Page 4 of Shattered Illusion

After pocketing my phone, I stroll out of there to the tune of her parents’ sobs, confident in the knowledge that I have found my soulmate, and I will do whatever I can to make her mine.

How could this have happened?

In nothing but a mere minute, the illusion that is my life was shattered like a pane of broken glass. Everything I once thought true is a fabricated tale, and now nothing is what it seems.

Including me.

My heart hurts at the thought of leaving that guy behind, but I could tell he understood that I just needed to get out of there. At some point, I should have gotten his name, but I can’t take the time to dwell on that. I know someone will be coming for me from an academy; I also know my parents—or who I thought were my parents—will be coming after me to try and explain how the hell I’m a supernatural, and they aren’t. But I don’t want to listen to their pretty lies any longer. I can’t, or I’ll break even more than I am already.

Tears track down my cheeks as I continue running toward home, but I don’t bother to wipe them away. Let the whole sector know that I’m breaking. It won’t make a difference in howanyone sees me. Granted, with these things covering my body, I doubt anyone will even recognize me.

One thing I do know is that when I get to whichever academy they are sending me to, I’ll have to do a bit of soul-searching and change the way I think about things. Lifelong views and my hatred for supernaturals will get me killed if I don’t start looking for the good in them.

But hey, a supernatural saved my life, so that’s a start. Right?

The scenery whips by me, and my breath comes out in little clouds due to the bone-chilling cold, but since I woke up in the clearing, the cold doesn’t seem to bother me as much as it did before. And thank fuck for that, or I would likely lose a toe to frostbite since I didn’t think about stopping at the car to grab my boots.

Vehicles whiz past me on the road, afternoon gridlock nothing more than a memory since the world was broken into sectors. Human sectors that I no longer belong in. That’s going to take some getting used to.

On the plus side, I haven’t yet broken into a sweat from running. It takes fifteen minutes by car to get to the lagoon, and from some of my previous runs, I know it takes about an hour, depending on how hard I’m pushing myself.

A car slows by the side of the road and honks its horn, but I throw up the middle finger and just keep on running. I know it wasn’t my parents because they would have said something.

Nothing has really changed in the human sectors since they became sectors or even before that. The buildings still gleam in the minimal sunlight penetrating through the clouds, and houses still look like regular housing and not some weird futuristic-looking thing like movies about supernaturals predict. I have yet to travel into the supernatural districts, but I can’t imagine them looking much different.

Our housing community comes into view, and I put on a burst of speed, wanting to get inside and pack before they even show up. Part of me wants to be furious that they didn’t come after me immediately, but even their whole world was rocked, just like mine. But since I’m not their biological daughter, they had to have known there was a chance this would happen. Why wouldn’t they prepare me for the possibility? Why keep up the ruse for so long? That’s what hurts the most.

My legs take me up the driveway, and I drop to my knees next to the planter Dad put in for Mom two years ago and extract the fake rock I know holds the key to the house. Once I pop it open and snatch out the key, I drop it back into the mulch carelessly and shoot to my feet, heading for the door. It opens with ease, and my soul cries out in turmoil that this will be the last time I enter this house as someone who actually lives here.

Everywhere I look, memories assault me, ripping my already tattered psyche to shreds. The chef’s kitchen Dad redid for Mom ten years ago, where we would spend our Sundays baking. Dad’s recliner in the living room, where I fell asleep on his chest as a kid. The hole in the wall by the TV where I threw the controller from the NES because I was pissed I lost.

Too many memories, and it kills me to wonder if any of them were real.

Turning away from the thoughts of my years growing up, I make my way down the hallway toward my room. Or should I say the room Theo and Ann were letting me use. Fresh tears gather in my eyes as I think of them not being my parents. Who even are my birth parents, and why didn’t they want me? Better question, what the hell am I?

There are so many unknown pieces in the puzzle of who I am. Hopefully, someone will have a clue because I’m stumped.

When I step into my room, I kick the door closed and start pulling at the ties on my bikini. I need to get out of it and trashit so I can forget all about today. Now whenever I see it, it’ll just remind me of the day my life went to shit, and I refuse to have one more reminder of it. Especially since there’s no way I can remove all the new designs decorating my body, which will be the most significant reminder.

And my hair. I haven’t given myself a chance to think about it, but I know it’s no longer black. It’s bright freaking white, and there’s a good chance I look somewhat like the Stay Puft Marshmallow man. After all, he was completely white, and I could be his twin with my pale skin.

After disposing of my favorite bathing suit, I bypass the floor-length mirror on my wall without even looking and go straight to my dresser, ripping open the top drawer and pulling out a black sports bra, black lacy thong, and black ankle socks. Once I have them on, I move down a drawer, snag a black t-shirt, and slam it closed for the next one. My favorite pair of dark charcoal joggers is right on top, and I don’t hesitate to grab them. Comfortability is crucial when life falls apart.

Finally clothed in more than a bathing suit and hair tossed up into a messy bun, I turn to the closet and pull out the matching hoodie to the joggers I bought three sizes larger than I need. I’ve always loved the idea of a girl wearing her boyfriend’s clothes, but this is the next best thing since I don’t have a boyfriend.

The front door opening and then closing catches my attention, and I rush to my door and hit the lock, not wanting any company right now. They can wait until I’m done packing up what I want to take, which won’t be more than my clothes and shoes. The pictures on my wall are a fabricated lie of a happy life I got to live for twenty-one years, only to have it ripped away by magical water.

Dragging my feet back to the closet, I slip on a pair of black and white Vans, then dig around for my two duffle bags. I doubt they are large enough to fit the things I’m bringing, but I canalways grab a couple of trash bags if necessary. It’s not like I was prepared for this to happen, so anyone I encounter can keep their trap shut about my circumstances.

Repeated knocking sets the soundtrack of emptying all my belongings into my bags. Luckily for me, almost everything fits between the two duffles and my old backpack from high school. There isn’t enough room for my toiletries, but I can stow them away in my purse until I arrive. I make sure to grab the stash of money I had put away from my allowance for the past few years, along with what I saved when I did some menial work for the neighbors.

Mom and Dad wouldn’t let me get a job, always telling me that school was more important and that I could get one once I got my degree. But unfortunately, every job I applied for after the fact told me I was overqualified and they couldn’t pay me what I deserved. I didn’t care about the money; I just wanted the experience more than anything.

After being denied many times, I gave up and continued collecting the allowance and doing those little jobs here and there. They wouldn’t have sustained me for the rest of my life, but they were better than nothing.

Now, the few grand I have stashed away in my purse will have to hold me over until I get a job in the real world, or should I say, the supe world. I’m hoping most of what I need will be supplied so I can continue to hold onto what I have.

My eyes flit one last time around my room, and even though it hurts to be leaving so much behind, I know I don’t need the reminders. My gaze catches on the framed picture of me, Mom, and Dad, and before I can talk myself out of it, I rush over and snatch it from my nightstand, hastily stuffing it into the top of my bag.

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