Plight: A Dark Paranormal Romance (The Sephlem Trials Book 1)

by Felisha Antonette

  “Am I that hot?” I squeal, surprised by her abrupt retraction.

  “No, honey. You’re freezing.”

  “Freezing?” I whip my head toward her, awakening the heavy lifter who bangs my head with his hammer. “Never mind. Can you help me to my room? It’s getting worse.” Passed out and hit my head . . ?

  “Do you want to go to the hospital?”

  “No, just to bed.”

  “Okay, honey. Let me grab you some water and your medicine. Then, we’ll head upstairs and get you to bed.”

  “Thanks, Mom.”

  Dreaming. I have to be dreaming.

  Swirling eyes and burning touches haunt my mind as I drift. Salient, churning eyes turn from brown to green and from green to blue. The blue then swirls into a strange, lifeless gray that’s so empty they could be completely black.

  The feel of his hands grasped onto my waist is exhilarating as he assists me into his oversized truck. Their warmth sends a scatter of chills over my skin as I climb in and settle onto the seat. Right behind me, he’s climbing in, forcing me to slide over with his hard body gently shoving against mine.

  I lie back. The cool leather seat brushes my skin as I shuffle to sit up and get my shirt pulled down. But he stops me, slipping his volcanic hand beneath its cotton fabric and grabbing my waist. I hate how I want his blazing touch and don’t.

  With him hovering over me, looking me over, loose strands of his hair falls around his head. And if his hands don’t burn me open, his silent bore sure does. I study his strong face with his gaze worthy jawline, and his color changing eyes with the same hint of coffee circling his pupils. Thick eyebrows darken those eyes, and his straight nose leads my gaze to his kissable lips.

  Never looking away, he takes me in, as I him. Speaking in a language that’s unfamiliar to me, he drops his head to the side of mine and croons, and my skin shakes from his closeness. I don’t understand a word he’s saying, but he sounds amazing as the warmth from his breath dances across my collarbone.

  A blaring drumming sends my surroundings disappearing in a poof of smoke.

  “Tracey! Your alarm is going off. Wake up.”

  Ugh! Don’t I know that voice all too well? It was definitely a dream . . .

  “Tracey,” Mom calls sweetly. “Are you feeling better? Are you going to school today?”

  I stare at the circular patterns of the comforter pulled over my head. My muscles are more relaxed than if I’d taken a Tylenol. I fold the covers down as I sit up, smiling. “Yes, I’m going. And yes, I’m much better.” I reach behind my bed to the flat headboard and cut off my excited alarm clock.

  Mom grins. “You look much better today,” she says, placing the back of her hand on my forehead. “That must have been a reviving sleep.”

  “It was.” I yawn, stretching. “I’m so much better today.”

  “Good.” She sits on my bed and looks me over. Concern seeming to narrow her eyes. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  I null her concern with a hug. “I’m sorry I worried you.”

  She rubs my back and kisses the side of my head. “You must tell me when something is wrong, Tracey.”

  I draw back, tucking my deep brown curls behind my ears. “Promise. I will.”

  Mom gives me a content smile. “Get a move on, honey. You are already running fifteen minutes late.” Her Australian roots break through and she clears her throat. She buries her accent under her American one, only letting her Aussie As and Rs slip when home. If asked why, she’ll deflect the question better than a criminal being questioned about their double-dealings. She doesn’t own her past, burying that too. A hate for her parents causing a hole in her heart she says only Dad and I can fill. Mom kisses my head. “I love you. See you tonight.” She leaves, dressed and on her way to work. Last night, she stayed in my room, rubbing my head until I fell asleep. I love her more than peanut butter and am thankful I have a mother I can rely on and talk to about anything. But, I didn’t mention the accident, and while I explained the painful spell I encountered last night to the best of my ability, she thinks it’s related to issues I used to have when I was younger. I disagree. But I bit my tongue because if I pushed it, I’ll get a first class trip to the doctor’s office, and I am not going there. So I changed the subject to when Dad was coming home and let it go.

  “Okay, thanks for waking me,” I say to her back.

