[WATTYS 2016 WINNER!] [COSMOPOLITAN Featured!]
Trapped in her white trash hell, Layla Danner is failing at life.
Her friend Peyton? Everybody thinks he's perfect, a staggeringly rich, handsome, and well-mannered story book prince. But they don't kn...
Ουπς! Αυτή η εικόνα δεν ακολουθεί τους κανόνες περιεχομένου. Για να συνεχίσεις με την δημοσίευση, παρακαλώ αφαίρεσε την ή ανέβασε διαφορετική εικόνα.
The end of summer meant cattle muster, when the stock was rounded up and brought in for routine medical treatment, branding, and either sale or send offs to winter pastures. The process was arduous, super chaotic, and nowhere near as exciting as it sounds.
But all hands on deck meant anyone who rode, did, and I couldn't exactly back out given the all-too-public display of my riding prowess.
Besides, Jake wanted me on Satan. He'd managed to get him to accept the saddle and thought it would be a good time to take him out on the field.
Might as well.
But not before I checked the saddle myself. Trust, but verify. That was the motto these days, on all fronts. Ever since my conversation with Beth, I'd been a paranoid mess.
Things with Jake were a little shakey too. Well, that's not true- we were at a standstill, floating in limbo. But this time, the onus was on me. He knew something was off, but pretended not to, which was fine with me because I wasn't sure what I wanted to do about all this yet. All I knew was whenever we were together, the only thing I could think was: Electra Beaudry. Electra Beaudry. Electra Beaudry.
Her ghost haunted me. She peered out from shaded corners, cried softly in my ear in the dark of the night and sometimes, I even dreamt of her. I was obsessed with the mysterious girl, and I didn't even know what she'd looked like. It was some really freaky shit and the whole thing was starting to turn obtrusive, an infected boil that needed to be lanced.
Only I couldn't figure out how to go about it.
At six forty five in the morning, I headed out of the house dressed in jeans, riding boots, a long sleeve shirt and baseball cap. I was already sweating through the ensemble but sunburn would be far worse.
Besides, fall was coming, bringing with it welcome winds from the plains, sweeping away the oppressive heat that had agonized us for the past months. In another few weeks, Peyton would leave, the grass would yellow, the skies would darken and I wondered if it would feel as lonely as I did in the years past.
The crew had been at it since dawn and the first of the cattle were being treated by the field vets. Bypassing them, I made my way to the old stables where Jake had left Satan for me.
At the flick of the switch, the fluorescent lights came to life, making the air vibrate with a low hum. At the same time, something crashed in Satan's stall. I squealed and jumped.
Calm down. It's just a feed bucket getting knocked over.
But just in case... "Who's there?" I called out, loud and clear.
No answer.
Duh. Rats can't talk. Or maybe Satan knocked the bucket over himself, and he can't talk either.
