Page 60 of Reckless Desires

What the hell is going on?

My heart sinks and my first thought is something happened to my mami or my dad or Veronica. I quickly open the text messages and find Veronica has sent nearly all the text messages. There has to be a hundred texts that are just question marks and one word texts like hello and wtf.

I don’t even scroll through all of them because I just need to figure out what’s going on. I send her a quick reply and check my phone calls, which I’m assuming are all from her, too.

Me: What’s going on?

She replies seconds later, the three dots popping up almost immediately after I hit send.

Veronica: What the hell is going on, Is? Fuck. I’ve been trying to reach you for hours. Did you listen to my voicemails? Did you read my texts? ARE YOU OKAY?

Her words gnaw at me. There’s no way she knows about Flynn yet. Surely Carleeta’s doing everything she can to keep this under wraps like she said at the hospital. I scroll through her messages quickly until I get to a link to Gossipgram, an Instagram account dedicated solely to gossip stories about the rich and famous.

The link directs me to a post on the Instagram page. My hand instinctively flies to my mouth when I see the photo. The hallway spins and suddenly, I’m throwing up the contents of my stomach, which isn’t much.

No. A cold chill races up and down my spine when I see it.

How can this even be possible?

The photo on this Instagram page, the one with over a million followers, is of me.

Me sitting with my back against a parked yellow taxi, an ivory-colored blanket draped around my shoulders. The picture was taken seven years ago when I was only fourteen years old. Anyone looking at just this photo would have no idea it’s me. I look like a totally different person, and not just because I’m twenty-one years old and I’ve physically matured. My hair is a wild mess, windblown and matted from running for help. I have no makeup on, I hadn’t even needed a bra at fourteen since I was a late bloomer.

My heart clamors in my chest and I feel dizzy, I swipe my hand across my forehead, perspiration trickling down my face.

I swipe to the next photo and see a very recognizable me. A photo of Bordeaux and I from the party we went to a few weeks ago. I read the caption, even though I know I shouldn’t. I force my eyes to comb over the words, not believing this is what’s happening right now.

Word on the street is Reckless Desires’ front man Bordeaux Daniels is dating Chicago’s very own survival story, Isla Robles. If you’re a longtime Chicago native, you’ve probably already heard of Isla, but for the rest of us, you’re about to hear some craziness. Click the link in our bio to read the full story.

I angrily punch the back arrow and find the link. Once the internet browser opens, I’m met with the same two photos again, and I quickly thumb down the screen to the article. My hands shake as I pray my phone doesn’t die while I’m reading this. Or maybe it should. Maybe I should fucking throw it down the hallway and never look back.

Isla Robles was only fourteen years old when she and her friend were abducted while walking home from school. She and her friend, Cynthia Kamden, were in the ninth grade when a man approached them, forced them into his black Ford Explorer, and drove off with them.

The photo above depicts an absolutely distraught Isla after fleeing from the scene of the crime, leaving her friend Cynthia alone with their abductor.

“I can’t imagine leaving my friend alone with my kidnapper,” our source told us early this morning. “She must feel an intense amount of guilt.”

I stand, my legs shaky underneath me, and turn toward Bordeaux’s door. I pound on it so hard I feel it rattle against me with each reprieve.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Bordeaux?” My tone only hours ago was that of a pathetic little girl, but now it’s more like a woman scorned. I feel my walls going up. Regret seeps into my soul at the thought of telling him about this in the recording studio. How could I be so stupid? “You are the only one I told,” I scream, the tears coming now. I’m not even upset in this moment; I am fucking pissed. I am so pissed at myself and at him and at this entire situation that I am crying so hard I can barely breathe.

I pound again just as hotel staff steps off the elevator and Bordeaux opens the door, just a sliver, only enough to look at me with bloodshot eyes and a swollen face. He looks like hell.

“What are you screaming about now, Isla?” he asks and I want to punch something but instead, I hold my phone up to his face.

“I must feel an intense amount of guilt, huh?” I ask him, barely getting the words out. “How could you do this? And now? What did I do to piss you off so badly?” I step away from the door as his eyes grow wide and he opens the door, pulling me inside.

The room looks untouched. Room service had obviously come in and cleaned since we were here. It’s as if he came in and sat in one spot and hasn’t moved until now. The white sheets on the bed are in pristine condition and the television is switched off. I look at him as he backs me against the wall, his eyes dark and angry.

“I didn’t tell anyone about that.” He looks down at the phone in my palm. “How could you even think I’d do something like that? You don’t know me at all, Isla.”

Guilt stabs at my chest as he glares at me.

“Really,” I say, shrugging. “Weird coincidence then, isn’t it? You totally ignore me, leave me out in the hallway of a hotel for hours while you’re in here, you won’t talk to me or tell me what I did wrong to you, and then a gossip site magically finds out about my past and shares it with the entire world.” I scoff. “You really expect me to believe that?”

Bordeaux shakes his head, bringing his hands up to his lips in a prayer-like position and collapses onto the bed. “Believe what you want, Isla. I have bigger things to deal with.” He looks away from me and my rage boils over.

“Yeah, Bordeaux, you’re dealing with a lot; I can acknowledge that. And I’m so fucking sorry that this is happening. I feel awful for what Flynn is going through right now,” I sob. “I feel terrible for you and Declan and Miller and Flynn’s family.” I pause to catch my breath, my words failing me. “But you pushed me away and then this goes live. I can’t see past that.”

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