Dead of Summer

by A.J. Merlin

Working as a camp counselor has been eye-opening when it comes to kids. Namely, how much I don’t want any of my own.

For me—who’s never had an extra social bone in her body and barely has enough to get through the day here—he seems to be a fountain of wealth in that area.

Still, aren’t carbs the cure for being sad? I refuse to say I have a broken heart, or anything so dramatic as that.

“Seriously, she’s just Darcy.” “She’s a bitch,” my best friend snaps. “And if she’s going to act like that or try to say shit to you, then I’m going to hit her with a kayak paddle and knock her into the river this time.

“I came back because I’m in love with you, Summer Walsh. And you’d better understand real quick that I’m going to make sure you feel the same before these kids go home. No matter what I have to do to make that happen.”

I want you to get hit by a fucking semi truck.” “Only if you’re driving it.” Kayde chuckles, slipping his fingers up until he can trace the edges of my bra.

“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.” “What if we go to separate places in the afterlife?” I ask, scoffing a low laugh. “Last I checked, heaven isn’t for murderers.” “Then I’ll just have to drag you down to hell with me.”

“I don’t care what anyone says. You were made for me, and you’re mine. You get that, right? That I’d never, under any circumstance, let another man fuck you?”

“I’ll be your monster, if you want. Your psychopath, your ax murderer. I’ll be anything you want me to be, as long as you can be one thing for me.”

“What do I have to be for you, Kayde?” My hands come up to stroke his forearm, and he holds me tighter in response. “Easy,” Kayde tells me, and I feel the smile against my shoulder. “I just need you to be mine, Summer. All mine, no matter what. Think you can do that for me?”

Because while you might be wild, and you might not want to be won over, you don’t love being free from me,”

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

“Well, your second mistake, and arguably the most important, was touching what belongs to me.”

There’s really no explanation, other than madness, for how quickly I’ve fallen for him.