Page 3 of Beautiful Delusions

Blinking through purple-rimmed glasses, I don’t remember pulling out of my bag, I squint at the overhead lights. The bulbs glow faintly as they cool, fading into darkness. A few levels above, light seeps from elongated windows, spiraling the railinglike a ring of everlasting sunset. The breeze drifts downward, cutting through the balmy air with a blissful caress. No wonder it was so easy to lose myself in a world so distant from this one.

Placing down the mug, I uncurl my legs from beneath me on the floor. Laying the book down, pages splayed over my thighs, I stretch in half, holding my toes to work some feeling back into my legs. Then I draw them back into a cross-seated position, and I roll my neck. Jazzie mirrors my every movement, leaning against the opposite shelves, one brow cocked. I know what she’s thinking–obviously–I’ve heard it before. A uni grad student like myself should be outside,living my life. Well, life generally sucks, and I’m happy exactly where I am. As long as it’s quiet and I’m medicated….shit. The time. The party.

Jumping upright, panic floods my system. My movements are jaunted as I drag myself up the shelves, pausing to slip the book back in its rightful place. Then I’m down the aisle as fast as my feet will allow. I’ve missed it. I’ve fucked it. My chance to get more meds.

Today was difficult enough, and getting through tomorrow will be impossible. The weight of oppression crashes down on my shoulders, a blaring of a siren sounding between my ears. Pins and needles race from my toes to calves, forcing me to hobble. The skirt grazes my thighs, in direct contrast with the baggy lilac sweatshirt covering me from neck to wrists. Too hot. Too itchy against my taunt skin. I’ve fucking fucked it all.

Slam.

A hard body sends me flying backward. I hit the ground, pain slicing along my back as my assailant stands firm. Unaffected. The fading sunlight frames his broad shoulders, his jersey too baggy to reveal what’s underneath. But I felt it. The solid muscle, the radiating power. I wait for him to move or speak, to offer me a hand. A mess of light hair shifts so slightly. His head tilt could merely be a trick of the shadows, but somehow I don’t think so.

“Who are you?” His voice is like melted butter, too smooth. I vaguely wonder if he’s real, or a figment of my vivid imagination. But I feel the drag of his gaze on my bare legs, which have remained at an awkward angle and giving his heated stare full access.

“There’re two ways this is going to play out,”Jazzie shuffles closer on her knees. She appears bright amongst the shelves, as if she has her own light source, and drapes an arm over my shoulders. “You can fight him or fuck him. Either one will give you the release your precious drugs would have otherwise provided.”I balk, blinking hard in the hopes she’ll disappear. My attacker is yet to move while my mind plays out the scenario, “You’ve missed the party anyway. Might as well use the goods at your disposal.”Jazzie leans forward and grabs his junk roughly. My eyes widen until he clears his throat as I realize I was staring straight at his dick.

Clambering to my feet, I brush myself down. Two sets of eyes are on me, one real and one imaginary. I can hardly breathe, the burden in my chest overbearing. If I walk away now, head back to my dorm, I’ll lie awake all night. Replaying how I wished this encounter had gone. I’m new here, no one knows me. He doesn’t know my past. He’ll only see the person I present now, and first impressions are everything.

“I could be whoever you want me to be,” I pull a smile from the depths of my psyche. Jazzie smiles approvingly, slinking out of sight. This close up, the faintest scent of apple and an underlying musk drifts through me, like cider on a summer’s night.

“Excuse me?” he scoffs, folding his arms. Biceps bulge over a basketball jersey, his stance wide against the slip of light I have left. He’s athletic, strong. Probably able to bench press me and keep the cocky tilt of his head while he does it. A fuckboy, no doubt, and luckily that’s what I’m in the market for. A quickrelease to get me through until my next fix. Closing the gap between us, I force myself to embody the female character who lives rent free in my head.

“We’re alone, in the dark, and I’m bored.” I summon confidence from deep within, trailing my fingers over his shoulder where the jersey cuts short, his skin smooth and blemish free. He might as well be a delusion. Uncrossing his arms, the sheer size of him has my heart thumping loud enough for us both to hear it. He absorbs the very air around us. Even without seeing him properly, the way he holds himself tells me what I need to know. He’s freaking gorgeous and knows it.