  I get ready for school and my mind spins with what I experienced last night and the guy I met yesterday. Nathan. I regret how my thoughts won’t leave his eyes, his voice, or his touch. The heaviness in my stomach makes me want to punch a wall, knowing what this means. To like a stranger I’ve yet engaged with on a personal level. It’s stupid. Maybe I’m more so interested in the way my skin and my insides reacted to the simple graze of his hand rather than the person who possessed it. And why?

  I pull my t-shirt over my head, straighten the pant legs of my sweats, and tug on my sneakers. Matching my lazy outfit to my solemn mood. Making sure not to forget my phone today, I snatch it from the dresser and grab my bag from the floor, and then head out of the house.

  Not a scratch or bump blemishes my car. It looks better than before the accident, which I’m grateful for because I wouldn’t know how to explain it to Dad and why I didn’t call the insurance company or visit the hospital.

  I make it to school five minutes short of being late, and like every morning this semester, I meet Glen by my locker before heading to trig. Classes fly by and when the lunch bell rings, we rush out of fifth period. I don’t recall a thing that went on during my classes. My mind is muddled with yesterday and the mystery of it all.

  Scott Fallon bumps into me, and I trip over his fallen Environmental Engineering textbook. “Save it for the field, Scott. No tackling in the hallways.” We laugh. Scott and I have known each other since preschool, and with him I’m never sure what’s up his sleeve. By the studious look in his eyes, maybe we didn’t run into each other by accident. I pick up his textbook and hand it to him. “When did you get into saving the world?”

  He grabs the book and shoves it into his duffle bag. Keeping his gaze on his shoes as he says, “It looks good on my college applications. You have a minute?”

  “Sure.” We move from the middle of the hall to strolling nearer the lockers on the left side of the hall.

  Scott throws the strap of his backpack on his shoulder. “My cousin hit you yesterday?”

  Oh my gosh! “He’s your cousin?” I blurt, eyes widening as I pull him to a stop. My heart jumps in my chest at the thought of Nathan and me knowing the same person.

  Scott shrugs a shoulder. “Yeah. His name is Nathan.”

  “I know his name,” I say, nodding, then realize that I should calm down. Scott must think I’m losing my mind from my sudden burst of excitement over a guy I can’t admit to knowing.

  “Oh.” He cynically chuckles. “He was courteous enough to tell you his name?” he asks, as if Nathan’s kindness is a foreign concept. “Every girl in school today has been badgering me about him. None of them got that privilege.”

  My brows furrow. “What do you mean?”

  “My cousin isn’t the nicest guy.”

  “He was nice yesterday.” And to be honest, his courteousness to others is the least of my concerns. That’s bad, but something about that guy makes me only care how he’ll care for me. I roll my eyes at my thoughts and how ridiculous I sound. “He seemed like a decent guy.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Before I can interject, Scott continues, “Nathan said he’d pick me up yesterday but didn’t. When he stopped by the house last night, he told me how he ran into you, then you two went to get your car fixed, and he followed you home to make sure you were okay. Said you hit your head pretty hard on the steering wheel.” He adjusts, gaze darting around my face. “I don’t see anything, though.”

  “Hmm.” That’s not at all how it happened, but maybe that’s how he wanted to tell it to Scott. “Right.” I touch my head where I re
member hitting it yesterday. It doesn’t hurt, and there’s no bump or a bruise which is odd.

  “Well, he’s a dick. He doesn’t do that for chicks regardless if it was his fault or not. He’ll fix it, but not check on her or care enough to follow her home. So, I needed to see if the story was true and that he didn’t just blow me off to get some ass.” He looks away from me, adding, “Don’t fall for his shit, okay? That’s a steep hill you’ll slide down and wish you hadn’t.”

  “Tracey!” Glen yells from down the hall, jogging to us.

  I swallow my comment to Scott’s statement. “Hey, beautiful,” I greet Glen as she hooks her arm around mine.

  “What are you two talking about?” Glen asks.

  I cut off Scott before he can spill. “He was just asking if we were going to that party on Friday.” What happened yesterday is so far-fetched I’d like to keep it a secret, and adding Scott’s depiction of Nathan, I’m a little iffy and unsure how to explain the weirdness.

