—The Rabid Incident—

CH.1 Part 3

༺✄༻JULES༺✄༻

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Callum's chest moved under my buttock, slow at first, like the tremor of an engine kicking back to life. His shoulder rolled, his stomach tensed, and suddenly it hit me: I was still straddling him like an incompetent paramedic in cosplay.

He coughed,low, guttural as his hands came up, not aggressive, not even intentional, just there. Warm palms settling at my waist as if gravity had pulled them to me. My lungs did a full-body shutdown.

I froze.

And then, very, very slowly, Callum's eyes opened.

Lazy blue. Half-lidded. A little dazed. Blinking up at me like he was surfacing from the bottom of a lake and I was the first thing he saw.

Oh. Hell. No.

Panic took over my muscles before my brain caught up. I scrambled backward, limbs flailing, the crooked nurse outfit flapping around my knees like I was a runaway extra from a cheap Halloween slasher. Glitter puffed off him with every move I made, sparkling into the air like mocking confetti.

Callum sat up in slow motion, shaking sparkles from his hair, blinking around the caravan like a man waking in an alternate reality. Which, to be fair, was kinda accurate. His jaw was streaked with dirt, his hair a mess, his lip split. But somehow he still looked unfairly gorgeous. I need to stop mentioning this, even if it's only in my brain. I get second-hand embarrassment.

And me? My chest ached, sharp enough to make me squirm. Because no matter how funny I tried to make it, the truth was brutal: he had nearly killed us both. And it had been my fault. My mess.

A sharp spike of guilt jabbed my ribs, and for once, the joke didn't come easy.

“What in...Lore? Where...”

He sat up slowly, his hand dragging across his forehead like he was trying to rub the crash right out of his skull. He blinked hard, head swivelling side to side, squinting through the dim yellow light of my place. Honestly? There wasn't much to see. Which was exactly the problem.

Welcome to Gora Park: the graveyard of ambition, the place where dreams don't so much die as quietly decay while your neighbour sells knock-off perfume and suspicious luxury belts out the back of his van. The armpit of London, or maybe the butt crack, depending on the day. Forty or so caravans jammed together like a bad Tetris game, most of them home to drunkards, some unfortunate pensioners, crack-heads, and then - lucky me - people like yours truly.

People too broke to chase their dreams, but too bloody stubborn to bury them.

Callum's gaze swept across the inside of my caravan, and for a second I wanted to tell him not to look too hard. It wasn't glamorous, not by a long shot, but it was mine. Mav always said she loved it here - said it had ‘character’ - which was a polite way of saying "absolute chaos but with curtains". Scraps of fabric were draped everywhere: over chairs, across the sofa, spilling from half-finished projects like the world's gayest textile explosion. Colourful rugs, matted with glitter, clashed against a broken mannequin that looked like it had been stabbed in a fit of serial-killer rage. My latest bodysuit design clung to its torso, half-pinned, crooked, and vaguely threatening.

Basically, the whole place looked like a rainbow had food poisoning and chose my caravan as its final resting place. Think...Totally Spies but on a budget.

“You!”

Callum finally spoke, his voice rough, and he pointed a shaky finger at me.

“You jumped in front of me! What the hell were you doing out in the bloody storm?!” His eyes flicked to the bunny, who was currently lounging on my sofa like an unbothered prick. “Hunting for rabbit meat?!”

Bun Bun, the fluffy menace, lifted his head like he's just been accused of tax fraud. The twitch of his nose screamed pure indignation.

“Retrieving the creature of doom.” I announced, chin high. Out loud it sounded less like a noble mission and more like a bad review: ‘10/10 would chase again, mud bath included, five stars if you're into cardio trauma.’

Lore, ever the killjoy, stepped in with his trademark bluntness.

“Tom stopped the race after he found your bike in pieces. You were gone man. How did this short thing drag you here?”

“I'm stronger than I look, bozo.” I lie, wiping mud from my forehead with maximum dramatic flair. I dragged the fucker here using what can only be described as improvised mud slides. It did not go well. I’m fairly certain I’ve pulled at least three muscles I didn’t know I owned.

Lore responds by rolling his eyes so hard I’m convinced they’ll disappear into the back of his skull and reappear sometime next week.

Then he crouched, hands steady as he inspected Callum's scrapes like it was second nature, like he'd spent his entire life patching up engines, bruises, and idiots. His tone shifted, softer.

