Page 2 of Pretty Lies & Ugly Truths

Just before he takes it too far, I spring up, slamming my head back into his face.

Flashes of light fill my vision as he stumbles back, clutching his nose, but I shake it off, lunging for the box cutter.

“You bitch!” he roars, as he reaches out trying to snag my hair.

I spin out of his hold, snatching up the box cutter and plunging it deep into his throat.

Warmth splashes across my face, and I know I’ve hit something vital. He falls, landing hard on his knees before collapsing to the floor. Dark red blood gathers into a puddle on the oak planks, and I wonder if it will leave a stain.

I huff out a laugh at the ridiculous thought.

I just killed a man, his body still warm at my feet, andthe only thing going through my mind is how Jane will be livid about the blood now staining her beautiful hardwoods.

I'm in shock.

I know I am because my limbs remain frozen at my sides as I laugh and laugh until I am no longer able to catch my breath, my shallow gasps turning to great big sobs.

Black dots dance in front of my face as my body begins to shake. My arms come up to wrap around me as I bend at the waist, heaving violently.

Movement catches my attention out of the corner of my eye, and I jump, lashing out instinctively, but there’s nothing there.

I feel a sharp pinch in my shoulder, and my body starts to grow warm and heavy. I try to move my arms and legs, but it feels as if I’m treading through wet concrete.

I look around, my blurry eyes looking out across the room, and I decide I must be hallucinating. Standing in front of me is a dark figure with a…skull for a face?

It watches me, head cocked, like a predator observes their prey. Yet, for some strange reason, I am not afraid. Just before the darkness takes over, warmth engulfs me, and I almost swear I get a whiff of sandalwood and something citrus ...

1

Maggie

Afamiliar ringing drags me from a deep sleep. My eyes are heavy, refusing to open. There’s a pounding at the base of my skull, keeping time with my heartbeat. Fighting through the fog inside my head, I wrack my brain, trying to remember exactly what happened last night.

The last thing I remember was being at work, ready to go home so I could dive into the new romance novel waiting for me. I had plans to soak in a warm bath, and crack open the bottle of chilled wine in the refrigerator.I never got to start my new book though, did I?I didn’t.But why?I don’t know, but with how my head feels, I might have drank the whole bottle and then some.

I groan as I force myself to sit, my whole-body aching and sore. I touch the back of my head and find a small, tender knot there. I wince as I gently prod at it with my fingers.What the hell?

Memories come crashing back to me in broken startsand stops, blurred images of rough, calloused fingers on my skin, dirty hands tangled in my hair, and blood. Oh God… so much blood. I bring my hands to my face, expecting them to be covered in red, still able to feel the sticky warmth clinging to my skin. When I pull them back, however, they are perfectly clean. Pristine. Not one trace of evidence that any of it was even real.

My hands fall limp to my lap and brush against cool, silky fabric. I look down, noticing that I’m dressed in a satin slip nightgown I never wear—usually opting for a long cotton t-shirt instead. I bought it hoping it would give me confidence, make me more desirable to my ex. In case you were wondering, it didn't.

I stand on shaky legs, looking around my room but not finding anything out of place. My small, one-bedroom studio is exactly the same as when I left for work yesterday, providing no clues as to how I got here or why I’m dressed this way.

Frantically, I begin searching for my discarded clothes from the day before. I need to find them, need to see them clean and unbloodied. I need to prove to myself that last night was only a dream, just a nightmare my overactive imagination conjured up, that I’m not actually going crazy.

Despite my exhaustive search, however, there is no trace of the blue dress I wore yesterday. Actually, now that I think about it, my underwear and shoes are also missing.Ok… that’s definitely weird.

My palms feel clammy, and a trickle of sweat rolls down my spine, as my breathing quickens.What if lastnight wasn’t just a nightmare after all?Then that would mean the events from my dream were…real. That would mean?—

I sprint to the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before throwing up. My knees sink into the plush rug as I cling to the porcelain, heaving until I completely empty the meager contents of my stomach. No. There is no way I killed a man last night. I refuse to believe that.

Rising on wobbly legs, I walk to the sink, splashing my face with cold water. I peer into the vanity mirror, taking in my wide-eyed expression. Other than my already fair skin being a shade too pale and the prominent dark circles that rim my eyes, I look unchanged. Nothing in my appearance would clue me in as to just what the hell happened last night.

It was only a dream.It was only a dream. I repeat it over and over until I can start to feel my racing heart slow and my muscles unwind. Okay…so there is a real possibility I might be going crazy. It’s fine. I may not be able to remember anything from last night, but one thing I do know is that I am not a murderer. There is no way I am capable of that. I refuse to believe it.

I can’t believe it…because that would mean I let the darkness win.

Maybe I did drink that whole bottle of wine after all. Maybe I drank too much last night and blacked out. That’s when I fell and hit my head. That would explainthe bump back there and why I have no memories after work. That must be it—right?

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