Page 51 of The Carnage We Keep

“PS,” she snickers, nodding at my sweatshirt with an illustration of a screaming raccoon clutching two fistfuls of trash and the words “first of all, I’m a delight” written beneath it. “That hoodie is amazing.”

I grin. “Thank you.”

“So, when did you find this place?”

I turn and shrug as I survey my hideout. “Last year?”

She scoffs. “And this is the first I get to see it?”

I know she’s just teasing. But the reason I’ve never brought her or anyone else here is that typically it's filled with knives and other weapons, instruments of torture, and—depending on the day—a body, bodies plural, or potentially parts thereof.

I mean, Ari’s seen me at my most cornered, violent and unhinged. But even so, I think inviting her in when there’s a pedo strung up by his balls from a meat hook or severed hands lying around might be…well…a little off-putting.

All this is to say that the one upside to Captain Dickhead Damiano breaking in and stealing all my shit is that I can have Ari over without making her an accessory to murder.

“So, what was this space? Storage for the observatory?”

I nod. “Yeah, I think so.”

Her eyes drift up, and I wince a little when I see her frown at the horror-movie-looking rusty meat hook hanging above us.

“Oh, that?” I laugh a little too loudly. “It was here when I took over the space.”

It was not. I found it in an old factory in Queens last semester, lugged it all the way here, and then convinced my next target that I’d let him walk out of here with his remaining eight fingers if he hoisted it up and installed for me. He did.

Then I suspended him from it by the ankles and taped firecrackers to his balls.

That was a loud day…

Ari chuckles. “Phew.”

“What?” I grin. “You thought I hang bodies from it or something?”

Her mouth twitches. “The thought may have…briefly crossed my mind?”

I laugh.

She laughs.

Then we both stop laughing and the storage space gets overwhelmingly quiet.

“I definitely don’t,” I blurt.

Ari’s eyes flick to mine, her brow furrowing slightly before one corner of her mouth curves up. “Right.”

“Glad we cleared that up.”

“Me too.”

I gesture to the battered couch on the other side of the room. “Wanna sit?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

She slumps into one corner of raggedy but super comfy thing, and I plop down on the other corner.

“So,” she says, twisting to look at me. “Do you know how long it’s actually been?”

“Since…?”