The Illusion of Annabella (12 page)

“You said you liked that I was mysterious,” I remind him. “And now you’re saying you don’t. It’s confusing.”

“There’s a difference between being mysterious and being a liar,” he snaps, a vein in his neck bulging.

I think he might be strung out, which puts me on edge. I’ve seen him like this a couple of times before, and he can get really angry, but typically he takes it out on Big Jay or another one of his buddies. Not me.

He parks in front of a tiny cabin located in the middle of nowhere. Broken vehicles cover the yard and there’s an outhouse in the back. Just diagonal from the property is the junkyard, but I can’t see a house, business, or person sight, except for the roof of the antique shop just up over the hill.

“Look, I’m sorry I’m being a jerk. I’m just a little hungover, okay?” Miller hops out of the truck and glances back at me with his bloodshot eyes. “You coming in?”

I shake my head, and he kicks the door shut, cursing.

I try to figure out what to do, where to go, but the answer leads me to a thousand paths I’m not sure I’m ready to take.

I stay in the truck as the sun sets behind the hills and the sky shifts from a bright orange pink to a dusky grey. The moon and stars wake up. Around seven, someone starts texting me, but I ignore each one, not ready to face what’s in them.

The effects of the pill I took earlier slowly fade away with each passing hour. Around eight or so, a tall, gangly guy wanders out of the house. The guy is at least Loki’s age, if not older, but looks way rougher around the edges. He’s on the thin side with overly long hair and yellow teeth, and for the first time in a while, I grow uneasy.

Standing under the porch light, he pops a cigarette into his mouth and lights up. His eyes lock on the truck as he exhales a cloud of smoke, and I don’t like how nervous his look makes me or how aware I am that no one else is around.

I try to force the numbness into my body, pretend I don’t give a shit, but out here, all alone, almost fully sober, my uneasiness shifts to full-on panic. I push the lock on the door then scoot toward the driver’s side as the guy hops off the steps and heads in the direction of the truck. He beats me to the door, jerks it open, and the interior light clicks on.

 “Hey, what are you doing out here all alone?” he asks with a smirk.

I inch toward the passenger side. “Nothing. Just waiting for Miller.”

His wolfish grin broadens. “Hate to break it to ya, but Miller ain’t comin’ out for a while.” He glances at the house then his eyes lock on me again. “Why don’t ya come inside and find him.”

I stick my hand into my pocket to get my phone. “No, thanks. I’m good where I am.”

His eyes scroll over me from head to toe, then he nods at the cabin. “It’s not really a question. I was just being polite. You’re makin’ people nervous, and you need to come inside.” A look of warning flashes across his face. “Come on. I don’t bite.”

“Fine.” I plant my feet on the ground and stumble out into the dirt.

Grinning, the guy bumps the door shut, and he remains way too close to me as we head to the front door.

The first thing I notice inside the cabin is the stench, like musk and mold mixed with too many people crammed into in too small of a room. Music is booming and people are dancing, drinking, and smoking. I’ve been to parties before, but this one is more intense. Everyone looks older than me and seems comfortable with all the drugs and drinking.

“There’s your boy right there.” The guy points to Miller who’s sitting on a bright orange couch, smoking and chatting with a girl.

She’s wearing a short black dress and boots, has a red streak in her strawberry blonde hair, and multiple facial piercings.  Her style is similar to mine, but I have a feeling we’re not even close to being the same. Her look screams
notice me
while mine begs
hide me
.

Miller spots me through the crowd, and his expression lights up. Clearly, he isn’t as pissed off as he was earlier, and I’m betting the dazed look in his eyes has something to do with that.

He staggers to his feet and stumbles past people, making his way to me. “Hey, I was just wondering where you were.”

He hands me the cup he’s holding, and I chug half of it down, trying to burn away my uneasiness with alcohol.

“In the car, where you left me.” When he juts out his lip in a pout, I sip the rest of the drink down to hide my eye roll. “Look, I just came in to see if you could give me a ride home. I just got a call from my parents, and they want me home.”

He chuckles, rubbing his bloodshot eyes with his fists. “Yeah, there’s no way I’m leaving right now. After what happened last night, I need a break from reality.” He removes the cup from my hand, sets it down on the cracked linoleum, and then laces his fingers through mine. “You should stay. You look like you could use a break, too, and this place is awesome for that.”

A break from my life is the reason I came with him tonight—is the sole reason I spend time with him at all. But he’s been getting on my nerves tonight, and my thoughts are all jumbled over whether or not I really want to be here.

Miller hauls me toward a group of people dancing. “Come on, Anna, dance with me.” He roughly grinds his hips against mine while gripping my wrist and moving our linked arms above my head to spin me.

I dig my heels into the carpet. “I don’t dance. Ever.”

“Yeah, ya do,” he says, grinding against me again. “Remember that one time a couple of weeks ago when we were hanging out at Big Jay’s?”

“That wasn’t me,” I holler over the music.

“Yes, it was.” His head tips back, and he stares at the ceiling. “You were wearing that blue dress I love.”

“I don’t wear dresses ever.” Partly because of the scars but mostly because I burned most of my dresses after the accident.

Loki walked outside and caught me when I did it and about had a breakdown. “What are you doing?” He ran to get the hose to put the fire out. “You can’t just burn your clothes.”

