Page 116 of Off the Rails

She’s strapping.

The last time we’d found ourselves in a bed together, she’d… gotten creative.

On her leg, Blade revealed one of abstract brush strokes turned into the head of a snake — bearing its teeth at an intruder.

“Oh, cool. Why a snake?”

“I always liked the snake better than Adam. Who wouldn’t want to tempt Eve?” Blade sucked her teeth as she kept her green eyes on me.

Given how much they hated the home, I was surprised by how many of their tattoos were biblical, or at least had a biblical interpretation.

“You would.” I winked before turning to Nash. “Your turn.”

Instead of taking off her pants, she rose to her knees and turned around. On her back, spider webs weaved together. A few strands weaved together to form roman numerals

“My parents' birthdays.” Nash’s voice was low, projecting into the dark corners of Blade’s room.

It was beautiful, tasteful.

Even after all of these years, I struggled to understand how Nash had ended up in the same group home as us. One tragic accident and both of her parents were gone. Without any other surviving family — except a great uncle who she’d never met and was near death himself — she was surrendered to the state.

Before that, Nash had a perfectly normal life.

Looking at her now, pierced and tatted, I wondered if her animalistic urge to hunt would have found a way to creep in. If she hadn’t ended up here, would she have found another way to let the anger out?

I’d heard of other groups like this. Hell, even the Violence weren’t far off.

Nash sat back down, her eyes hungry for more of me. She’s shown enough of her soft flesh and needed to level the scales.

“Your turn, Sweet Lamb.”

Nervous suddenly, I knew where my other one was. Grabbing the hem of my shirt, I lifted the cotton over my head and threw it to the ground. In my soft, cotton bralette, I pointed to my ribcage.

Blade and Nash both leaned over, the mattress caving under the bulk of their muscles. Blade brought her hand to my back, pressing into my skin as she peered at the small tattoo. In a scrawled text, the quote read: Braver than you believe.

It was Blade who met my gaze first, recognizing it immediately.

“Winnie-the-Pooh.” I swallowed hard.

“I remember.” Nodding, Blade ran her fingers along my rib. “I’m surprised you do.”

With a laugh, I let my head roll back. “How could I forget?”

Nash bit the inside of her cheek, letting her hand graze the soft flesh. “It was the only fucking working VHS in that whole place. We must have watched that tape like a hundred times.”

I could still picture the golden bear in his cropped red sweater, sitting atop a huge tree with Christopher Robin by his side. Behind my eyelids, the crickets were still swirling behind Pooh’s head.

“Why did you get it?” Nash’s eyebrows furrowed together.

Shrugging, I felt my throat tighten. “After you guys escaped, we all thought you must have died. No one ever found you. I got it to remember you.”

The moment was far too sweet, especially considering we were all a few clothes too close to naked.

Blade, realizing we all needed an excuse to lighten the mood, smirked. “How did we not see that when you danced for us?”

“I didn't dance for you. I was at work, where I cover up my tattoos. We make less in tips if they’re showing.” I watched her hungry face.

Slipping closer, Blade clicked her tongue. “Anything else you’re hiding?” Her hand drifted down to my waistband, sliding under the fabric and tickling my sensitive skin.