“The fuck it is.” His face turns stern as he hits me with a barrage of questions.
“What happened? Did someone attack you?”
I’m catapulted back into that moment. Jasper's laugh, and pain he’d etched his mark on me. How can I even begin to explain this?
It’s simple, I can’t. The humiliation of trying to explain such a far-fetched scenario freezes the words before they can leave my mouth. Before I can stop it, I can feel the wetness on my cheeks as my body trembles.
Knox and Vix are both staring at me, the worry heavily prominent on their faces. Six months ago, we were seated at this very diner. My two best friends wore similar expressions of concern after I had received the news of Nik. The memory of their unconditional support washes away my doubts. I need to talk to someone. I can't keep holding this chaos inside me anylonger. I need their help to carry this burden. Maybe it will free me, if only just a little.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. Hell, I don’t even believe me.” I wipe my cheeks.
“Myssa, you are one of my best friends, so please tell me. I promise I won’t judge you. Believe me when I say I have seen a lot of weird shit,” Knox says sympathetically.
I take a huge breath. “It started six months ago, after Nicole died.”
Knox gently takes my other hand in his, his warm touch a small gesture of his support.
I start to unravel everything: the weird nightmares, Jasper holding my sister's soul in exchange for whatever it is he wants. I describe the weird shifting back and forth to what seems to be another world all together, and how I thought all of it was just my subconscious. I explained the grief I’ve put on hold was starting to grow, and I believe the situation I’m in now is the result. The mark on my arm, though, showed just how all too real it was. That this “reminder” was a result from the hands of Jasper.
Knox’s grip tightens and is shoulders stiffen as he stares at me. Instead of the sympathy that I’ve braced myself for, his brows furrow, his jaw ticks, and a vein pops out on the side of his forehead. I see the tells that Knox can’t hide.
He’s pissed.
“Myssa, I need you to stay with Vix for a few nights.” The low firm tone in his voice has me startled. Why isn’t he calling me crazy? Or saying things like,oh, Silly Myssa, this is just all in your head?
Still fixated on his eyes, I search for anything to show me he’s kidding. To show me that I’m delusional, and that this is all just a hallucination of my own creation. But he isn’t. He lets go of my hand, and I shrink back my seat, lost in the sudden knowledgethat his whole demeanor is screaming that he knows something. He turns to look at Vix.
“You’re serious?” I whisper.
“Vix?” He ignores my question as he reluctantly looks back at the wound on my arm. I see his chest rise and fall quickly, as though the sight of it is making him lose control. But why? For six months, I’ve held this in, and now my friends are acting as if the threat is factual? That all of this might actually be fucking real?
I look at him, confused, and speak up louder, finding my voice again. “Wait, what? Why?”
“I got her,” she said with concern, looking back at him.
I whip a glare at her. I’m met with a guilty expression before she looks away from me again. It’s as though a secret they have been keeping was just exposed. I slowly shake my head in disbelief.
“No,” I protest. As good as that felt to get off my chest, what I don't need is a babysitter.
“I’m ok, Knox. I know this all sounds weird but?—”.
“This isn’t up for debate. Myssa, go to Vix’s,” he snaps. He takes a deep breath and sighs as he softens his voice.
“Myssa, I need you to stay at Vix’s, so if you have these nightmares again, someone can wake you up.”
I screw my face up. “You act like Freddy Krueger is haunting me. I mean, I did this to myself clearly, right? Maybe this is some kind of breakdown from not grieving?”
But I know I’m grasping at straws.
Looking between them, I silently plea that this isn’t true, but as they both avert my gaze, I frown.
“You’re serious,” I say, taken aback by their silent exchange.
“Just trust me.” He reaches for my hand again, squeezing gently. “Please.”
I hear a small twinge of desperation in his voice, before he release me.
“I gotta go. Vix, take the Camaro.” Knox stands, tossing his keys to her as he pulls a hundred out of his wallet and takes his phone off the table.
