Impish

CHAPTER 10: TAKING IT THE WRONG WAY

I sit on the edge of a hotel bed, with one bare foot on the bed and one dangling over the ground. The remote for the TV across the room is in my hand. I flip through the channels absentmindedly, not concentrating on any of them or the snippets of dialogue, music, and infomercials. The wavelengths infiltrating the air do nothing to distract me.

Roux isn't here. They're somewhere else in the building. I didn't care to ask where they went when we got here and they stormed off. A few minutes after we left the diner, they went pale again and stopped talking. I don't know if it was from anger or not.

I don't get it. It's like they're hot one minute and cold the next. They love me and feel genuine concern, and then they're full of hate and frustration at something they refuse to talk about. I have never known how to get them to talk about their feelings in a way that actually leads to some sort of discussion or change on my end.

This isn't shaping up to be the adventure I thought it would be. I know for a fact that Doug is doing drugs while he showers in the bathroom, Roux is nowhere to be found, I have nothing but despair in my heart, and I haven't spoken to my mother in a while. I was supposed to.

Maybe I should call her. I promised that I would keep her posted. Somehow, I'm not sure that she would want to hear anything that has happened during this trip, not even the accidental cannibalism or pervy clowns. I'm not sure that I could bring myself to talk to her without lying or breaking down in tears. Truth be told, I'm not enjoying all of this. I thought it would be fun if I was with Roux and Doug, but it's not.

I send her a text. I don't think about what I send; I type and send something like "We got to the hotel tonight and we're going to the park in the morning. Love you." I set my phone on the dresser under the TV. I turn off the screen, switch the television to a black, empty screen, and lay back on the bed to stew in everything I'm feeling.

Eventually, Roux comes back into the room with their fists shoved into the pockets of their sweatshirt. It's gray, with the logo of our old high school's band program emblazoned on the breast in bright red. The fabric absolutely dwarfs them, making it look like they're swimming in sweatshirt fleece.

"We need to talk," they say, frowning and scowling at the same time. That doesn't bode well.

I don't sit up. I'm not sure it would help with anything. "About?"

"Everything that's happening."

I'm sitting up now. My hair flops into my eyes, catches on my horns, and hits my neck in a way that makes me shudder violently and involuntarily. "Is this about the--"

"Yes, it's about the cannibalism thing. And it's about the danger I have been put in these past few days. Hell, about the danger you've been put in these past few days. We're not safe here. I think we need to go home or something. We can't keep going on like this."

"Can we talk about something else?" My heart beats a little too quickly in my chest. I feel like the earth is going to fall out from under me. I feel like the space under the bed is going to fall into a sinkhole and the magma in the Earth's crust is going to burn me to a crisp.

"Like what?"

"I... I don't know?"

"No, then."

I don't say anything. I just make a little groaning, gurgling noise while laying flat on my back.

"I don't think Doug is a good influence on you." Roux is still standing by the door. "I don't think he's a good guy in general, I mean."

"It's because he's a demon, isn't it."

"Yes? Kind of? Not necessarily? It's not the demon thing that gets me. It's the fact that he keeps putting us in danger and you keep going along with it. And I'm sick of that. Do you know how manipulative he is?"