by Meg Evans
I swallow hard and bite back tears. “You’re a jerk, Dorian!” I pull away from him, collect my clothes, strewn over the floor, and try to put them on as quickly as I can with trembling hands. He throws on a silky robe and walks up to me as I’m about to leave the room.
“Wait.” He grabs my hand, preventing me from opening the door. “It will be better for you this way.”
“Sure—I let a guy bang me who doesn’t even pretend that he cares.” I jerk my hand free from his grasp. “Do you say that to every girl? Is that your standard excuse?”
“You don’t understand anything,” he says, a note of pleading in his voice, but I’m not listening to him anymore. I’m so fed up with all his secrets that I leave the bedroom without looking back. I slam the front door closed and burst out crying uncontrollably.
CHAPTER fourteen
I scan the area with my eyes wide open. I know where I am. I recognize this misshapen thicket, the odor of decomposing woods and the stuffy air. Paralyzing fright takes away my ability to concentrate. A familiar presence lurks in the darkness. My chest is tight; my skin crawls with the need to escape. But where am I supposed to run? Nowhere is safe. He’s aware of all my hideouts; he knows everything about me; he can read my thoughts and foresees all my actions.
I need to do something before it’s too late.
But I want him to catch me!
No, not yet! I’m not allowed yet!
I take a careful step forward. The sole of my shoe is submerged in slushy muck. As I’m about to break into a run, sudden darkness rolls in. I can see nothing, as if someone has covered my eyes with a blindfold. Even though there’s only blackness before me, I can sense his presence closer than ever.
He’s found me.
There’s no point in fleeing anymore. He has me close at hand, watching my every move. I fear him, but I have a simultaneous desire to touch him. I stretch out my hand in an attempt to find him somewhere in front of me.
I WILL TEAR IT TO PIECES.
I jerk back as a voice whispers right in my ear. I’m not sure if it’s just in my head or if someone has actually spoken to me. I wish I could see his face and discover what he looks like. I need to know.
Who are you? I ask in my mind, but instead of receiving an answer, it feels like heat begins to radiate from my heart in all directions. At first it’s a pleasant, calming sensation, but as its intensity increases in waves, it becomes unbearably hot. It seems like living fire is moving through my veins, burning me from the inside out. The flames engulf me completely, and I start to scream. I can’t breathe; I’m suffocating, burning fiercely like a torch. A bursting pain pierces my skull. Never before have I been exposed to such torture. Only death will bring me peace.
I WILL RIP IT APART.
I wake up, trembling all over. A cold sweat covers my back; my heart is pounding. It was just another nightmare, but a headache that started while I was dreaming has remained. It’s splitting my skull. My electric clock displays six a.m., which is about two hours after I finally fell asleep. I need to make it to the bathroom and take some of the Advil that I keep in my mirrored cabinet.
I sit upright, but I don’t have enough energy to get to my feet. I also feel like I’m on a carousel that’s spinning around in circles so quickly that it makes me feel sick. My stomach clenches unpleasantly. I can’t hold it in any longer.
Hand to my stomach, I lean over the bed and puke on the floor. A bitter taste spreading inside my mouth, along with the acidic smell coming from the colorful stain inches from my nose, makes me even sicker. I throw up again. The carousel doesn’t stop spinning. My room whirls. I have lost all sense of space, and I have no idea whether I’m up or down, on the floor or the ceiling. Everything goes completely black again.
* * *
It takes several slow blinks before I’m able to fully open my eyes. I didn’t close the drapes, so the sun dives into my room and stabs my eyes. I squint and moan unhappily. My eye-sockets hurt, my mouth is dry and full of thick saliva, my forehead is moist with sweat. I wince, smelling an obnoxious odor.
Yuck. It’s the dinner that chose freedom.
Next to the bed, I find a disgusting stain on the carpet, which would win any contest for the most hideous gastric contents in the world. The memory of puking is fuzzy, but I get down to removing the vomit without delay. I don’t want Cynthia to find out about my little accident.
Around two I go to the kitchen to get something to eat. Cynthia and Maddie are sitting at the table, looking like two hamsters indulging themselves with Chinese food, at the sight of which I feel my stomach twisting.
“Good afternoon, Zara, are you feeling okay?” Cynthia asks as soon she sees me, biting a piece of sweet chicken off her fork. “You’re awfully pale.”
“I’m fine,” I mumble, and lumber to the water dispenser to pour a glass for myself.
“What time did you come back last night?”
“I don’t remember… around one?”
“I don’t think so,” Maddie disagrees, biting on a small shrimp.
“What do you mean?” I frown.
“I mean that you didn’t come back at one.” She shrugs and continues offhandedly. “I woke up around that time and came down here to grab a glass of water. When I walked past your room, it was empty.”
Why is she trying to turn me in? We’re supposed to cover each other’s asses. Is this her revenge for when I reprimanded her in front of her new friend?
“Well, as I said, I don’t remember exactly; maybe it was one-thirty. Something like that.”
My aunt finishes chewing the chicken she’s been munching on for a good thirty seconds. “It’s none of my business how you spend your time—you’re an adult—but you’re aware of the house rules.”
