The Illusion of Annabella

  “You’ve been a lot nicer than most of the people around here.”

  “If that’s the truth, it’s sad.”

  “Sad or not, it’s the truth,” he says. “They don’t seem too welcoming to new people.”

  “They just need time to warm up,” I explain. “That’s just how people are around here.”

  “Okay, but still. I feel like I kind of owe you a secret after what you told me the other night.”

  My eyes widen. “Oh, my God. What’d I tell you?”

  “You can’t remember, huh? Interesting.” He seems way too pleased about it.

  I sort through my memories of the other night. “I remember a lot of things, like wandering around, puking in front of you.” I wince, my cheeks heating at the memory.

  “That definitely wasn’t one of your finer moments,” he says. “But I did enjoy hearing you tell me I smelled good when I was helping you into the car.”

  “I did not say that.”

  “Yeah, you kind of did. You even sniffed my chest.”

  I lower my head into my hands. “I swear to God, I can’t remember doing that.”

  “Don’t worry, it was kind of cute,” he promises me. “You looked totally out of it, too, so I mostly shrugged it off. I do wonder if you meant it, though.”

  I tip my head to the side and peer at him between my fingers. “Wonder what? If you smell good.”

  He nods, resting his arms on his legs. “It’s not every day I get a compliment like that from an extremely beautiful girl, just to realize she probably doesn’t even know what she’s saying.”

  I make a gagging face. “Luca, do you want me to smell you and see if you smell good?”

  He bobs his head up and down then leans toward me. A smile plays at his lips and I know he’s messing around with me. Still, I lean in toward him, so close his shirt brushes against my cheek. Miller always smelled like cigarettes and booze, which I was never a fan of. Luca smells amazing, like cologne and soap and earth.

  Sneaking another sniff, I slant back. “You smell okay.”

  He frowns. “Just okay? Seriously? Well, that sucks.”

  I roll my tongue in my mouth. “Fine, you win this one. You smell great. Way better than any other guy I’ve ever smelled.”

  “Do you do that a lot?” he teases. “Go around smelling guys?”

  “Sometimes when I get really bored,” I retort.

  He grins. “Well, thanks for the compliment. And I’m going to do you a favor in return and let you know that that wasn’t the only thing you told me that night.”

  “Crap, really?”

  “Unfortunately, yes.”

  The quietness that follows is maddening.

  I clasp my hands in front of me. “For the love of God, would you please just tell me what I said, or it’s going to drive me crazy.”

  “Going to drive you crazy?”

  I lightly shove his shoulder. “That’s not funny.”

  He laughs. “I’m not trying to be funny. Some of the stuff I’ve seen you do makes you come off a little . . .” He rotates his finger in a circle at the side of his head, making a cuckoo motion.

  I suppress a laugh. “Are you going to tell me what I said or not?”

  His hand falls to his lap with his forearm up. He’s wearing a short sleeve black t-shirt and I can see his tattoo clearly in the daylight. He said it means strength, but what does he need strength for? The stuff going on with his sister?

  “You told me about throwing the rock at the shop owner’s window,” Luca reveals, observing my reaction.

  An image of me sitting in his car, babbling God only knows what to him. “I kind of remember . . . Vaguely, anyway.” But I worry just how much I told him. What if it was everything?

  “You were a little out of it. You never said why you did it, though. Only that the store owner was an asshole.”

  Avoiding his gaze, I stare at the back of my hands, flexing my fingers, evading the question in his eyes. “You never told me how you guessed which candies I wanted.”

  “That’s a secret for another day,” he says, sounding a tad disappointed that I’m shutting down.

  “But you will tell me one day, right?” I glance up at him. “Because it’ll drive me crazy if you don’t.”

  His lips pull to an adorable half grin. “I thought we already decided you were already crazy.” I playfully shove him again, and he laughs softly, fiddling with his leather wristband. “Can I ask you something?”

  The change in his tone sends warning flags popping up. When his attention travels to my thigh, my body goes as rigid as a board.

  Please don’t ask me about my scars. Please don’t ask. Please.

  “Why purple?”

  “Why purple . . . huh?”

  He coils a strand of my hair around his finger, and I study the way he looks at me, totally mesmerized by how fascinated he seems to be with my hair. “Is it your favorite color? Because I’ve really been wondering, why purple? I mean, why not blue or pink or green?”

  “Because purple’s awesome,” I joke, then shrug. “But if you really want to know, it was the first box of hair dye I picked up when I decided to steal one.”

  He unravels my hair from his finger and points at me accusingly. “You really are a little thief.”

  I hold up the crinkled photo. “So are you.”

  “I guess we’re perfect for each other, then.”

  “Do you come up with those cheesy lines all on your own? Or steal them from movies?”

  “Those are one hundred percent original cheesy lines,” he quips. “And don’t pretend like you don’t like them. I can totally tell that you do.”