“I’m not into nerds,” he slides my glasses off and places them on a nearby shelf. “I only came in here to restock my paper stash.” Diving a hand into his pocket, he produces a wad of rolled pages, all torn roughly. A fissure cracks through my heart, but I don’t let it show. He smokes, most likely weed, meaning he’s a friend I need to keep close. This stubborn ball-player might just be able to see me through my final semester. Then I’m a free woman.

“I’m not into asshole jocks, but somehow, I think we both can pretend otherwise for a little while.” Brazenly, my fingers continue to travel over his biceps, along his arms. Moving with the swiftness of a cheetah, my wrists are grabbed, and I’m shoved back a step against the bookcase.

“You proposition me and then have the balls to call me an asshole?” he growls. I smile encouragingly.

“I’m Sophia,” I bat my lashes. His grip on my wrists tightens. Yes, I think to myself. This is the distraction I need. The release I crave. Dropping his head, close enough for his breath to tangle with mine, for his strong jaw to brush my cheek, he pauses. Sizing me up, studying the heavy rise and fall of my chest. If only he could see my nipples through this heavy sweater, he’d understand how ready I am to be ruined. Corrupted. Defiled.

“Now you give me your name,” I coax.

“Nah. You’re definitely not my type.” Using his grip to shove himself back and stride away, red coats my vision. Shame heats my cheeks. Holy crap. What the fuck was I thinking–throwing myself at a stranger in the dark? Nothing, that’s what. I wasn’t thinking at all. And it’s that same empty numbness pulsing through my veins which has my Converse appearing in my hand and tumbling away from me in a full-bodied throw. The sneaker hits him in the back of the head.

“The fuck–” his growl is cut short by a round of laughter. Shadows appear at his back. This time, I’m certain they’re not from my imagination.

“I believe your new friend wants your attention, Ezra,” another male voice seeps from the darkness. I can’t see them, can’t tell how many there are, but a symphony of low chuckles grows in volume, gritty and rough like dirt being kicked up from the ground. Whatever parallel universe I’d been in, where fear and lust mingled, vanishes. My true senses return in their entirety.

“She can have my attention if she likes,” another voice sounds. Filled with mirth, not half as deep and rumbling as the last. A ball forms in my throat.

“You know what? I have somewhere else to be. So, I’m just gonna…” my voice trails off as I fail to find a way to say ‘run for my fucking life’. Instead, I just do it.

I’d already left the main courtyard before remembering my backpack. Forgotten on the library floor, I make a mental note to head back first thing in the morning to retrieve it. For now, though, I’m left without my phone, dorm keys, and my legs covered in scratches from the library window I’d managed to dive out of. I barely feel them through the tremors of withdrawal and embarrassment causing me to stomp too heavily. But I refuse to stop running.

In my haste, I lose sight of the trail I was supposed to take, thundering forward in the hopes those stoners find someonebetter to play with. I still can’t believe what I allowed myself to do, and now all my hopes are pinned on my roommate still being awake. Only, when I emerge from the other path I sped down, I can’t see the dorm buildings.

I draw to a quick stop before two rows of frat houses instead. All are quiet and dark, except the whitewashed walled structure halfway down the street. That one is glowing from the inside out, while music pulsates through the air. Laughter and chatter mingle with the bass. Nearing on numb feet, I swallow hard. Letters carved over the doorway fill me with a surge of trepidation.

Thorn Manor.It's not too late. The party is still going in full swing.

People spill out onto the front lawn. The energy is infectious, despite my hesitation of being around so many other people. My instincts are telling me to seek out the reprieve of my dorm building, but leaving now wouldn’t help my cause. I need something; a temporary high to get me through the next day or so. I won’t survive otherwise.

Besides, no one is looking at me. Words are slurring, and visions appear hazy. I'm a nobody amongst the masses, and with the gentle press of Jazzie in the back of my mind, I suddenly find myself at the front door. Drawn in like a moth to a flame, liveliness reverberates through my body.

Inside, the air is thick with the scent of alcohol and sweat. Bodies move in synchronized chaos, passing around drinks. People are making out on any available surface. One group is containing a small fire on the coffee table in a lavish living area and cheering as each one drops another item into the center of it.

Jazzie leads me onward, further through the crowds and into the heart of Thorn Manor. The music grows louder as we descend a flight of stairs, leading us to a basement filled with even more dancers. The room is transformed into a makeshiftnightclub, bodies pressed together, moving to the pounding beat. Neon lights flash across the dimly lit room, casting vibrant hues on the unknown faces. My temples clench tightly.

---