Moonlit Retribution

Chapter Twenty

My triceps are burning with exertion by the time Mella and I are only ten minutes out of the clearing, and my legs feel as spongy as marshmallows, but I don’t dare say anything. Mella would only nag at me about it. Probably say something about my lack of protein intake or something.

She barks a laugh at my stomach’s audible complaints. “We’ll make sure to stock up on carbs,” she says through a snicker. “Wouldn’t want to be a few weeks into our isolation and have you eat me in my sleep.” She regards me darkly, and I scowl in reply.

“Ya know, Rigs is probably listening to our every word,” I warn halfheartedly.

She shrugs passively. “Let them. I’m sure they’re getting a real kick out of your haranguing organs.”

More like using the noise as a target.

I snort, shaking my head incredulously, and fall back into silence. But after awhile, the topic becomes too tempting to resist, even at the threat of death.

Don’t ever tell me that boredom can’t kill you.

“Like I’d want to eat you,” I mutter in revulsion, shuddering theatrically. “You’d probably be all chewy and stringy. And if you taste as sour as you act, I think I’d rather starve.”

“I suppose that goes for both of us then,” she chuckles. “But I’ll have you know that I’ll eat anything so long as it’s properly prepared.”

“Ah. So if I ever wake up with you hovering over me with a salt shaker and a fork, I have full permission to do something violent.”

“Ha! Like your reaction time would allow for that. Let’s face it, sweetie, you have the reflexes of a squashed snail.”

I roll my eyes irritably, yet somehow I find myself in a much better mood. “You’d be surprised at what I’m capable of when I’m angry. Or hungry.” I smirk, pretending to eye her arms longingly. “I bet you’d probably taste like chicken.”

She barks out a laugh and points to my thighs. “All fine and good for you, I suppose, but there’s nothing I’d even bother with on you, if given a choice on the matter. Besides, I prefer dark meat.”

Snickering, I say, “Remind me to watch out for Ríjez. He’ll wake up one morning with you gnawing on his legs or something.”

I have no idea why we’re on this topic, but she’s probably the only person I could have this conversation with without being identified as a psychopath. I actually hope that the people at Rigs are tuning in to our conversation, if only for the outrageous factor. Their mortification would be palpable.

Speaking of our suddenly short-fused Mexican buddy… “Why do you two have such issues, anyway? Neither of you seems like the kind of person to pick unnecessary fights with someone. What’s your deal?”

I half expect some explosive reaction--or at least a full-body shudder of fury. Instead, she just shrugs, yet again. “What? You think only teenagers can’t stand each other?” She eyes me, a glint of some form of madness in her irises. “That’s almost cute, Vessa.”

“No,” I grit out, suddenly impatient. Not at Mella, really. I’m the one stupid enough to expect an unambiguous answer from one who clearly revels in keeping me clueless. Regardless, I press onward. “But I’ve never seen two adults go at it like you two do. Even my mom and dad didn’t get into it like that. I’m half tempted to call you out on repressed lovesickness or some crap.”

“Ugh, don’t even go there.” She huffs once, somehow conveying the urge to vomit. This time a full-body shudder does rack her tall form, though I suspect it’s in disgust rather than fury. Maybe both. Either way, her eyes fix ahead, and I know that she’s done with this conversation.