  Scott nods, seeming to understand. “I’ll talk to you later. Remember what I said.” He adjusts the strap of his bag on his shoulder and shoots me a warning glare. It piques my curiosity, but I give him a nod.

  I look away from him to Glen, seeing her gaze fixated on Scott, seeming enamored by him as he strides away. I smile at her patent admiration.

  Scott is hot. He’s the star player in every sport the school offers for boys, and a nice guy possessing that can do attitude that’s backed with his positivity of going to school and staying focused. With a bodybuilder’s physique, Scott’s never missed a workout and is worthy of the unswerving gawk. It may be the way his golden brown hair sweeps his shoulders as he saunters down the hall and greets his friends or his well-known achievements since elementary school that has Glen ogling.

  “You’re checking out Scott?” I ask, bumping her elbow with mine.

  Her eyes pop out, and she nervously takes a step back. “No!” she chirps.

  “Come on now, Glen. You were so checking him out. Be honest,” I say in a singsong voice, waggling my brows.

  I’ve never seen her cheeks turn so red. “Okay. So I was. A little.” She bites her lip, as interest seems to cloud her eyes.

  I laugh. “It’s okay. He’s cute. Top pick for all the Mount Francis’ girls. Why haven’t you tried to talk to him?”

  She crinkles her nose. “I don’t know. It feels weird, you know? We’ve known him for, like, ever and just out of nowhere, I’m hot for Scott.” She rolls her eyes and fakes a gag.

  I giggle. “Come on, let’s go to lunch, miss hots for hots.”

  Glen slaps my arm and pouts. “Tracey, don’t tease. I don’t like how I feel about this.”

  “It’s okay, Glen. Just chill. I’ll stop, promise.” I drag her with me to the vending machine, saving us from the cafeteria food.“You want something?”

  “Yes. Can we go to the mall after school?” she asks, pointing at a Butterfinger behind the glass.

  “Didn’t you buy something yesterday when you went with Rachel?” I asks, forcing the dollar bill into the machine.

  “Well, I did ‘til I found out Scott was going to the party. I need something better now.” His name’s almost inaudible as she mutters it. “He doesn’t like that slutty stuff.”

  I shrug, handing her the Butterfinger.

  “So you are going to the party, right?”

  Caving, I say, “Yeah. Sure. What else do I have to do this Friday night, but be surrounded by loud teenagers grinding around Andrew’s living room?” I try to hold in my laugh, but her cringing smile makes it break through.

  We head for our usual table and sit with Rachel, Angela, Matt, Aubrey, and Sam, and talk about our spring break plans. Mine will be occupied with essays, college applications, and my valedictorian speech prep. Glen, usually the life of any party, is silent, tearing pieces off her chocolate bar instead of biting into it as she usually does. She isn’t ashamed of much; she’ll fess up to whatever and will let nothing separate her from what she wants. So, her humility for liking Scott is off-putting. Unless it’s because of reasons like mine. And in that case, I understand her stand-offish demeanor today.

  The rest of my day is a blur. My mind’s all over the place, focusing on things I want, things I can’t make sense of, and Nathan. He’s all over my head, and it irritates the hell out of me. I daydream about him running into me again and asking him why his cousin thinks of him as a bad person. I’d think he’d care more about looking out for Nathan’s character than he would about me being hurt by him.

  It’s crazy! The way I’ve floated around all day, fantasizing, mesmerized by this stranger. He’s just a freaking boy for Pete’s sake!

  Pfft. Yeah. . . An illegally attractive, mysterious boy with a blazing touch and enchanting eyes.

  This is insane. I slump in my chair and rake my hand through my mess of curls.

  chosen

  Glen has talked me into spending the afternoon at the mall. We go from store to store, trying on new jeans and sweatshirts. It’s so relaxing, and I’ve reclaimed my freedom from my havoc-inducing thoughts. We leave the mall, and I take a deep breath of Bennington’s humid air. I swing my arms as we stroll to the car and tune into Glen’s newest party outfit ideas.

