Pure Illusion by Michelle M. Watson

eerie silence.
    His
tight fingers that sear my arms loosen. The gush of blood that passes through
my waiting veins is so painful that I would yell if I didn’t feel so woozy.
    “Isabel?
Isabel? God, I don’t know…”
    What?
    What’s
happening?
    I
feel tried.
    “Baby,
don’t go to sleep. Open your eyes. Open your eyes for me, Isabel. Please open your eyes…”
    My
eyes lazily flutter open to Hunter’s panic command.
    He
sounds worried and scared.
    I
don’t want him to me worried or scared, just full and happy.
    My
eyes open for a fraction of a second and through the black slits, Hunter’s
glossy and horrified eyes are completely focused on me. “That’s it. Open your
eyes.”  
    I’m
sorry.
    My
eyelids are just too heavy, and I’m just too drowsy.
    I
fail and they close.
    The
warm and soothing darkness envelopes me in caressing silk wings that’s very
pleasant around my body.
    Finally
it’s taking me.
    Finally
it’s quiet.
    Finally
I can breathe again.
    That’s
all I ever wanted.
    Voices
are muffled somewhere far away.
    Hands
tug clothes over my limbs.
    Cold
air whips pass my face.
    Someone
places me in a warm backseat of a car.
    The
engine starts and darkness swallows me up.

Chapter twelve
    Something to Live For
     
     
    The
dark mint green walls and black curtains let me know I’m in Falcon’s bedroom. I
blink the sleep from my eyes, toss the thick puffy comforter off and slide up
the bed, resting my back on the wooden headboard. A pale pink silk gown skates
up my legs. Vic. Victor Martinez has everything to do with this girly thing
that clings to me. I notice Tyler’s teddy lies on the pillow next to me. My
heart clenches tight in my chest. Hunter remembered that this little nameless worn
brown bear is essential to me.
    Bringing
my hands up to my face and resting my sticky forehead in my palms, I try to
recall what happened and why I’m in Falcon’s bedroom. I remember Hunter. He was
shaking me and yelling at me. He was furious. He thought I slept with Max. Max?
Max. And then all the memories of the night at Mayhem come to me in a clear
collage of many things: getting bit by an asshole. Dancing and trying to catch
the sparkling confetti. The asshole was laughing. He was groping me. I bit him.
He yelled at me and stormed off. Max. Max wanted to take me home. I didn’t want
to go home. We went to his house, and I dance and drank hot coco. And then
I…felt him up. Oh, God. He said no, and I fondled him anyway. I watched him
shower. We talked about Tyler. I sang to him. I sang my mother’s lullaby. I
wanted to count his freckles, but Hunter stopped me. He took me back to his
house. He…he spanked me. And then he put his mouth on me. It was phenomenal. He
bit me afterwards.
    My
hand absently touches the healing faint red bite mark in the inside of my
thigh. Heat rushes to my face and my chest swells with a strange warmth and
pride. “That fucker,” I mumble under my breath. Though I’m angry, I’m aroused
too, which is so fucked up and confusing to me.
    Hunter,
you’re making it difficult to be numb and feel nothing.
    My
eyes dart to a black duffle bag in a tall cream-colored cushioned chair. My
brother’s laptop is tucked beside the bag. Tiptoeing, I lift myself from the
bed and snatch up the laptop, sitting back in the middle of the bed.
    His
laptop is decorated in numerous skulls, music notes, little heart stickers,
among various things. Some of them are scribbled on and scratched up. I run my
fingers over the stickers and sigh, then open up the lid and power it up. I
type in his password: Hero 1996. My brother and I think alike. His
password is his first love, his only love, and the year Tyler was born.
    A
black and white picture if Albert Einstein is his background and it floods my
vision as I watch the tiny icons load. I’m looking for something, something
that Tyler must have left. We made a blood oath after mom took her life. We
promised we’d never do the same and leave one another