16. What Are You Wearing?
What Are You Wearing?
Isla
Of all the fucking days Bel could have done this, of course, it's now.
You know you can tell me anything, right?
God damn her.
Bel's sweet, too kind code for I know you're lying to me.
I have no idea what time it is in Vegas, but if she's texting me, it must be in the afternoon or later. Those weirdos exist in an almost exclusively nocturnal schedule.
I guess I shouldn't judge; I don't even know if it's light outside or dark here. Everything exists in a timeless, colorless blur these days.
The first bit of color I've even been aware of in weeks was the unfortunate scarlet seeping into my sheets this morning.
It didn't even occur to me that I'd missed my appointment to re-up on my birth control. That would have been... three? Four weeks ago? Who knows? Who cares? I'm not going to be needing it any time soon. The more pressing issue is the lack of period products in this hell. Even that hardly registers in this relentless fog of apathy. If I bleed through everything, what does it matter?
My only bright spots are the hour of violence in the morning and the two hours of escapism at night. Everything in between... I'm basically a ghost just floating through my days, each one a repeat of the one before.
Like some stupid time warp movie, I'm stuck living the same day over and over again.
I have no idea if Eamon came home last night or decided to stay wherever the fuck he went.
Check in with Kyle, my fucking ass.
As much as I want to, I can't tell Bel everything.
Can't even admit half of it to myself.
I'm spiraling, and the one fucking person I could use as an anchor left me stranded here alone to go do god knows what.
And honestly, I don't even fucking care if he wanted to go sleep with someone. I don't.
But how dare he bring me out here to what is little more than a prison and then get to just leave whenever he wants. Doesn't he know what solitary confinement does to people?
I haven't seen the sky in two months.
Haven't heard a fucking bird chirp or been honked at by some dickhead in a truck that's too lifted for him to see anything.
I miss everything. The smells, the sounds. I just miss being a part of life.
I didn't get up and go train this morning, and I'm sure I'll get an earful about it later, but for now, I don't give a shit.
I canceled all my meetings and obligations. There's no point in doing anything anyway. I'm going to be trapped in this concrete coffin until I finally expire.
Once again, vile thoughts inject themselves into my mind.
There's no point to anything.
Is this really a life worth living?
You'd be better off in the peaceful nothingness of death than suffering here any longer.
I'm no stranger to these kinds of thoughts. They've plagued me since I first realized that not everyone thought about both boys and girls like I did.
Since everyone around me told me over and over that it was an affliction. My cross to bear, but not something that should ever be accepted or given in to.
Laying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, I wonder if I had followed their advice, would I be any happier? Could this fate have been avoided somehow had I just followed their guidance?
Eamon's stupid voice lends itself to my thoughts.
Are you wallowing again ?
Fuck off ,I tell the phantom of the bane of my existence.
His chuckle sounds so real, so acute, I look around, wondering if he's actually here, and I only thought it was in my mind. But the room remains utterly silent, completely empty.
What are you wearing? the imaginary voice asks, teasing and playful. A version of Eamon I could enjoy, were it real. I must be fucking lonely if I'm creating scenarios in my head where even he's flirting with me, no malice included.
But I'm in no mood to play along. Just leave me alone ,I beg him, beg my mind to free me of his haunts when he's off enjoying himself.
You're no fun today.
Tears well, the madness of this confinement finally making me snap. Even when he leaves, I can't be free of him. I just want all of this to stop. I need silence. God, what I would give for just a moment of fucking relief.
Not only do I have to face the voice of my family members who damned me to this life, but now the demon sent to dole out the damnation haunts me, too.
Ugly, wracking sobs escape my body, the catharsis only skin deep, not even close to the level of cleansing I need to rid myself of this agony.
Isla, that stupid voice taunts again, begging me to pay attention to it, making me cry harder as I beg him to shut up, shut up, shut up!
"Isla." Strong hands land on my shoulders, his voice laced with worry.