  I’m not looking forward to the party this weekend. Everyone’s always telling me I should let loose and have fun. Little do they know, my version of letting loose is sitting in an oversized sweater and undies with a hot coco by my bed while I’m binge watching my favorite show. Sweet acoustics will play through my headphones, and I’ll explore the realms of someone else’s imagination. Or enjoying a run under the moonlight with the symphony of the night’s sounds playing rhythmically in tune with my footsteps. I’d prefer either of those over partying. But, after focusing so hard on making this the perfect year, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to throw my arms in the air and swing my hips when my jam comes on.

  “Mind if I sleep at your house for a few days?” Glen asks when we make it to my car.

  “Of course not. You know you never have to ask. You’re always welcomed.” It’s always okay with Mom that Glen stays over. We prefer she is with us than at her house anyway.

  On our way to my house, we stop by Glen’s so she can grab her undies and toiletries. I cut the headlights off before I turn in, seeing her mom’s car is in the driveway. Glen drags the seat belt off, cussing under her breath. I wince, knowing there is going to be a showdown.

  “I’ll be right back.” She jumps out and runs around to the back of the house so she can sneak into her bedroom to avoid her mom.

  I wait in the car for her to return, listening to the radio, hoping she goes unseen. The front door to Glen’s house whips open and a beam of light slices through my car.

  “Oh shit . . .” I sit forward, heart racing.

  Glen battles the shoving hands of her mom, pushing her out of the house. “I’m going!” Glen shouts, shuffling out of the doorway, bag on her arm.

  “Well, go then,” her mother drunkenly slurs, “and stay since you wanna spend so much goddamn time over there!” She jabs an aggressive point against the air and has to grab the door to keep from falling over.

  Glen jumps in the car and pulls the door closed. “You okay?” I ask, seeing the plastered smile on her face.

  “Yeah. Of course.” She slumps in the seat and hugs her bag to her chest. “Just my freaking mom . . .” she mutters, dismissing the conversation with a wave of her hand.

  I chew on my lip, nodding, and then head home. After all these years, I should be used to Glen avoiding these conversations, but it still makes me uncomfortable. There are all different types of love I’m told. A love that’s unconditional; like the one parents have for their child or that God has for his people. At least, that’s what they teach at church. In Glen’s house, it’s a little different. Mrs. Richards’ love for Glen isn’t unconditional. She loves for Glen to be around so she can blame her for this or that, she loves for her to be around so Glen can turn her on he
r side if she rolls onto her back when she’s too high to function. She only loves Glen for what Glen does for her, not because she’s supposed to just love Glen. I hate that she has to deal with that.

  I park my car in the driveway. We get out and on our short walk to the front door I wrap my arm around Glen’s shoulders. She smiles and bumps the side of her head against mine. “Thanks, Cey.”

  I shrug. “It’s why I’m here.”

  Mom’s finishing dinner when we make it in. The aroma of steamed veggies fills my nose as soon as we walk through the foyer.

  We pass her in the kitchen and lean over the counter that looks into the kitchen from the living room. “Hey, Mom!” I say. “Hey, Mrs. Warren,” Glen follows.

  “Hello, girls. How was the mall? Did you find cute clothes for the party?”

  “Yes! What are you cooking?” Glen asks, always ready to eat.

  “Smothered steaks, mashed potatoes, and fresh green beans. You two hungry?” Mom asks without looking up from her work.

  “Yes,” Glen answers for the both of us.

  We sit around the dining room table, eating and going over our days. Mom wipes her mouth and asks, “The boy from the lacrosse team is throwing the party?”

  “You got it, Mrs. Warren. Andrew,” Glen says, over the rim of her glass before taking a gulp of water.

  Mom takes a sip from her wineglass. “That’s nice of Mrs. Black to let him throw a party at their house. She wouldn’t let you all step a foot in there when you were kids.”

  “I know right,” I say.

  Mom’s cool with us partying if it’s in the neighborhood, we stay responsible, and never have one in her house. She believes that giving me a little freedom will keep me from “running wild,” as Dad would say. I have no intentions to run wild, just to graduate, and leave Bennington. I’m either going to school abroad or somewhere west where there’s less snow and no memories of my childhood.