TWKCC.chapter 5.instinct. Jen Mae slowed the car down to a steady 20 miles an hour as Nate and I craned our heads out the windows of the car like idiots. We had returned to the street where our sedan had collided with a multi-millionaire's Isdera Comendatore, and yet it was nowhere to be found. The great marble facades, sophisticated cast-iron gates, and polished windows of lavish homes stared down at us accusingly. The neighboorhood was silent save for the rumble and occasional sputter of our vehicle.
"No sign, should we just drive around?" Nate offered. Jen Mae muttered something but nodded in assent and took a left down the quiet, tree-lined drive. After a few blocks we took a right and circled the affluent community, then turned back so that we were roughly where we had began. I brought up the topic of just letting it go for now, on the assumption that the owner would likely be able to pay for the superficial damage.
"I don't think we have much of a choi
TWKCC.chapter 4. things happen Six hours later I sat on a rickety folding metal chair in the Slater's home, my head swimming as I sipped on my fourteenth energy drink. A mere foot in front of me Nate Luo was bent towards a glowing computer screen. I was hardly breathing, as though sitting behind him and watching him play archaic computer games was some kind of forbidden act that required utter silence.
"Fuck!" He mumbled under his breath, much to Patrick Slater's amusement. I drew my eyes away from the computer screen every few minutes to catch a casual glimpse of Nate's face as his expression became adorably frustrated. Patrick was about to win again.
"I get to play Patrick next round," Tommy announced as he returned from the kitchen. Patrick's mother, a short, pudgy woman with an undeniable air of maternal instinct and warmth followed him, carrying a platter of cookies. God, cooked food.
"Dear, you look like you have a fever!" She said,
TWKCC. chapter 3. aversions. It was four in the morning, maybe five. The cheap clock on the wall had stopped working around eleven thirty, so I had no way of keeping track of time. I stood up groggily and stumbled across the living room, narrowly avoiding the television. The harsh electric glow of the refridgerator illuminated a strip of linoleum as I reached in
and fumbled around, finally withdrawing a carton of milk.
I rubbed my eyes and opened the front door, breathing deeply. The night air was perfect, so I stepped outside and leaned over the railing to look into the lower-level courtyard. I took a boorish swig from the carton and yawned. A hand landed on my shoulder.
"I didn't know you lived here! You should've told me. I'm on the 3rd floor."
I turned my head and found myself staring into the sharp grey eyes of Holland Young. She smiled her characteristic chimerical grin, which made her look as though she was continually up to no good, an