Finally, I snap out of the madness. I glare daggers at the giant man trying to lift me off the ground, pushing his hands off of me. "What?"
"What's wrong?" He seems so confused. Which, of course, he is. He just got here to find me in hysterics on my bedroom floor. But I can't tell him about the phantom voice or the dark direction of my thoughts.
"Bel texted me," I tell him what triggered my meltdown.
A couple clueless blinks, and then he nods, "Okay... and?"
"She knows I'm lying to her." She doesn't deserve more secrets and lies. They've nearly destroyed her already.
He uses one big thumb to wipe away the tears pouring down my face, one corner of his lips lifting sadly, "I'm surprised Fritz took this long to break, honestly."
A ragged breath forces itself into my throat as I try to shove him away. "You're not funny."
"I'm a little funny," he smoothes my hair back, thankfully not commenting on the way it sticks to my face and neck, plastered there by my tears. With a heavy sigh, he pulls me into his chest. I should refuse, should push him away, but this is the first kind touch I've had in months, and I really need it. I let the tears fall into his chest, and he holds me tightly against him, letting his familiar scent surround me. "I think maybe it's time you tell her."
"What?" I sniffle, sure I misheard.
"The whole point of not telling her was to keep her from doing something reckless that would get her and her boy toys in trouble," he shrugs, not releasing me. "It kinda seems like it's getting to the point where she's going to come looking for you either way. And if she goes to your apartment as it is now..."
"What's wrong with my apartment?"
"Well, it's crawling with hunters searching for you, and I can't guarantee they won't touch her if she goes waltzing right up to them. Again. " Fear for my best friend claws at my chest. "And it's empty, so she'll have a panic attack wondering where you are."
"So you think I should tell her?" I ask, slightly hopeful at being able to finally confide in Bel. "You're not going to like take my phone and do something to stop me from talking to her if I tell her everything?"
His chest shakes with small laughter, "No, I won't. At this point, while I don't like the idea of telling her, I think it might be the best we can do to stop the damage you two are capable of when your codependency is threatened."
"You're not funny," I tell him again, but I have to bite my lip to keep from chuckling. Just a little.
I don't want to find comfort in Eamon. Don't want to give him any more pieces of me besides the ones he's taken by force. But god, he smells so good, and against all odds, I do feel safe in his arms.
"Yes, I am," he corrects me. "But you're right. Bel doesn't need any more secrets or lies."
A cold feeling slips down my spine because I most definitely did not say that part out loud.
And earlier, I could have sworn he was right here talking to me, right into my head.
Can demons read minds?
No. That's impossible. I definitely would have heard about it.
"Okay," I swallow, fearful that if I think about it too hard, he'll hear me. I'm definitely being paranoid, but there have been too many occurrences like this for it to be a coincidence. "Okay, I'll call her. But I need you to do me a favor."
He nods once, the gesture moving my hair, "Whatcha need?"
"Tampons. And new sheets."
"Ah. Got it." He doesn't seem embarrassed by the request or even slightly surprised. "Figured it was a matter of time. Just text me pictures of everything you need and I'll head out right now."
Perfect.
He gently lets me out of his arms, giving me a comforting squeeze of my shoulders as he looks down on me, still concerned but less frantic, "Tell Bel hi for me."
"And Fritz?" I raise a brow, teasing, trying to keep up appearances.
He points a finger at me, deadly serious. "Do not tell him hi from me."
As he walks away, I tell him in a sing-song manner, "I'll tell him you miss him."
"Do not! Or I will take your phone away again." Whether he'll admit it or not, I can hear the smile in his voice from here, relieved I've stopped crying.
I let a few seconds pass before peeking my head out the door, looking to see if he's already left. The google search and screenshots to send him exactly what I need take only a few seconds more.
Can you grab something chocolate?
I ask, waiting a second before adding,
And some kind of salty snack?
If I give him a list, maybe that'll take him a few extra minutes so I can make my phone call to Bel in peace.
