The Illusion of Annabella, Page 3

  Her brows knit as she looks at the time. “Oh, my word, I didn’t . . .” She sighs as she slips her arms out of the sleeves of her overshirt. “Anna, I’m so sorry. I was looking at antiques and lost track of time.” She tosses her wet jacket into the backseat. “You know how I get.”

  “Yes, I do.” I fasten my seatbelt as she flips down the visor and runs her fingers through her hair. “Why didn’t you answer my text, though?”

  “Oh, I forgot I turned down the ringer because I didn’t want anyone bothering us on this little trip.” She seems distracted as she reapplies her lipstick. With a pop of her lips, she drops the tube into her purse and puts it on the backseat with her jacket. Then she briefly places her finger to her lips as she stares almost dreamily at the house.

  “You’re acting weird.” Why the hell is she staring at the house like that? Stop, Mom. Just stop. “Well, weirder than normal.”

  “Not really.” She lowers her fingers and shoves the car into reverse.

  The tires splash through the puddles and murky water sprays all over the windows as she backs up. A middle-aged man wearing a t-shirt and jeans walks onto the porch barefooted and stands on the porch, watching us drive away. When my mom spots him, she flushes again.

  I think about asking her who he is, but fear the answer might have to do with why her clothes are on funky. “Your shirt’s inside out,” I mutter.

  “Shit.” She slams on the brakes at the end of the drive, jerks the emergency brake, and starts to slip her arms out of the sleeves of her over shirt.

  I stare out the window, trying to remember if her shirt was like that when she went inside the house. I don’t think so. But maybe I’m remembering things wrong.

  “I tried on an old dress,” she explains, as if reading my mind. “It was an old Victorian dress I wanted to wear for Halloween.”

  “Halloween isn’t for, like, four more months.” And why is she shopping for Halloween clothes on my birthday, anyway? Usually the day is all about me.

  “I know, but this kind of dress is hard to find.”

  I glance at her then at the grocery bag on the backseat. “But you didn’t buy anything.”

  She struggles with what to say as the rain pours down so violently that I can’t see the trees and fields around us. “I did, but I’m picking it up later . . . It’s a surprise for your dad actually. He’s been wanting to do this couples costume thing since forever—you know how excited he gets over holidays. I’ve always told him no, but decided maybe it’s time.” She places her hand on my knee and looks me straight in the eye. “You have to keep it a secret, even though I know you hate keeping secrets. Otherwise, you’ll spoil the surprise for him.” The pitch in her voice is too high, her smile too fake. “Anna, this is really important, okay.”

  I don’t like what I see. Liar, liar, her expression reads. But I can’t work up the courage to call her out on it.

  I swallow the lump in my throat and nod my head once, silently agreeing to something I don’t want to do.

  “Good.” She loosens up as she pulls onto the road. “I love you, Anna. You know that, right?”

  “Yeah,” is all I say.

  I don’t speak to her during the ten minute drive to my father’s store, guilt knotting in my stomach with every passing second.

  My mom wouldn’t have an affair.

  She loves my father.

  My family is too happy.

  Right?

  How did the day go from magical and glittery to guilty and disgusting?

  By the time my dad ducks into the backseat, that guilt and disgust has formed a giant, twisted knot in my stomach.

  “How’s my girl?” he asks, shaking his head, making rain spray everywhere.

  My mom squeals, shielding herself from the water, even though her clothes and hair are still damp. “Sweetie, easy on the dog shaking.”

  “Why? You know you secretly like it.” My dad slides forward and kisses my mom’s cheek.

  She subtly winces from the kiss, something she’s never done before. Or maybe she has and I never had a reason to pay close enough attention to her reaction.

  “Did you two have fun running errands this morning?” he asks, sitting back. “You never did say where you were going.”

  My mom gives me a discreet sidelong glance, and panic flashes in her eyes. “I actually just had to stop and drop off some bills.”

  “Really? On her birthday?” My dad looks at me, and I swear I see a question in his eyes, like he’s waiting for me to disclose the truth.

  I force a smile. “I didn’t mind.”

  “That doesn’t sound like a very fun birthday morning.” My dad winks at me. “Good thing you’re about to get one of the best birthday presents ever.”

  I feel sick to my stomach as my mom maneuvers the car onto the street. I want nothing more than to blurt out what happened. Tell my dad that something doesn’t feel right. That I have a gut-wrenching feeling my mom might be having an affair.

  But I fear that I might be wrong. Or that I might be right. That my wonderful life could change if I open my mouth.

  Despite my internal tug of war, I never get the chance to say anything. Don’t get a chance to say anything to them ever again.

  As my mom merges the car onto the highway, the earth is practically drowning in the rain. Maybe that’s why she doesn’t see the car coming. Or perhaps she was distracted by whatever happened in the blue house. But moments later, our car is sideswiped.

