Dead of Summer

by A.J. Merlin

Kayde isn’t human like the rest of us, as much as it burns my throat to admit it, even to myself. Especially now, with rumors and whispers floating through the air at my back. To these kids, and probably to my fellow counselors, Kayde is a fucking god.

“Oh, my god.” The words come out as a whisper as all the warmth drains out of me, into the ground below. “Not quite,” Kayde responds, still with that half-apologetic smile. “And if you’re really good for me, sweetheart, I won’t make you meet him tonight.”

“You won’t trauma bond with me if there’s not enough trauma. I thought I’d leave her in pieces for you to find when you inevitably went to check on her first. Do you know what those pieces will look like after I’ve chopped her apart with this ax?”

“I’ve got a pain in my sawdust.” The words are soft and faint, and I have to strain to hear them. “That’s what’s the matter with me. Something is wrong with my little inside; I’m just—” he pauses and I can feel his teeth skimming my ear. “As sick as can be.”

“Come for me before I make you scream just so I can fuck you while their blood dries on this goddamn floor, Summer.”

Hello, God? I think, casting my eyes upward and feeling rather dramatic even in my own head. Me again. I take it back. I’ll make my own breakfast.

“Gorgeous, perfect girl. You’re ruining me, you know?”

“All mine, for the rest of your life. I don’t really believe in an afterlife, by the way. But if there is one, you’re mine there as well.”

“Then I’ll just have to drag you down to hell with me.”

“Don’t mention it. Or, actually. Do mention it. At length. I like praise.”