Wonderland | H.S.

Chapter Six, Part Two

Welcome back, my darling Purple.

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Presley's POV | Present Day

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"Tell me again."

For the fourteenth time in the last hour, Pretty Boy's demanding I tell him what I know of the last four months. We've been sitting in my damn hut for thirty minutes—Harry seated on the loveseat, per usual, as I sprawl on the springless couch—and I'm on the verge of ripping my tongue out.

Imagine explaining something that makes zero sense. It's torture. Slow, agonizing torture that strips me of any desire to revive his memory. Sure, I wanted him to remember and kiss me and hug me two hours ago, but that was then. That was before I became a Social Studies instructor.

A long sigh escapes my nose as I toss the remote in the air, praying to the confused Thors of the world that it might smack me in the face. It'd be less painful than this conversation. "For the last time, I've already told you everything," I respond, my voice clipped in annoyance. "This'll be, what, the fifteenth time? Get a notebook and write it down if you can't keep up."

"Do you have a notebook?" Catching the remote, I grip its plastic until it bleeds technical guts. Or that's what I want to happen, but none of my hopes ring true in reality. Harry continues, "Maybe a pen?"

"Look around," I motion to the hut, noting how nothing about the worrisome environment's changed. Cracks in the wall by the television, eddied in nonsymmetrical circles. Creaking floorboards that drive anyone nuts, including August. "Take it in, Harry. Take in the couch—" the one he fucked me on, "—and the scent." I inhale sharply, feeling goosebumps ride over my skin. "Oh, it's the beautiful smell of vodka."

And the beautiful liquor is everywhere but my mouth. It's stained into the couch cushions, the ones failing like Cade's memory. Marked into the floors, causing the wood to bubble. I'm sure there's vodka in Auggie's room, given it was my room once upon a time.

Speaking of, where is the curly-headed demon? Has he forgotten our relation and run off to be with Aunt Lisa? Abandoned the annoying, older sister for a calmer life with the legend.

Doubtful. When I walked in, a note was draped on the kitchen counter. Not home, read the note, and I nearly collapsed in joy. Auggie was avoiding the hut, meaning he was avoiding me. Christ, being remembered by the ones you love is riveting.

Moonlight pushes through the curtains as the lights remain off, a full quarter being Greenport's lamp for the evening. I can't see him—I'm actively looking everywhere but him, hence the remote-throwing—but I know the glow illuminates his outline. Not him. Just the shape, the figure.

He, however, is hidden in the dark.

The moonlight dances off my face, I know that. Maybe if I throw enough items, Harry won't pay any attention to me. "So," he starts, crushing my wants and dreams. "What movie is this from?"

Alice in Wonderland—wait, what? I halt my throwing, averting my eyes to Harry. I was right. His face isn't visible. "What movie is what from?"

He shrugs his shoulders, fiddling with the rings. "You had to draw inspiration from somewhere, yeah?" From him. "A little too confusing for my liking, but it's entertaining. Hope you win an oscar for this one."

Gaping at him like he's announced his plan to overthrow the world, my body jerks up from the claim. From the accusation, you could call it. He's been pestering me for the last hour, demanding I repeat the smallest detail, just to throw it back in my face.