“You okay Cal?”

Callum brushed glitter off his collar - my glitter, thank you very much - and muttered.

“Fine, fine. A lil' dizzy, but nothing feels broken.”

“Yet.” Mav piped up.

We all froze and swivelled toward her as if she'd set off a smoke alarm.

She took a dainty sip of her drink, calm as a nun at a rave, then shrugged.

“Never mind. Back to my caravan mister. You're a fuckin' mess.” Lore got back to his feet.

Right. Lore. We went to the same school. He was a few years above me, but we shared the same talent for getting blamed for things we didn’t do.

I think he still lives out by the scrapyard, close to the dirt-bike trail. Close enough that I should run into him more often.

But we don’t.

“Hold up.” I muttered, pawing through drawers like a raccoon on a scavenger hunt. The caravan smelled oddly of burnt toast and glue - ambience, darling. I could feel warm eyes on me, heavy and steady, like a duvet you don't want to leave.

Victory! I found bright strips of fabric. Sure, they were technically from a botched bodysuit experiment, but that's my version of a first aid kit.

I dropped cross-legged beside Callum and started tying one around his forearm, my fingers brushing skin that was warm, solid, unfairly steady. For a ridiculous second, my caravan shifted around me. The damp rugs, the lopsided mannequin, the glitter haze...it all faded, and what was left felt holy, like the walls had stretched into a chapel.

My hands trembled as I pulled the knot tight. Not from fear. From trying to look casual while my insides screamed like kettle steam. His pulse thudded beneath my fingertips, steady as if he didn't notice how close I was to unravelling.

I bit back something reckless. A joke, probably. Instead, I kept my eyes on the fabric.

“There.” I muttered. “Functional and fashionable. If anyone asks, you're bleeding on purpose. Very avant-garde.”

Callum's mouth tilted into the smallest, crooked smile. And damn me, it lit up the whole place brighter than the string lights I could barely afford to keep plugged in.

“I'm sorry.” I blurted, because apparently my brain thought an apology was the quickest route back to oxygen, as if words alone could stop my heart from rattling out of my chest.

“It's alright, Bunny.” He said, and the nickname...delivered with casual certainty, like it had always belonged to him, lodged itself in my chest like a glowing stone I couldn't dislodge. “Lore and the hospital know me by name anyway.”

“Bunny?” Mav crowed, already vibrating with mischief. “Cute. I'm calling you Bun-Bun from now on.”

I turned the full force of my glare on her, then swivelled to the rabbit. To my horror, the resemblance was...there. Insolent ears, judgmental eyes, messy and curly-blonde hair, that permanent look of why are you like this? As if on cue, Bun Bun thumped his foot.

Lore hoisted Callum up like he was hauling a sack of potatoes, and within minutes they were headed for the door. I hovered awkwardly, pretending to clean but really just stalling because I wasn't ready for him to leave.

Then - just before the door clicked shut, he shifted ever so slightly, a small tilt of his head, a micro-flicker of eyes that met mine for barely a heartbeat. Not enough for anyone else to notice, not a full turn, just...enough.

Enough that my chest thudded, enough that I swore the air had thickened, enough that the tiny stolen moment felt like the world had hiccuped and left us suspended in it.

And god, it was heavy. Not crushing, but weighted, like a secret you're not sure you're allowed to keep.

A fraction too long.

A fraction too tender.

A fraction too dangerous.

I froze, pretending to scratch my eyebrow, like that could somehow make me look less like a rabbit caught in full headlights. Pun intended? But inside? My ribs were a drum, and he'd just hit the strike.

And then the door closed, and the whole caravan seemed to exhale, settling into silence except for the faint patter of rain against the thin roof.

Mav collapsed back into the sofa.

“Twinning.” She announced, pointing between me and Bun Bun with a grin that could gut me alive.

I sank onto the cushion, sighing, the fabric still faintly warm where Callum had been, though the cold rushed in fast. And hell, his scent still clung to the air; warm, spiced, a little rough around the edges, with just a hint of something sweet beneath it. My chest felt both full and hollow at once, swollen with something I couldn't name but couldn't chase away.

That look - the one that said a secret had been exchanged without a single word, coiled around my ribs and refused to let go.

It was dangerous, like a flame cupped too close to bare skin. It was like the sky went still before the rain.

It wasn't the beginning.

No.

It was a strike - the small, precise blow that splits everything open before the storm truly breaks.

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