervous habit for as long as I can remember. I continue to glance around in the low light, trying to find the source of this feeling.

When I catch the gaze of a man in the wings of the tent, off to my right side, it clicks. It’s been him. His face is painted in a rudimentary skull, and his shockingly white hair hangs down into his eyes. He’s dressed in dark baggy clothes: an oversized T-shirt and what looks like a skirt paired with boots. His skin is incredibly pale, almost as white as his hair. There isn’t a spot of ink on his body that I can see except something that pokes out from his collar. He sits in a chair, his legs spread wide in a cocky gesture.

He lifts his hand and wags his fingers at me, a slow grin spreading across his face. My stomach flips, and my heartbeat picks up. Suddenly I feel light-headed and dizzy. My body can’t decide if I’m terrified or interested. I flip the guitar pick over in my mouth and lean forward, tilting my head with my own grin. I narrow my eyes, asking him a question with a look. He smiles wider and refuses to break eye contact. We’ve entered some type of war with our gazes, and neither of us wants to lose.

Even with him being so far away, I can tell that his eyes are the palest color blue I’ve ever seen. They almost shine with a silver glow against the black of his face paint. He pushes his hair out of his face, smearing some of the black paint into it, and leans forward as well, matching my posture. His hands clasp in between his knees, and I can see his nails are painted black.

I’ve never encountered anyone like this in my life. There’s something about him that draws me in, makes me want to walk over to him and see him up close. I wonder somewhere in the back of my mind what he smells like. My eyes snag on how wide his legs are spread, and my mind wanders, thinking about how easy it would be to lift that skirt and see what’s underneath. I move up his torso, taking in his thin frame, the little black spot of a tattoo on his neck, and his sharp jawline.

When I finally meet his eyes again, he’s looking at me like he knows where my mind went, like he can see every dark fantasy that has somehow wormed its way into my imagination. He blows me a kiss, and I rear back like it hit me with a smack in the face.

Something happens in the ring, causing one of my friends I’m with to nudge my attention reluctantly back to the show. When I look back, the guy is gone, and I feel something in my chest deflate. For the rest of the show, I scan all the nooks and crannies where he could be hiding, but I can’t find him. I can’t feel his gaze on me anymore, and my heart returns to a normal rhythm. I rub my sternum at the dull ache there as I try to forget the weird encounter.

“What’s wrong with you?” my friend Alyssa asks.

“I just need a cigarette,” I tell her. “I’ll be right back.”

“You just had one before we came in! And it’s almost done,” she complains in a whiny voice that sets my nerves on edge.

“That’s the definition of an addiction,” I tell her and pull my arm from her grasp. She pouts and goes back to talking with our friend on the other side of her.

I exit the tent and look around as I pull out my silver cigarette tin. I only have one left; I’ll have to roll more before the night is over. I tap it on the tin before pulling the pick out of my mouth and taking the cigarette between my teeth. Before I can light it, I feel his gaze again. He appears in front of me, lighter in hand, and holds it up in front of my face.

I was right—his eyes are a molten silver, the color in the irises seeming to shift and move in the glow of the firelight. He’s almost the exact same height as me, if not the slightest bit shorter. I lean in to light the tip of my cigarette, our faces getting so close all I can see is the fire reflected in his eyes.

We stare at each other again, not speaking. I lean back and take a drag. His eyes follow the hollowing of my cheeks, and I smirk, blowing the smoke out of my nose and mouth. Beyond the overwhelming scent of the tobacco is him, and it permeates the smoke. He smells rich like incense and sweet like apples.

I wonder if he tastes the same.

The little grin spreads across his lips again, and it takes every ounce of strength in me to not reach out and touch them. I take the cigarette out of my mouth and lick my lips before swiping my thumb across my piercings. His eyes follow the movement, and he leans in toward me ever so slightly. I see his nostrils widen as he breathes me in.

The energy between us is palpable. I can feel it between us, pushing and pulling on our bodies. My eyes drop to his neck and see the head of a snake poking out of his collar. I blink when I think I see it move, but it’s still there, resting on his collarbone and disappearing beneath his shirt.

I open my mouth to speak, but the tent opens up, and floods of people begin pouring out. I turn toward the light shining on us and squint, knowing my friends will be out and looking for me at any moment. When I turn back toward him, he’s slowly backing away, keeping his gaze on me until he gets far enough away to turn around.

My eyes are glued to him. I watch as he moves through the crowd, over the many dirt paths of candles, and then as he disappears into another tent. It’s dark on the outside with just a faint yellow glow coming out when he opens and moves inside.

I begin to make my way over to his tent, like a bloodhound on a scent trail. I can’t let it go. I take a deep drag of my cigarette, letting my lungs fill with the comforting burn, numbing the strange feeling of loss that fills my chest and throat.

“Cash!” Alyssa yells, dragging my attention back to the group I arrived with. “Where are you going?” I take another drag and then point with the cigarette in my hand.

“That tent over there. I want to know what it is,” I tell them.

“Well, let’s all go together, silly!” she says, grabbing my arm again and leading me over. As we get closer, it begins to light up on the outside. It’s surrounded by tall pillar candles in antique glass jars. They begin to light on their own, casting his entire tent in an eerie glow of reds, oranges, and yellows.

The sign next to the opening reads “Fortune Teller” in exaggerated red ink on a white background. I look around, and no one else is paying this attraction any attention. We’re the only ones that have made it over this way.

I stomp my cigarette out in the grass under my boot and disentangle myself from Alyssa’s grip. She says something to the others, but I’m too distracted watching him as he opens the curtain. He’s surrounded by a hellish glow, like a sinful halo around his entire body.

“Looking to have your fortunes told?” he asks. It’s the first time I’ve heard his voice, and he isn’t even looking at me while he speaks. A hot poker of jealousy flares to life in my stomach. His voice is deep and smooth, and yet there is a playful undertone to it that promises something I’m not sure I want to accept.

“Definitely!” Alyssa cheers, stepping past him. As the rest of my group enters, his eyes swing to mine.

“Coming?” he asks me. There’s a challenge in his silver gaze, and I accept.