Smoe: Circus Freak Series, #2

By Erin Lee

This book can be read as a standalone or as book two of International Bestselling Author Erin Lee's Circus Freak Series.

This life of a circus freak ain't easy. It's especially difficult when you're part of a conjoined twin big top act where disagreements are a daily thing. It's worse when your twin is in love with a killer and you can't convince him to run the other way - even if you are the one with the legs. If you do, he'll kill you anyway. Same can be said for the guy in love who can't get a moment's privacy. All the carnie brothers ever dreamed about was being average Joe's. But sometimes, at the circus anyway, wishes can be less than magical things...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Crazy Ink
• Release date: May 15, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386272885

Erin Lee

Erin Lee lives in Queensland, Australia and has been working with children for over 25 years. She has worked in both long day care and primary school settings and has a passion for inclusive education and helping all children find joy in learning. Erin has three children of her own and says they have helped contribute ideas and themes towards her quirky writing style. Her experience working in the classroom has motivated her to write books that bring joy to little readers, but also resource educators to help teach fundamental skills to children, such as being safe, respectful learners.

Book preview

Why are you trying too hard to fit in when you were born to stand out?

―Oliver James

Copyright © 2018 by Erin Lee

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.

Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

Dedications

For Erin Wolf, otherwise known as Amish, who keeps me

company at night, when I’m at my freakiest.

PART ONE: SMOE

Joe

Joe, present day

I don’t get any appreciation at all. I’m the dominant twin, the guy who does literally everything for my conjoined and perpetually depressed ‘head’ of a brother. I’m supposed to be thankful. I’m supposed to be excited that I’m the dude with the legs on this conjoined shit show. Sorry, but I’m not. Nobody ever thinks about what it’s like to be the guy in the driver’s seat with the equivalent of a talking, whiney wart on your neck. There are times I can’t stand it. When he tells me to shave my trademark pork chops, not to snore, or calls me Darth over a sleep apnea mask I don’t have any choice but to wear. The dude, my Siamese twin brother Moe, seems to forget that the reason I can’t breathe at night is because I’m the lucky bastard who has to do the trachea work for two. And the facial hair? Well, it helps with the ladies. I’m already fighting being the carnival freak with an extra head. I need all the help I can get in the romance department.

It’s fine. I’m used to it. I’ve fought with the dude for all our lives. My brother, Moe, and his incessant rules: No ‘I love strippers’ shirts. It’s rude. Women are to be treasured not chased. And my favorite, You get to do everything. No more asking me for help. That’s what the joker on my shoulder says to me when I pick out my clothes, make a decision about how I’ll earn our paycheck, or which act to be in the show. It never ends: Don’t pick your nose. It makes me sick. There’s also the crowd favorite: Woe is me, I’m just a head. Just along for the ride. My brother Moe, the asshole I’m eternally stuck to, doesn’t realize that I’m not such a bad guy. I mean, I’m supporting single moms when I hit the strip clubs. In a way, I’m a philanthropist of sorts. I’ve tried to reason with him about this. What guy do you know who doesn’t like a peek at a beautiful woman? Moe. That’s who. And no matter how many times I tell him he’s the weirdo, not me, he disagrees. Nope, you’re a sex addict. You need help, he says. He merely views me as the guy with the scratchy face and bad hygiene with no hope of getting laid. It’s true. I can’t get laid. But not because of me, it’s because of the stupid clown-faced meme of a head I walk around with who is entirely incapable of having a good time without judgment. Epic.

The carnival is the only place we can be safely, gainfully employed. For him to think we should leave and get a normal, boring nine to five job is just ridiculous. Besides, had we left, if we left, he’d have had to abort his obsession with a one-armed baton twirling little person named Cat. He’d probably try to kill us again. I’m not wrong. I never am. Townies are brutal to freaks like us and whiney Moe is a fragile one.

My name is Joe and I’m the guy stuck babysitting a prude head who paints his face white when the big tops open just to say he’s doing something. I spend my days trapped inches away from a guy stuck in the perpetual role of world’s worst backseat driver. When I’m not trying to tune him out, I’m usually trying to reason with him, to make him see that shit’s about as good as it’s going to get. We don’t need to complicate it pining away for that rotten Cat. I mean, everyone knows she killed her old man in the funhouse. Yet, because carnies stick together, nobody says a word about it. If he doesn’t watch out, we’ll be next. But what do I know? I’m just the limbs. My job is to make everything happen while he bitches.

***

Moe and that midget, Cat: They underestimate me and actually believe I am so stupid that I don’t have any idea what’s happening between them. I’d have to be deaf, blind, and in a coma not to notice. Still, I’m a nice guy, not the sex addict Moe thinks I am. I try to give them space. Night after night, I pretend to be asleep. But I hear it. I hear everything. I feel it too. I am the one who controls the nerves. But nobody asks me. They never do. Tonight’s no different and they won’t appreciate it no matter how still I lay or how long I pretend to be asleep. I can be as quiet as possible, fake the snores louder than ever, and they will still bitch about me – the third wheel in their ridiculous ‘secret’ affair. Has my idiot brother forgotten about Rusty? She killed the guy! But the asshole in this three-way love triangle is me?

Does he ever take that fucking thing off? He’s killing me!

They are talking about me again. Fourth night this week. It’s becoming more and more annoying. Cat doesn’t even bother to lower her voice. She just bitches about me like I’m nothing more than a nuisance, not the guy keeping her precious head of a boyfriend alive. I wish she would just leave. It’s the middle of the night for Christ’s sake.

Nope. You know that. Why are you letting it get to you? Are you okay, Cat? You seem kind of salty.

I focus on my fake snores as Moe deals with her. Good. Let him. Not my problem. Shouldn’t be. At least if she keeps him up all night, he’ll sleep all day tomorrow and I won’t have to listen to him.

I’m fine. I’m just sick of him. I wish we could be alone, Cat says, referring to me.

Tell me about it.

Oh, fuck off Moe, I think. The guy knows nothing about loyalty. Never has.

If we were alone, what would we do?

Oh, you don’t want to go there with me about that.

Yes. Yes I do.

I mean it, Cat. You don’t. And where is Peaches? Moe asks, as if he actually cares.

Peaches is her stupid, ugly hairless cat. I hate that thing. Moe does too, secretly, but pretends