  The really sad part is sometimes I do. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

  “I don’t have to. You do for me every time you smile at something I say.”

  I stare at him, unimpressed.

  He chuckles amusedly. “You know, I knew the first time I saw you that you were going to be hard to impress, but I didn’t expect it to be this tough. Seriously, it’s a workout trying to get you to smile.”

  “Maybe you should give up, then,” I suggest. “It’d be easier.”

  “Because it’s fun watching you try to stay pissed at me.” He touches his thumb to the corner of my lips, and my breath hitches in my throat. “Your mouth gets all twitchy when you’re trying so hard not to smile.”

  A nervous exhale puffs from my lips, and I cringe, knowing he had to have heard it. “Luca, I t-think we should take it easy . . .” I stutter over my words, just like I did when I invited Ben to my birthday party.

  But I can’t breathe, think, do anything as Luca’s gaze lingers on my mouth. “I’m really confused right now and I…” And I what? I have no idea.

  “We can do that, if that’s what you want,” he says, but then contradicts himself as he starts to lean in.

  I gulp as my stomach somersaults. Holy hell, my heart is racing so rapidly I swear it’s going to leap out of my chest. I don’t know what to do with how I’m feeling. Don’t know if I hate it. Like it. What.

  I’m the most confused girl in the world.

  Lost Annabella.

  Right before our lips connect, I unexpectedly let out a cough, shattering the moment into pieces.

  Feeling stupid and confused, I mutter, “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” Luca turns away, scratching at his tattoo.

  Why is this so hard? It was always so easy with Miller.

  An uneven breath eases from my lips as I realize why that is. With Miller, it never meant anything. With Luca, it means something because I like the idea of kissing him. Like silly, dreamy, girly crush kind of like.

  But what would happen if I did it? Would I get the same numbness I did when I kissed Miller? I don’t think so, since the idea of a kiss with feeling makes my pulse race, in a good/bad kind of way because I fear feeling too much, yet it feels so nice at the same time—so full of possibilities.

  Goosebumps sprout across my arms as I recol
lect my birthday, the excitement and hope of experiencing my first kiss with Ben. I wanted it to be perfect but then everything changed, and that perfect first kiss ended up being just a kiss with Miller a couple of weeks later. Another dream gone that I’ll never get back. Unlike my leg, though, I chose to give up my first kiss dream.

  “Can I ask you something?” Luca asks, breaking the silence.

  No, no more questions. I can’t handle anymore.

  I start to shake my head, but thankfully, a silver Honda rolls up into my driveway and saves me the trouble of being a bitch.

  Easton, my physical therapist, gets out of the car, grinning at me. “Aw, you waited for me. How sweet of you, Anna.”

  Easton is the same age as Loki and likes to wear a lot of track pants and t-shirts, at least when he’s working. He has what Luca would probably call a “twisted” sense of humor in the sole fact that his jokes seem to center around making me uncomfortable. Loki knows Easton from high school and chose Easton as my therapist knowing he won’t put up with my bullshit. Personally, he drives me insane.

  When I push to my feet, my legs feel like Jell-O, and I have an irritating suspicion that has to do with Luca and our almost kiss. “Don’t flatter yourself. I wasn’t waiting for you. I was trying to think of a way to escape you.”

  “Kind of hard to do when you can’t go anywhere,” he jokes, popping the trunk.

  Luca glances back and forth between Easton and me, then his brows furrow. I know he’s wondering who Easton is, but I don’t want him getting involved in this—he’s already been involved in too many things already.

  “I’ll meet you inside,” I tell Easton, then turn for the front door.

  “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” he calls, humor lacing his tone.

  I reel around too quickly, my knee buckles, and I grasp onto the railing tighter to keep from falling.

  “I’m her neighbor,” Luca introduces himself. “Luca Benton. We were just . . . hanging out.” He sneaks a peek at me, and his eyes sparkle mischievously.

  “I’m Easton. I help with Anna’s physical therapy. Well, when she shows up for our appointments, anyway.” He adjusts the strap of his duffel bag over his shoulder. “You wouldn’t want to hang around and help me, would you? Anna gets kind of feisty, and I could use someone to guard the door and tackle her in case she decides to try and bolt.” He shoots me a grin and I retaliate with a glare. “She has a knack for doing that sometimes.”

  “Yeah, I’ve noticed she’s kind of a wanderer.” Luca shoots me an impish grin.

  “Oh, my God. I’m in sarcasm hell.” I open the screen door. “I’ll be inside. When you two finish with your Anna jokes, feel free to join me.”

  The screen door bangs shut behind me as I step inside. The smell of brownies and chocolate engulfs me the moment I reach the living room, and potent memories swirl around me. My gaze drops to the flakes of glitter still stuck in the cracks of the hardwood floor, right there for everyone to see, yet no one seems to notice.