After only a single ring, her bubbling voice radiates through my phone, "Isla! Hi!"
"Hi Bels," I respond, trying to keep the wavering from my voice. "How are you?"
"I'm so good! Except I miss you!" She's being an angel, not mentioning the text she sent me just in case I'm not ready to talk about it, but there's no denying that her cheeriness is as false as mine.
"I miss you, too." A small hiccup forces its way out. "Listen, Bel— I have, um, I have a lot I need to talk to you about." A lump forms in my throat but I need to get out as much as possible before the tears make speaking impossible.
After a beat, she pipes up, "Okay. Gimme a sec. Fritz already left for work, and Cas is just about to walk out the door so I'm all yours."
Rustling sounds on the other side, a giggle and the sounds of a kiss that lingers far longer than I'd like to hear. While waiting, I get a notification of a picture back from Eamon, putting the phone on speaker so I can respond.
What the fuck is that? Are those penis shaped chocolates?
Wow, did you get yours molded for those?
The text practically types itself and sends.
Oh, honey, if I had, you'd barely be able to fit one in your pretty mouth. But you already know that. ;)
My cheeks warm, remembering just how true that is. The reminder of him, hot and heavy in my mouth, makes heat bloom between my legs, but I'm not letting him distract me.
Get something else. I won't eat those.
Then Bel's bright, chiming voice returns, "Tell me everything."
Everything would be too much.
But I can tell her where I am.
She pretends to be surprised, but she's very clearly not.
I can tell her about the fighting in the beginning.
She calls Eamon every single name I know of, every vile, filthy word she's picked up living in the city of sin.
I tell her about the training and why.
Tell her about my mother's email and the fact that the apartment we spent so much time in has been torn apart and is now haunted by the men my mother sent there.
"Why does your mom go along with it? Encourage it, even? Does she know what happens to all these girls?" Bel asks.
With a heavy sigh, I shake my head, wondering the same thing myself. Could she possibly support this if she knows the truth? Unfortunately, I fear the answer is yes. She might not have seen it with her own two eyes, but she's too smart not to see the writing on the wall. Those with the closest proximity to power will always work to uphold it. They think standing beside their oppressors makes them safer than standing in front of them. It doesn't. Upholding the power of horrible men at the expense of yourself will only ensure when they do turn on you, you're standing alone.
"My mom just wants to be safe from the ugliest parts of her husband, the ones she can pretend don't exist. She doesn't realize that all that ugly is now woven into the fabric of her own soul. And even still it won't protect her from him."
When my tears fall, thinking of not only myself but every person hurt by my family's desperate scramble for power, hers join them.
But even when I've told her everything I can bear to admit, she knows there's more. That there are things I'm unwilling to share with her.
I can't tell her about the attraction, though she already knows it's there. Can't confess to the things we've already done, the things I imagine to myself late at night when I can't sleep until my hand has brought me over the edge of pleasure.
The rapidly approaching date of Mike and Charlie's baby shower hangs over me, a taunt to show me the things I'll never have. Bel's never really wanted kids. She could take it or leave it, but she knows all I've ever wanted is to have a functional, loving family. To replace the one I was born with with one of my own making.
But even if I could go back to a normal life and have kids, should I?
Do they deserve the monster that flows through my DNA?
Not going there. Not today.
When that confession, that admission, sits on the tip of my tongue, I bite it back and find an excuse to get her off the phone, citing exhaustion and an early morning meeting.
Relief, warm and fleeting, fills me for a moment, knowing that if nothing else, Bel will leave this conversation feeling like the chasm between us is lessened. And it is, but the chasm is not her doing; it's not her fault. It's mine because I can't bear to face the truth myself, much less share it with her.
Instead, I share with her words I haven't told anyone else in years, no one else coming even close to the affection I have for my chosen family.
I love you.
I miss you.
We'll talk soon.
And then she's gone, and I'm alone again.