Desire And Danger 18+

Seventeen

Behind most bright laughter hides the deep dark shades of sadness. I used to think when people laugh, or smile, it simply means they're happy. Well, for the most part, if I talk about life before I grew up—my childhood—I'd say every emotion Arabella Lincoln allowed the world to see was real. She was authentic, and her smile was innate, unforged.

But what changed? I'd ask myself sometimes. Even now that I'm watching Camilla Alves and Isla Lincoln laughing so loudly over Maui's mischief in Moana, which makes me laugh along as though I'm complacent, I still wonder whether I'm genuinely laughing or not, for I fear I've lost sense of reality.

I'm numb. Spurious. I'm present but not here.

"Hey, are you okay?" Camilla asks me, and I realize it's been utterly silent on my part.

"Yeah. I mean... yeah." I wipe the moisture in my eyes, yawning. "I think I should retire to bed before you guys. I had a long day." I get up, still in my office clothes.

"Um, sure." A small frown flints on Camilla's face.

She knows I'm lying. She's another emotional manipulator who laughs a lot as a masquerade for her unspoken pain. I can tell a mask when I see one; this woman here is as cracked as I am. I don't know her story in-depth, but she makes me feel less lonely.

"Good night, baby." I kiss Isla on the forehead and walk by.

In my bedroom, I go through some photos I took with Adrian back in upstate New York on his birthday. The only tangible memory of him in my possession. I smile, drift at the moment, then cry from the void, before hugging my pillow to sleep with him all over the place.

I need to forget him.

I just don't know how to because it's as if I'm harnessing the pain of losing him instead of fighting it. It's very unhealthy. I'm scared I may never escape this loop as long as I'm alive. The fact that I can't find normalcy in his absence is a sign that I'm past being normal.

He's a bloody killer; he said it himself, and I saw it with my own eyes.

I should be terrified, but strangely I feel the opposite.

It's past midnight when I feel heavy darkness in the room. Weird. Although I never sleep with lights on, the eerie feeling about this moment jolts me fully awake. My bedside lamp refuses to light up and it makes me slightly anxious. Are we out of power? I muse while slipping off the bed.

Casually, I peer through the window, only to find neighbor houses rich in power. It's chilly and quiet, with only dogs barking from a distance and trees rustling coolly. And then, out of the blue, I think of the weird guy I saw earlier today. Paranoia runs through me, my imagination a bit wilder. I know I didn't like him and it frightens me to think of the worst.

What if he was here monitoring the house so he can break in at night? He was probably a burglar or one of Adrian's men. But no, he looked more than that. They were predatory intentions in his eyes, something dark and evil. At the thought, I use my phone's flashlight to pull out Adrian's gun under the mattress.

Isla! She's the first thing that comes to mind; I run to the attic.

"Isla?" I call gently, pointing the light at her bed. It's empty. What the fuck! "Isla?" I snap frantically, leaping back through the door.

My heart races deadly. I'll die if anything happens to her. No, she must be downstairs, with Camilla. But it's still dark, and silent, and my mind jumps before my feet as I barrel barefoot through the stairs with a phone and gun in my hands.

"Isla? Camilla?" I call, praying inwardly for no horror.

The scarred face man haunts my confidence and hope. I see him but I choose to ignore him.