  “Oh, my God, you so have to try these.” Zhara skips up to me with a brownie in her hand. She has flour in her hair, chocolate on her shirt, and a huge smile on her face. “They’re so good.”

  My mouth salivates at the gooey dessert, but I shake my head, knowing I can’t handle any more memories for the day. “I’m not really that hungry.”

  Her expression sinks. “Oh, okay.” She turns away, looking as sad as a kicked puppy.

  Just let her go. She’ll get over it.

  The glitter still stuck in the cracks of the floorboards sparkle under my feet.

  “It’s a birthday miracle.” Giggles float around me, and I laugh.

  Everyone used to be so happy . . .

  “If you’re going to sulk about it, then give me the damn brownie,” I say, sticking out my hand.

  She spins around, perking up as she hands me the dessert. “You’re going to love it. It tastes just like Mom’s.”

  Mom’s brownies were full of lies, baked with secrets, cooked by a woman who didn’t really exist.

  I lift the brownie to my mouth and take a bite. They’re not great, but they're definitely edible.

  “They’re good, right?” she asks, waiting eagerly for my answer.

  I take another bite just to make her happy. “They’re great. You did a good job.”

  A massive smile lights up her face. “You know that’s the first nice thing you’ve said to me in months.”

  I lick a drop of chocolate from my bottom lip, unable to shake off the truth of her words anymore. I know how mean I’ve been to her lately, but with all the crap I was ingesting, I didn’t feel enough to care. Now, standing here, fully aware of everything I’ve done, I hate myself. I think of Luca and his mom, who runs away from her problems, and how sad he looked when he told me.

  “I think I just heard a timer go off.” I struggle to keep it together. I want to cry. I want to scream. I want to apologize for everything. “Did you cook two batches?”

  “Crap.” She smacks her forehead, leaving a chocolate handprint, before she rushes off for the kitchen. “I forgot about them.”

  I nibble on the brownie while sorting through my ever-growing guilt. It’s not just about my dad anymore. It’s about Zhara and Loki—my entire family—and the hell I’ve put them through. My head feels like it’s going to combust as I think of one bad decision after another that I’ve made over the last several months.

  I’m the most horrible person in the world.

  Thankfully, the screen door creaks open and offers me a distraction from myself before I end up bawling on the floor.

  Easton and Luca step inside the house, chatting about something.

  “I so want to try when I turn eighteen,” Luca says, looking giddy. “I probably would’ve done it already, but my mom’s got this thing about doing risky shit.”

  “They give classes down at Honeyton Sport Shop that are completely safe,” Easton tells him. “You should check it out. It’s a start and it’s good practice for the real thing.”

  “Thanks. I’m going to do that,” Luca tells him, and then they do this knuckle bump, weird, guy-only handshake thing.

  “What are you two getting all giggly about?” I prepare to get them back for all the teasing they’ve done to me.

  “Easton was telling me about his rock climbing adventures,” Luca explains to me, readjusting his glasses into place. “Which is so cool because I’ve always wanted to try it.”

  “You mean like you’ve always wanted to try having adventures and go exploring the town,” I say sinisterly as I lick a drop of chocolate off my finger.

  His eyes turn to slits, but his lips curve upward. “I never said that. You’re remembering wrong.”

  “That’s not what your mom said.” I stuff half the brownie into my mouth and smirk at him.

  “Glad to see you found your sense of humor again.” Easton pats me on the shoulder as he whisks by me and into the living room. He drops his bag onto the floor then places his hands on his hips. “Now, where’s an office chair I can use?”

  “Upstairs in the family room.” There’s actually one in the kitchen closet, but I want to procrastinate for as long as I can.

  “I’ll be right back.” Easton jogs up the stairs, calling over his shoulder, “You better be ready for some pain.”

  The moment he’s out of earshot, I zero my gaze in on Luca. “You have to leave.” When he doesn’t budge, I add, “Please leave. You can’t be here for this.”

  He juts out his lip, pouting. “Easton said I could stay.”

  “I don’t care what Easton said.” I shoo him toward the door. “I don’t want you here for . . .” I rub my injured leg, feeling so self-conscious I want to hide. “No one gets to see me like this.”

  “Okay, I’ll leave but I’m coming back when your therapy’s over. I’m not going to go back to sitting in my house alone again.” His tongue slips out of his mouth to wet his lips. It’s not an intentional move or anyt
hing, but it reminds me of the almost kiss and makes my stomach do all sorts of crazy things.

  “You can’t come over later . . . I’m doing stuff.”

  “Then I’ll help with the stuff.”

  “What if it’s super girly stuff?”

  He glances at me with skepticism. “Yeah, I doubt that. You don’t seem like the girly type.”

  “I used to be,” I say softly, then cough into my hand, giving myself a moment to pull it together. “Look, I’m just not sure if it’s a great idea for us to hang out.”