Tornado of Nightmares (Book 2)

seventeen

Jill

"I'M GOING TO PUKE," I HEAVE, BENDING OVER. God, I hate travelling through portals. Every time I get out of one my stomach convulses inside. It's like it is personally yelling at me. Well, I fucking hear you, bitch. But I don't have much of a say when it comes to interdimensional travel, now do I?

"You'll be fine," says Warren, patting my back. Oh, and boyfriend of the year award goes to . . . wow, not even a little sympathy. I'll remember this. I bring my head up to glare at him when I hear someone else heaving. My head shoots to Ember. She's got her hands braced on her knees and she puts her head down and fights back a gag. See? It isn't just me.

I stomp on Warren's foot and go over to Ember. I take the hair around her face and twist it at the back of her head. That's when the vomiting commences. I have to look away from her and pretend that I'm somewhere else, because when I see vomit or see someone getting visibly sick—I get sick too. Then it turns into a domino effect. And honestly, I'd rather not puke all over Ember and give more material to Warren for his stupid jokes.

Lady Gaga's Poker Face pops into my head and I sing it full blast—in my head, of course—just to tune out the sounds of Ember hacking up a lung. I pat her back to the rhythm in my head and squish my eyes closed.

Warren laughs quietly off to my side. If I could flip him off, I would. But alas, my hands are currently occupied with helping a girl vomit— no, stop it. Oh, God, it's happening—

Then all of a sudden she stops. I breathe a sigh of relief and rub Ember's back in soothing circles. Or what I think are soothing circles. They always felt good when my mom or dad would do that when I was sick.

I peek open an eye when Ember seems all right, and studiously avoid looking at the mess off to the side. Ember straightens up and I let go of her hair, it falls around her shoulders, her curls bounce a bit. I wish I had hair like hers.

"Thanks," she says to me. "What kind of hell did you just send us through, Warren?"

"It's a portal," he says flatly. "It takes a while to get used to, I'll admit . . ."

Ember shakes her head vigorously. "I never want to get used to that shit. No thanks. If I ever end up coming back to the human realm, it'll be because I'm stuck in another godsdamn mirror again."

I cover my mouth to smother my laugh. That was really dark.

Warren stares at her seriously, like he doesn't get it. For the love of—

"That was a joke," Ember deadpans. "You know, the things that make you laugh. This was a self-deprecating one. Jill seemed to get it, and thank you, by the way, for laughing. But should I explain it to Warren?" she asks me.

I laugh out loud this time. "Please do,"

"Please don't." Warren chimes. "I didn't find your joke funny."

"That's because you don't have much of a sense of humor," I tell him. Which is relatively true. The only time he laughs is at me. Usually, because I've done something stupid. Not because of the fact that I'm hilarious but for the fact that I am quite challenged at the art of walking in a straight line without wobbling a bit. Once, an officer stopped me on the street because he thought I was drunk and thought I was underage. Which I was, the drinking age in Canada is nineteen—I was sixteen. Not drunk though. I was on my own, too. No one to advocate for me when I stumbled forward and then pleaded with the cop to not take me "downtown" or call my mother.

God, what an awful night.

Warren narrows his eyes. "I have a sense of humor."

He looks so depressing saying that. He's in all black, all of us are. He's in black cargo pants and a black hoodie. Ember and I are both wearing black leggings and black shirts, I gave Ember an old leather jacket I had, it used to fit me but doesn't anymore. It fits great on her. I'm wearing a grey zip-up hoodie overtop the shirt. We all look so morbid. Like we're on our way to a funeral. Yeah, our own.