One • Cave of Snark

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Four plane tickets across the world, one bumpy cab ride, a long ass hike, and we were stuck in a small cave waiting out a thunderstorm.

It was shaping up to be a wonderful vacation.

"I would love even just one bar of service." Damien scowled at his phone for the tenth time, steel blue eyes narrowed. I stifled a laugh, finding it ridiculous that he would be so whiny about cell service when we were supposed to be enjoying the great outdoors.

Though I had to admit, being stuffed in a dank smelling tunnel of rock complete with the steady dripdripdrip of leaking rainwater wasn't exactly what I'd had in mind for the first day. We had been forced to be careful with our fire and sleeping arrangement so we could all stay dry.

"Maybe if you'd brought an actual book, like words on paper, you'd have something to keep you occupied," Lyla said in her silky monotone. She didn't even bother to look up from the science fiction novel she was reading, ever so slowly turning a crisp page as if to accentuate her point.

She crossed her legs at the ankle, feet propped up on her backpack, the perfect picture of a quiet rainy day bookworm.

"I don't like books," Damien retorted, "I like news." He stashed his useless phone back in his own pack, running his hands over his newly buzzed blonde hair. His boyish pout was endearing, and I couldn't help but giggle at his exaggerated drama.

"Because Twitter is full of accurate news reports," Archer commented with a smirk as he poked the small fire with a stick. He adjusted the black rimmed glasses adorning his slender face. The reflection of the flames on the lenses hid those mischievous green eyes, a stark contrast to his ebony locks.

"My own customized newspaper is more than just biased articles on world events." Damien's pout deepened, looking ridiculous on such a broad shouldered man.

"Bikini babes and motorcycles?" I piped up with an oh-so-innocent smile, and received a glower in return.

"Fuck all of you," he muttered playfully, and the three of us shared a laugh at his expense.

He shoved Archer over so he could stretch out his legs, and curiously poked at Lyla's backpack.

"Got anything good to read, then?" Damien asked, and she kicked his hand away with a combat-booted foot. He pinched the cinnamon colored skin of her thigh and she swatted him away as if shooing a fly. Her eyes never left her book, though there was a ghost of a smile on her face.

"Here," I offered, digging around in my bag. I pulled out a worn copy of Fight Club and held it out to him.

"Like the movie?" Damien flipped it over to read the back.

"Better than the movie." Lyla scoffed matter-of-factly, more distracted by our conversation than getting pinched. For a tomboy, she could be such a pretentious nerd sometimes.

"You'll like it better than the dry-as-hell space operas Lyla's got in—ow!" My teasing was cut off by her throwing a stone at me. I rubbed at the blast zone that was my kneecap, and she grinned deviously.

"Pussy," she singsonged, turning back to her book. I threw the stone back, and missed by an embarrassing distance. It clattered off of the cave wall behind her and she didn't even flinch.

"I can think of a better way to distract ourselves," Archer waggled his eyebrows and ran a finger up Lyla's smooth leg.

"I'd like to keep busy longer than two minutes, thanks," she teased, and then it was Archer's turn to get laughed at.

Thus was the way of our friendship.

We'd met working at Domino's Pizza in small town Northern Ontario while still in high school. United under the idiot that managed the store, we'd become the best of friends.

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