“I’m aware of them. By midnight Maddie and I are supposed to be home. No later than that.” I guzzle the glass of water.
“Exactly.” Cynthia rummages with the fork through a white take-out box full of rice as if she’s looking for a surprise inside. Once she pulls out the fork, I notice with horror that there’s something moving on the end of it. I stare at it, unable to believe my own eyes, and blink several times to make sure it’s really happening. Cynthia’s about to eat a worm—a slimy, wriggling worm. I feel like I’m going to vomit again.
“What the hell is that?!” I scream. “Kill it!”
“Kill what?” My aunt apparently doesn’t realize what is stuck to her fork.
“That worm!” I point to her fork. “It’s so nasty! Do something!” I’m yelling like I’m possessed, but the view of the clammy worm that is inches from Cynthia’s mouth triggers absolute disgust in me.
“Zara, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she says, and brings the fork to her mouth.
“No! Stop! Don’t eat that!” I knock the fork out of her hand at the last second. It lands on the floor next to our feet.
“Zara!” Cynthia hollers. “What are you doing? Are you crazy?!”
My gaze flicks to the floor, where the silver fork lies with a piece of chicken speared on the tines. The worm is gone.
“I swear you took a worm out of the box! Didn’t you see it? Big, brown, slimy worm!”
“Are you nuts? There’s no worm!” my aunt scolds me.
“I didn’t see anything, either,” Maddie says. I transfer my stare to her; she raises a glass filled with some red liquid to her mouth. When she takes a sip, the fluid smears all over her mouth. “Maybe you’re hung over, huh?” As she’s saying that, I notice that the drink has settled on her teeth as well.
I blink a couple of times to make sure I’m not just seeing things.
Holy crap, it’s blood!
“Maddie, don’t drink that!” I bellow in horror. I’m about to knock the glass away as well, but my aunt prevents me from doing that by grabbing my elbow.
“Look at me, Zahara!” I drag my gaze from Maddie’s glass to Cynthia; her eyes drill into me. “Did you take any drugs yesterday?”
“Excuse me?!”
She bristles. “I am asking whether you TOOK ANY DRUGS YESTERDAY.”
“No, I didn’t. I have three witnesses who can confirm my words. Where did that even come from?”
“Do you really have no clue?” She looks at the fork on the floor out of the corner of her eye.
I don’t respond. After all, there’s no trace of the worm, and water seems to have taken the place of the red liquid in Maddie’s glass. I waver, trying to comprehend what just happened.
“I guess… maybe I didn’t get enough sleep.”
“I hope that the lack of sleep is the main reason for you being as white as a sheet, not to mention acting like a maniac. You’d better go for a walk and get some fresh air, young lady. Maddie will go with you.”
“No, I need to go on my own,” I state firmly. “I need to think over a couple of things.”
“That’s a fantastic idea.” Maddie pours more water into her glass. “I would like to avoid Zara pushing me into an upcoming car because she thinks it’s a pony from Ponyland.”
“Maddie, please refrain from such stupid comments. Zara, bring your cell, and call me in case you need anything.”
“Sure.” I’m not hungry, so I only grab an apple from a fruit dish standing in the middle of the table and head to the living room.
“Also,” Cynthia stops me before I reach the stairs, “you have a curfew for the rest of the month. I don’t want to see you come back home later than ten.”
I spin around, exasperated. “What? I’m twenty-two—I can take care of myself.”
“As long as you live here, you have to obey the rules. If you break them, you have to face the music,” she says matter-of-factly. “That’s life.”
“I see.” I keep my cool, even though a flash of anger shoots through me. “It’s interesting that those rules don’t apply to everyone.” My gaze travels to Maddie, who fixes her amber eyes on the table.
We all know what I’m driving at. The other night she brought her male friend home close to midnight, which is against the house rules, yet my aunt didn’t seem to punish her for that. I’ve always been under Cynthia’s scrutiny, whereas Maddie can get away with murder.
“See you later,” I say before anyone can reply, and leave them alone.
* * *
I’ve been driving around so much that I’ve forgotten how enjoyable strolling can be. The sun shines warm against my face and a gentle breeze caresses my skin. I don’t go too far from home for my walk, but I choose a path away from the main street. I need to calm my mind and be away from any hustle and bustle. I dawdle along at a snail’s pace; I’m anything but in a hurry. It’s good for me to spend as much time outside as possible, and especially away from my neighbors. The thought that I could bump into Dorian makes my stomach swirl.
I hate to realize that there are two Zaras waging an inner struggle within me. Reasonable Zara, who hates Dorian and would be the happiest person in the world if she could get away with choking him with her bare hands, and wistful Zara, who languishes without him and would love to throw herself into his arms.
I wish he would vanish from the surface of the earth, but at the same time that he would take me with him.
How is it even possible to have such contradictory feelings for another person? Can you love and detest the same man?
Have I lost my mind?
There’s not a single minute that I don’t think about his touch, his kisses, and the caresses that ignited my body not so long ago. I remember everything so vividly—every moment from the very first kiss until the last one. A memory of his gaze when we stood in the foyer right before we decided to take it to the next level sneaks into my mind. He was confused. He wanted to make love to me, but there was something holding him back.
