He had fallen over more from shock at her outburst than her physical strength. She was growing stronger, however. He wondered if the Contortionist would ever be able to match him. Pound-for-pound, perhaps. But he had a good foot of height on her.
Our height difference might be inconvenient in the shower. He pondered the problem for a moment and sighed as the mental images he summoned immediately made the problem worse. He slipped his hand into his pocket to try to encourage that particularly raucous part of him to sit down and shut up.
“How should I go about convincing her that this is inevitable?” He looked down at the severed head on the floor. Talking to the dead Clown was about as useful as talking to the live one. He didn’t know which one he preferred. Oh, no, that wasn’t true. He knew.
The dead one was much less annoying.
He took in a deep breath, held it for a moment, and let it out in a long rush. “Well, you’re right. It can’t go on like this. I need to make her either hate me or give in to me. I can’t stand this…in-between nonsense.”
Simon turned to leave the tent and paused. Using his foot, he nudged Clown’s head into the center of the aisle. With a sick smile, he punted the head out of the front of the tent as hard as he could manage.
He cackled as it bounced and rolled along the dirt path. Now, that cheered him up! He walked from the tent, whistling through his smile as he continued to kick the severed head along the path like a pebble on the road.
He whistled, he smiled, and he schemed.
Enemies or lovers. Which’ll it be?
He laughed as his inherent greed welled up in him. He wanted it to be both. Why choose between the pastries when one could eat the whole tray? He wasn’t sure if Cora would be amenable to the situation, however.
But she was surprising him at every turn. And equally surprising was how much he…uh…“enjoyed” her anger. One of the least favorite things in his life was being pushed around by others. It was why he was usually the one to instigate the violence instead. It was difficult for someone to strike him when they had no arms.
Or legs. Or torso.
He kicked Clown’s head down the path as he continued whistling his aimless tune.
But her? When she struck him with the frying pan, it had done something strange to him. He had wanted more. Not the pain or the annoyance of having a broken and bloody nose—but her wrath.
She was beautiful when she was angry. Those gray eyes turned dark like a storm at sea. As though the lightning he saw flashing in her soul might strike him and send him sinking to the depths. It was intoxicating. And it was exhilarating.
The few times he had dallied with a guest—Simon had never been one to take a lover in the Family, since they were all wastes of his time—it had always been some frightened little waif of a girl who had been tempted by his darkness. He had made them dance on his strings. He had been in command. He was the Puppeteer, after all. No one told his story but him.
But Cora was different.
He wanted her to fight. He wanted her to meet him head-on and see what kind of wreckage they could cause in the process.
His wandering thoughts were not helping his current condition. He growled and did his best to hide the issue as he reached the boxcars, still kicking Clown’s head as he went. He didn’t know what he was going to do with it until he saw Cora at the top step of her boxcar stairs, talking to two men who were standing at the bottom.
Jack and Aaron.
Of course.
Now he knew what he was going to do with the severed head.
He grinned.
Cora made it back to her boxcar without putting her fist or her foot through anything. She had been happy and proud of herself as she left the tent, but it had faded quickly into annoyance and anger.
How dare he!
That was a statement she was certain she was going to be making a lot. How could Simon dare to do anything he did? It didn’t matter. He just did it anyway. He was egotistical, arrogant, sadistic, evil, cruel, murderous, and insane.
And she wanted him.
Badly.
She ran her hands over her face. She shouldn’t want him. She shouldn’t! It made her suicidal at worst and an idiot at best. She didn’t know what had been “worse.” When he had been towering over her, that sadistic smile across his face—or when she had her hand cinching his tie painfully around his throat.
Neither. Both.
And it was because she wanted him in both moments that she didn’t know what to do. If she had only enjoyed his possessive side, she would ignore it as a self-destructive part of herself that wanted the stability and safety it could bring. If it were just the other, when she had flipped the script, she would blame it on her need to feel in control of something. The need to feel like she had power.
As it was, because the whole thing had left her with a heady excitement and a feeling that coiled low in her stomach like anxious snakes, she couldn’t write it off either way. It left her confused and nervous, and the whole thing just made her angry.
I don’t know how long we can go on like this.
She was angry because she was frustrated. She was angry because she couldn’t understand why she felt the way she did. But it was so strong, it was undeniable. And it made her want to freaking punch his stupid face in.
She wasn’t a violent person. She never really felt the urge to slap someone until they cried. And yet, here she was. She supposed Simon just brought out the “best” in her.
She climbed the stairs to her boxcar. She didn’t know what she was going to do, exactly. Probably lie on the floor and stare at the ceiling and wait for…something to happen. She had no phone, no books, no computer. Life was going to get very boring very quickly.
She was going to have to take up some new hobbies. Like…knitting. Or something. Maybe she’d make some potholders.
“Hey, Cora—”
So much for life being boring. She turned to look down at the two men who were quickly becoming familiar to her, even if it wasn’t in the way they’d probably like.
“Hi, guys.” She smiled. Aaron still skeeved her out a little bit, but Jack meant well. He hadn’t made any overt passes at her. She was quickly thinking of them both as friends. She had no interest in going through her next who-knows-how-many years with enemies in the Family. She didn’t want to wind up like Simon. “What’s up?”
“How’re you doing?” Jack smiled back at her. “First day since…” He pointed up at the empty void of a sky. “That.”
“It freaks me out.” She cringed as she glanced up at it. “It gives me vertigo. I hate it.”
“You get used to it.” Aaron sighed. “Eventually.”
“So, the sun doesn’t rise? Nothing? No light, no birds, no weather?” Cora leaned back against her door. “That sounds awful.”
“It really isn’t so bad once you get used to it. But you’ll definitely appreciate having a sky once we come back from the Inversion.” Jack scratched the back of his neck. “Anyway, we wanted to see how you were, since you missed breakfast. And since…well.” He shuffled his feet in the grass.
“Since what?” She raised an eyebrow.
“Um…”
Aaron smacked Jack in the arm with the back of his hand. “You’re such a teenager sometimes. We saw Simon bringing you back to your boxcar last night. He came to see you about twenty minutes ago and just let himself in. When he found out Clown had come by to take you somewhere, he was in a fit. Are you two…?” He ended with the innuendo. He didn’t need to spell it out.