“I already did.” I left the yard and went inside, convincing myself I felt better that all my old clothes were gone, and that I’d somehow managed to burn away the person I once was.

But even the fire hadn’t been able to kill off the old me completely. Deep down, I still wanted to have the dresses back.

“Oh, I must have been thinking of someone else, then.” Miller stares at me with a drunken grin on his face. “Guess we’ll just have to do it now.”

He elevates my hand above my head and gives my arm a tug, attempting to spin me around.

My knee twists, and I trip over my feet. “I said I don’t dance,” I say through gritted teeth. Jerking away from him, I shove my way toward the kitchen to get another drink.

I pour a cup of juice mixed with vodka and sip the eye-watering liquid as I watch the crowd, my thoughts of dancing and dresses gradually fading away after taking a few hits off a joint someone hands to me. I sit back and focus on the people around me.  Usually at parties, there’s at least one person I know from school, but everyone is older here, and even with a cloudy head, I feel oddly out of place. It doesn’t really make sense, considering I’m not chatty, anyway. And anyone that
really
knows me—
really
knows my family—always wants the juicy tidbits of what happened. So, I should be grateful that I’m surrounded by unfamiliar people, yet I feel lonely, like an outcast, out of place.

I don’t belong anywhere
.

I frown at the drink in my hand. My escape from myself tonight has turned into a disaster.

 “What’s with the pouty face?” Miller appears in front of me, his eyes so bleary he’s barely able to focus.

I discard my cup in the trash. “I think I’m ready to go.”

“No way. Not yet.” He entwines our fingers together, pressing his clammy palm against mine. “Let’s go somewhere and talk.”

Talking is the last thing I want to do, but before I can respond, he steers me out of the kitchen and down a dimly lit hall. The alcohol spills through my veins, and I stumble into a dizzy spell. The stained brown walls and faded orange carpet grow blurry. My body feels detached from my mind, as if I’m floating, and I have no choice but to grip onto Miller; otherwise, I’ll fall down.

The deeper we go into the cabin, the danker the air becomes, and the more I plummet into a state of vertigo where I can’t tell what’s up or down, if I’m supposed to be here—if I want to be here.

I’m so confused all the time.

When he leads me into a bedroom and slowly closes the door, a chill slithers up my spine.

Something doesn’t feel right.

The lock clicks.

Does anything anymore?

I collapse onto a bed and my heavy body bounces against the hard mattress as I gaze at the ceiling beams. After I get my bearings, I prop up on my elbows and dazedly focus on Miller.

He grins, and I hate it. Hate him. Hate myself so much I can barely stand it.

I just wish I could call my mom and dad, ask them to come get me and bring me home. I could curl up in a ball and forget the last six months ever existed. Wish this wasn’t my life. Wish I hadn’t messed everything up.

Tears burn at my eyes.

Goddammit! Stop thinking so much.

Just be Mysterious Annabella and relax . . .

Maybe it’s the pungent scent of the air or how heavy my body feels, or Miller’s gaze boring into me, but I can’t seem to chill out. Even the alcohol swishing around inside me is doing nothing to calm my nerves.

“I’m thinking we should pick things up from where we left off the other day,” Millers murmurs with his arms crossed over his chest. His bloodshot eyes deliberately drink me in as he bites his bottom lip. “Yeah, I’m definitely thinkin’ that’s what we should do.”

My stomach drops. The other day? The other day when I promised him we could have sex? I try to relax, ask myself, why not? Just get it over with it, it doesn’t matter.
Nothing does. Nothing you thought existed ever did.

The way I pictured my first time creeps up on me; I was always with someone I loved and who loved me just as much, and I was definitely sober since Delusional, Naively-Believed-In-Happily-Ever-After’s Annabella never felt the urge to drink or get high. No matter how angry I get with myself, no matter how lost I feel, I still want that moment to be how I once dreamed it would be. That’s the thing with dreams. I can run away from them, try to shove them aside, but deep down, I still
want
everything I dreamt of—that life I created in my head.

Blood roars in my eardrums. “I’m not sure I want to do that anymore.”

His eyes flare with rage. “Why not?”

I feed him a lie. “Because you ran off and left me.”

He grimaces. “I apologized for that.”

“Yeah, you did.”  I roll off the bed and stare out the window, trying to disregard his withering stare. “But I’m not in the mood right now.”

“Why did your brother pick you up from the police station?” he asks. “It’s been bothering me for the last few days because it doesn’t make any sense. You’re under eighteen, right? Why weren’t your parents there?”

I feel so drowsy, so disconnected from my body. “My parents sometimes work the night shift.”

The floorboards creak under his weight as he stalks closer. “Where?”

“What do you mean where?”

“Where. Do. Your. Parents. Work?” He stops just behind me and firmly grasps me by the hips.

“At a place,” I reply as his body heat suffocates me. My feet hold my weight but unsteadily, and I regret getting so trashed I can barely grasp onto reality.

“Stop bullshitting me, Anna.” He yanks on my shoulders and forces me to face him. “Tell me the truth,” he demands, no longer looking happy high, but angry high. When I say nothing, he shoves me into the wall. “You know, I’m starting to wonder if everything you’ve said is one big fucking lie. If you’re one big fucking lie.” When I say nothing, he shakes his head, fuming mad.  “I should’ve known this was how you were going to be when I first met you. You were so desperate to be someone else. Figures you were just another rich girl trying to escape her perfect life.”