Shifted #Wattys2016

XLIV

Ronnie

Greyson calls me Ronda. And I hate it. Ronda is an old ladies name, a name that no one should be stuck with. But here I am.

So I correct him.

"Right, Ronda?"

"Ron-nie."

"That's what I said."

We were walking around at dusk. The sun was hidden behind the horizon, and the sky was quickly darkening.

It was just Greyson and I.

Greyson grabbed my arm. "See them?"

"Yeah..." A little further up the street, opposite side from us, were two girls, around the age of ten, maybe. "Why?"

Greyson had this look in his eyes, the look of a hungry animal. He grabbed my hand and started to pull me to the other side.

"Greyson, why are we...?"

"Shh,"

At this point, Greyson and I were a few feet away from the two girls. One was a pretty blonde, her golden hair somehow gleaming in the dark. Greyson smiled at her. The blonde.

"Hey, little girl."

The girl took a step back, suddenly looking extremely uncomfortable. The friend looked at the blondie. "Kristy? Let's go."

Greyson looked at me. And it was like his voice was in my head.

Grab her. Put your hand around her mouth.

He looked back at the blonde—Kristy. "Now."

In a second, Greyson grabbed the blonde and I grabbed the other, my hand going around her mouth.

"Now," Greyson said, his hands gripping the girl. "If I were you, I'd run." He looked at me and nodded. I let go and the other little girl ran. The blonde screamed against Greyson's hand.

He looked up at me. "Wanna have some fun?"

My stomach dropped, hard and heavy, and this feeling of unease took over every fiber of my being.