A clear tank. I think I’ve seen that on some Criss Angel TV show.
A gymnastics balance beam.
The trapeze equipment.
Three massive rings connected by long metal bars. I can imagine what that’s for. I’ve seen it before. At least I’ve seen something similar to it, but this one looks different.
A couple large hula hoops.
Four black dirt bikes with a Harley Davidson emblem on them.
“—Dove?” Delila snaps from the front seats. Ringside. “When you’re ready.” I ignore the crowd that’s seated a few rows behind Delila because I know that The Brothers are behind her, and I see another pack to the left, who I’m guessing is the bitch and her pack from earlier. There are other people scattered around who I don’t know yet.
I lick my lips and give a quick, reassuring smile to Rose. Her eyes peer back at me with cocky reassurance, a small wink in passing. As if we’ve done this before, as if we’ve shared the same floor. I instantly feel a little more at ease as the music starts.
It’s not what I expect, and my eyes close as the soft melody of the piano taps through my eardrums. I sway from side to side at the haunting melody, allowing the music to seep into my pores and take the reins of my body. Possess me. The notes continue as I float around the room, my eyes closed. I reach one hand out in an eagle float, and my fingertips touch Rose’s gently. My eyes blaze open onto her as I twirl into her body. The music drops and a light electric guitar starts playing. I pulse my body softly until I’m on my knees in front of her, rolling onto my back and arching off the floor, my hands pressed behind my head, bringing myself up into bridge position. The song changes to “Lovely” By Billie Eilish, and my eyes connect with Kingston from upside down. He keeps me anchored to the spot, his palm covering the bottom of his mouth. I push up from the ground and lose myself in the song, never looking away from Kingston. I don’t know where Rose is, and I can’t find it in myself to care. The music has taken over, and my blood is pulsing to the rhythm. It’s hypnotic and poisonous, but I want to swallow it all and then feed it to King. When the chorus kicks in, I snake my hips while my hands come beneath my shirt; I slowly remove it from above my head, so I’m standing in nothing but a sports bra and my sweatpants. Kingston kicks someone beside him, his eyes remaining on mine. It’s just him and me as the energy we both exude sucks everyone into a dark vortex. It could almost be intimate, if he didn’t want to kill me. Intimacy is just like murder; they both make your heart race and your palms sweat while leaving your thoughts in disarray, but then when you’re done, you’re left with the remnants of someone else’s soul or blood on your hands. When the song comes to a close, he removes his hand, and instead of finding an expression I thought he was giving me, he’s scowling.
He pushes up from his seat and storms out of the tent.
The music cuts, and I freeze, that vortex we sucked everyone into now cracked open. I didn’t realize Delila had stood up until she says, “Wow.” She’s almost directly in front of me, her head tilted.
I step back, searching for Rose. “Where’s Rose?”
Delila waves me off. “Don’t worry about her. She’s going to a more suited position.” Delila grabs my arm and yanks me toward the exit. The very same exit that Kingston left through.
“Suited position?” I ask, confused. “She’s a dancer.”
Delila laughs. “You are a dancer and an artist, my love.”
I yank my arm out of her grip.
She sighs, turning to face me. I feel like a sour child, but Rose is my friend. “Look, she’s going to work with a couple of the other girls—all right? She is fated to be there. You, Dovey, you are something else. You captivate the room by using your body. It’s art. We haven’t seen that in—well…” I don’t miss the pause. “…in quite some time.”
She starts tugging me along again, and this time, I let her, seemingly satisfied with my answer about Rose. “Okay. Will I see her a lot?”
“Yes, yes.” She waves me off. “Now, I know just where to put you…” She’s muttering to herself, and I can’t care enough to ask her what she’s saying, so I go with it. She stops outside of a large RV. It’s pure black with black windows and wheels and looks more expensive than the average style home. There are a few cars parked outside of it. A red Ferrari, a black Aston Martin and a Ford Raptor. I tilt my head at the emblem that stretches out over the side of the RV. It’s faded to a soft grey, but I can see the same seven-point triangle with the number IV in the middle. There’s wording in the lines, but I can’t make out what it says.