Heathens & Hand Grenades (Book 1 of the Heathens Duet)

Chapter 5 - Callie

         "I promise we're not that hideous beneath the masks, at least I'm not. Now Pretty Boy on the other hand, is only pretty with the mask on," Cupid tells me with a chuckle.

With my eyes firmly shut, I feel the air whip past me as Pretty Boy punches Cupid over my head.

"Careful, son. Your mother told me I was quite handsome last night," Pretty Boy says coolly.

"Would you spank me Daddy?"

The barely contained snort from the front makes it clear this is regular banter between the two. To be honest, the banter unnerves me a bit. Are they letting their guard down because I'm not in any danger or is it because I won't have anyone to tell any of this to?

"You're scaring her," Rave says. I mean, I assume it's Rave. His is the only voice I haven't heard and the words aren't dripping honey like Cupid, grinding gravel like God, or oozing smoke like Pretty Boy. Rave sounds like home, a hint of twang mixed in with the exasperation, a parent defusing the fire fight between errant siblings.

After a bit of shuffling from up front, I'm surprised by the feel of fabric on my face and callused hands doused in the scent of rubbing alcohol, masking any other scent that may have graced them. It's such a sterile scent, like a hospital. I hate it. I've seen the inside of a hospital too many times for the smell to bring any comfort. Hot breaths tickle my ear and I repress a shiver.

"Deep breaths, Bambi. Just a little blindfold." Smooth and elusive like smoke, this must be Pretty Boy.

"Bambi?" Although I loved the movie as a child despite the tears, I don't get the comparison.

"Big brown eyes and you're skittish like a doe. Bambi." His tone says it's a no-brainer, but I still don't see it.

"But Bambi wasn't a doe. Pretty sure he had antlers by the end of it." I'm greeted by silence. Maybe arguing over a stupid nickname is not the smartest move I've ever made, but my life is full of stupid moves. What is one more in the big scheme of things?

"I could be wrong though," I murmur, a slightly harried chuckle punctuating my words. "It's been a while and it's not even one of my favorites. I was always more of a Beauty and the Beast, Fantasia type of girl. Really, I should just stop talking. Any minute now. Oh please, someone just sedate me." Cristina Yang might've been onto something when she requested the same thing.

A big booming bark of a laugh from the front seat makes me jump and a heavy, warm hand gently rubs my shoulder. "She's perfect. We have to keep her. I'll even feed her and take her on walks. Promise," Cupid says. I picture him with puppy dog eyes and a pout on a face I've yet to see. He sounds young, happy too. Odd in what I assume are hardened criminals, but Rachel's warned me about making assumptions before.

Pretty Boy's voice weaves around me, closer than it was a moment ago. "You would be correct." Shame fills me as the words make me preen. Even now, I can't help the need for validation. "Stand by your words Bambi. They're all you have in this life." Pretty Boy leans back and I can breathe again.

Tuning them out becomes easy with the radio turned on to some classic rock station. Think Sam and Dean's playlist and you'd pretty much hit the nail on the head. With the chorus of groans and a warm laugh that sounds more like a bear's than a man in the car, it's obviously the pick of the laughing man. No one makes any attempts to turn it off though and I'm grateful for the momentary distraction. Silence only makes the mind wander farther down into the dark.

Even with the sounds of the music and the murmured conversations, my mind wanders to the dark corners of what ifs and true crime podcasts. Already I can hear the descriptions of me recited over boxed wine and popcorn. 'She was nice to everyone, but stuck to herself. Really quiet. Nice girl. Kind of plain really.' Jesus, Joseph, and Mary. Was that all I would be? Nice and quiet? The same words for all invisible people. Nice and quiet is the description reserved for serial killers and perfect victims. Where was the fire? I needed to live to become a person people would miss. How had I let my life get to this point where the only words that sprang to mind were plain and nice?

Well first things first, I have to stop thinking of myself in past tense. I'm not dead yet, darn it. And if I get my way, I won't be at the end of this.

It's well past time to reinvent myself ala Taylor Swift. If she could do it, so can I. Red lipstick would definitely be helpful though. Everyone looks a hundred percent more likely to win a fight with red lipstick. Rachel's words dance around in my head at the thought. 'You can wear red lipstick when you've learned to kill a man. Do you know how to kill a man Calista?'

I don't know how to kill a man, though knowing Rachel it's hard to tell if her words were meant to be a joke or not. Her humor has always been a bit on the darker side, especially of late. Killing anything is well out of my wheelhouse. Even those hideous wolf spiders get a pass from me, albeit a squealing shriek like pass. It's the legs, too hairy, too many. Honestly speaking, pretty sure God was day drinking when he came up with them.

The whole blindfolded by a mysterious man thing is setting my heart off like a hound with the barest whiff of fox just like Nicole said it would, although maybe not exactly in a scenario either of us had imagined. It is odd attempting to gauge the men's moods without my sense of sight. Without my eyes, all the minute details, those little cues are missing. The masks had hidden a lot, but at least there had been body language. Now I am completely lost. It's not as if I know them and can read their intentions by their tones. There aren't exactly many ways to tell when someone is watching you. Besides the faint persistent itch that travels along your skin, whispering about eyes that caress and tease your skin with only their gaze.

Focus, Calista.

"Calista," God says. On his tongue, my name lifts and dips in a sensual way I've never heard, but am eager to hear again. Almost no one calls me Calista anymore. There's only two people left. Rachel one and the other someone I'd rather forget. We're close enough to Bells that he would likely hear about this.