I still don’t get why he asked me about my willpower. Why does it even matter?
My thoughts are interrupted by an odd cawing sound. I keep a sharp lookout.
CAW!
It’s a bird.
CAW!
Where is it?
I glance to the left and the right, fruitlessly. The only things I see are two big homes with perfectly mowed lawns. I pick up my pace to move away from the sound. I’ve had enough inexplicable events for one day. No sooner do I think that I’m free from the bird than its call reaches my ears again—this time an inch from my ear.
It scares the life out of me. I spin around and search frantically for the bird, which a second ago cawed right in my ear and now is gone like magic. What the hell?
I start walking again, but after taking several steps but I feel something ruffling my hair, and it’s not the gentle spring breeze. Before I know it, the back of my head gets smacked by something. I duck and look up, and realize that it’s a big black raven.
The bird loops around and, like a boomerang, returns to me. I dodge it at the last second before it divebombs into me.
Why is this raven attacking me?!
My astonishment reaches its peak when, way off in the distance, I spot three black points in the sky that seem to be approaching me at full tilt, taking on a clearer shape with every fraction of a second. More ravens? My gut tells me that their intentions aren’t good.
For what feels like the millionth time this week, I race down the street.
I don’t turn around, but I can hear their ominous caws. I yell for help at the top of my lungs, but no one who could tame those flying beasts comes out. I run like crazy, my heart drumming—I’m terrified.
I have no clue how long I sprint like this—it could’ve been seconds or hours—but suddenly silence falls. Total stillness. The birds have vanished. I stop and gasp for air. I’ve covered a tremendous distance; I feel like I’m spitting out my lungs. I lean against a tree. The street in front of me and behind me is clear. I can collect my breath in peace.
Holy shit! What was that? Where did those birds come from?!
I don’t have long to wonder about the peculiar phenomenon, because my attention is suddenly stolen by an odd sensation. I feel warmth washing over the hand that rests on the tree trunk. I goggle at the sight of my hand on fire. It’s a living flame that spreads over my skin.
I’m burning!
Across the street, I notice a sprinkler in someone’s yard. I couldn’t care less that someone might see me; I simply run to it and place my hand under the stream of water. A soothing coolness wafts over my skin. I sigh. Something very strange has been going on with me since this morning.
“What are you doing here?!”
My blissfulness is interrupted by a man’s rough voice. Some guy is standing over me and, like the ravens, doesn’t seem to be friendly. I’m pretty sure he’s about to tell me off for bending over the water sprinkler in a private garden, perhaps even his own.
He’s tall, clad all in black. What immediately attracts my attention is the item he clutches in his hand. It somewhat resembles the handle of a golden knife, all covered in dozens of sparkling, colorful jewels. It’s a real masterpiece.
“I’m so sorry; I didn’t mean to sneak up on your property. I only…” I only what? Wanted to put out the fire on my hand? “I simply… My hand…” I shift my eyes to it, but there’s no damage; the fire didn’t affect it at all. I examine my hand on both sides, but apart from being wet from the sprinkler, there’s no evidence that it was burning like a torch three minutes ago.
“You look very suspicious,” he says, and squeezes the mysterious thing that he’s holding. Shiny eight-inch blades pop out on both sides of the sheath with a click. They look sharp enough to break skin on the slightest contact. Terror washes through me.
My heart jumps in my chest as I get up. I slowly look from his hand to his face, and my heart stops. There are scars all over it—some deep, some shallow, but all of them equally appalling. I choke back a scream at the sight of his left eye, missing both an iris and a pupil. His long, snow-white hair spread across the collar of his black coat, along with unnaturally pale complexion, make him look like an albino.<
br />
I feel deep in my bones that it’s the same man who was following me the other day.
“I need to ask you a couple of questions.” His nostrils flare. “In private,” he adds, making an attempt to grab my shoulder. I manage to jump away just in time.
I assess my situation. I have no getaway plan in my head; my only chance of escaping is if I kick him between the legs, punch him in the face or use any other act of violence that would weaken him and make him unable to chase me. But his horrifying appearance takes away all my will to even try. Panic riots within me. I have no clue where he intends to take me, but I don’t think he’s got an amusement park in mind.
He’s planning to drag me to the woods, where he’ll bury me alive, my vivid imagination whispers.
Just when I lose all hope of salvation, I hear a car at the end of the street. It’s approaching us at a crazy speed. Seconds later, it screeches to a halt in front of us, and the front window rolls down. To my astonishment, it’s Rita in the passenger seat, yelling, “Zara, get in, now!”
The creepy man studies the Bentley thoroughly and clicks the weird item in his hand again, making both blades pull back inside. I barrel past him, still trembling. The only thing I need right now is to drive off, far away from that freak, who keeps staring at me with his dreadful eyes. Thank God Dorian’s in the car too. With him I’m safe.
CHAPTER fifteen
I sit stiffly in the back seat and fold my hands like I’m going to pray. I remain motionless all the way. I don’t ask any questions. I don’t demand any explanation. I refrain from speaking at all, and even catch myself unconsciously holding my breath.