Hideaway (Devil's Night, #2)

by Penelope Douglas

Things were more special when they were rare.

It was like tag or hide-and-seek as a kid. We knew nothing bad would happen when we got caught and we’d bring no harm when we chased, but the irrational fear excited us anyway. That was what I liked. That’s all it was. This wasn’t real.

“We’re only ever good because there are consequences,” I told her. “Take those away, and everyone shows their true self. Kind of like taking off a mask.”

I wasn’t raised to be perfect, but I was raised to do everything with perfection in mind. Slow, careful, focused . . . showing the same consideration in pouring a cup of coffee as I do taking a math test. Or working on my car.

My friends were simply mine. That was it. They were separate from what happened at home, in class, or even in my head sometimes. That’s what I liked about them. When we were together, we were a planet.

You’re not really bad when you only do shit under the security of never having to suffer consequences.