Wonderland | H.S.

Chapter Eleven

There will never be enough preparation for this chapter.

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Presley's POV | Violet Delight's Motel

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Harry wants to chop my head off, feed it to the alligators, and then forget me all over again.

Has he said this explicitly? No, the boy doesn't understand what 'expressing one's emotions' means, and therefore, he's speaking little to nothing. Emphasis on nothing. He's saying nothing at all, only scowling at me with his arms crossed like a little bitch.

But I'm not better. I, too, am communicating through angry facial expressions, my lips pursed into a weird ball of gloom as my arms are lifted by the strength of my failing, inverted hips.

It's been like this for minutes, at least. With the sunshine basking down on our shoulders, baking us from the outside to later charring our already-depleted liver, the whole one-day mumbo jumbo is already turning to dogshit.

And oh, poor Will.

"Y'all alright?" Our tour guide asks, though his voice is muffled due to Harry's distracting man-child face. "It's really no problem if you wanna take the other route—"

"You clearly didn't listen to a word I said, William."

And just like that, Harry's statue facade breaks. I knew nobody could handle the artistry of being a statue, as I've been practicing for years and counting. But to make him feel less like a used toothpick, I drop my scowl and arms. Did the fool just call my new best friend ever William?

I take a step off the rock—the one sat next to the entryway of Tweedle's Path—and watch as the horror unfolds.

Will shakes his head, I think. I don't know. I'm just guessing since I'm not looking. "I did listen, man. You said you'd rather not getting eaten alive by bears on this path—"

"Like any normal human!" Harry throws his arm. I know this because I look up and pay attention for once in my life. I'm so proud of myself for existing. "Do you not see this sign?" Harry strides toward the wildlife sign.

"I see the sign," Will nods.

Trees crowd the metallic sign covered in raindrops that are really teardrops if you ask the right person. Clothed in pollen from the seasonal flowers and trees overhead and encased by trees stretching for miles. I relate to the sign. You yell at me, you only pay attention to me when there are bears around, and if no one walks this trail, I'm ignored.

We've been sitting in front of the path's entryway for about thirty damn minutes. It was running as smooth as butter until Willy Wonka here caught wind of the sign that read: WATCH OUT FOR VICIOUS BEARS! and started panicking.

Truth be told, I'm not afraid of any bears. A Levi is hunting me, and I have a feeling that death would be more painful than any death caused by a cute, cuddly bear looking for some din-din. And besides, I've had sex with a boy who makes me cry more than he makes me smile.

I think I'll be okay.

Willy Wonka, on the other hand...

"Glad you can fuckin' read, 'cuz look!" His accent will certainly wake the bears. His slapping of the sign even more so. "See that word there? Do you fuckin' see it!"

Will's eyes find mine in search of support, but all I can offer is a shrug of my shoulders. I don't know this guy; I know Pretty Boy. I can't be of any help. He turns back, sighing in defeat. "Vicious—"