  The impact knocks the wind out of me, and my head bashes against the door. The car flips over. And over. And over. The metal caves against the impact and glass shatters everywhere. Someone screams. Maybe me. Maybe my mother. Maybe my dad.

  When the car finally stops moving, it lands on the roof. I’m still strapped in the passenger seat, hanging upside down. Thunder booms and lightning claps. It’s dark, cold, wet. The stereo is still working, but the speakers are cutting out so I can’t tell what song is playing. Blood rushes to my head and drips into my eyes. My entire body aches, and my leg is wedged under the concaved dash. My pulse pounds. The world spins around. Strangely, though, I can’t feel any pain.

  “Mom . . . Dad . . .” I crane my neck toward the driver’s side then at the backseat. The left side of the car is smashed in, and all that remains is balled and broken metal.

  Shock seeps deep into my bones. I don’t cry. I can barely breathe. I wait for my parents to answer me. I swear the sun fleetingly pushes through the clouds and reflects against the shards of glass and rain, causing the world to briefly sparkle like the glitter this morning. But as quickly as the sunshine surfaced, it fades.

  And all that’s left is a rainstorm.

  Chapter Two

  Fairytales are Just Illusions

  Light. Dark. Rain. Sun.

  “Stay with us.”

  Beep . . . beep . . . beep . . .

  “Stay with us. Come on.”

  “Anna, can you hear me?”

  Loki, is that you?

  “Anna, please don’t go. We can’t lose you, too.”

  Who else did we lose . . . Loki, please answer me.

  “God, I can’t do this.”

  Sobbing, sobbing, so much sobbing.

  “What am I going to do?”

  I want to hug my brother, throw my arms around him and tell him everything’s fine, but I can’t see anything. And I don’t have any idea what’s making him sad. Plus, I’m so tired. So very, very tired.

  I think I’ll go to sleep now.

  Beep . . . beep . . . beep . . .

  Beep . . .

  ***

  I feel like I’m swimming in a sea of glitter.

  I open my eyes and see the monitors, tubes, and cords attached to various places on my body. Shock ripples through me. Where the hell am I?

  “You’re in the hospital, sweetie.” An unfamiliar voice scares me half to death. “Just relax. Everything’s going to be okay.”

  I jerk to the right but immediately regret it as p
ain radiates through my skull.

  A woman is standing beside the bed that I’m lying in, carrying a clipboard. She’s wearing scrubs with penguins on them, her auburn hair is pulled into a tight bun, and a stethoscope hangs around her neck.

  “You need to take it easy,” she says, setting the clipboard down.

  “Who are you?” I croak, my throat feeling as dry as sandpaper.

  “I’m your nurse. My name is Marcia.” She points to the nametag pinned to her shirt. “I’ve been taking care of you for over the last week.”

  My eyes snap wide and the heart monitor beeps wildly. “For over a week?”

  She nods, studying the monitor. “Sweetie, you need to relax. Your body’s been through a lot.”

  My body? Been through a lot?

  I throw the blanket off my body, but the movement yanks at the IV in the back of my hand. I cry out but, determined to see the damage, use my other hand to lift off the blanket. My knee and thigh are wrapped in a bandage and my leg is elevated, but my toes and everything else appear intact.

  “Thank God.” My hand falls to my stomach, and I relax against the pillow. “For a moment there I thought I was missing a leg or something.”

  Marcia smiles rigidly. “No, everything’s still there. You did have to have surgery, though.”

  “But I’m going to be okay, right?”

  Her smile dwindles. “I think I’m going to go call your brother and tell him you’re awake. The sweetheart’s been here day and night waiting for you to fully wake up.” Her shoes squeak against the floor as she heads for the door, forcing a high-pitched laugh. “Figures the moment he left, you finally decide to wake up.”

  “My brother? What about my—”

  She hurries out the room before I can finish, leaving me alone with monitors and cords and a ton of questions. I try to recollect the last thing I can remember. My birthday. Glitter rainstorms. The car ride to the store. Real rainstorms. My mom lying to me. My dad looking so happy to be in the world. Deadly rainstorms . . .

  A lump forms in my throat, my pulse accelerates, and the monitor announces my panic. Panic that’s painful. Hot. Sweltering.

  “I can’t breathe,” I gasp, clasping the base of my neck. “I can’t . . .” My vision spots as the room crumbles and fades.

  I hear the thudding of footsteps. Someone mutters something about a sedative. Cold liquid spills into my veins and submerses the panic inside.

  Life feels like a dream.

  I kind of wish it were.

  ***

  When I open my eyes again, my head feels groggy and my eyes droopy. But the panic has dissipated, and I calm down even more when my brother’s face appears above me.

  Loki’s here. Everything’s going to be okay.

  This is all a dream I’m going to wake up from.

  “Thank God, you’re awake.” He lowers his head into his hands, and his shoulders tremble.

  I think he’s crying, but that can’t be right. Loki doesn’t cry. Loki, the philosopher who once said that crying was a pointless emotion people use when they’re lost.

  Is that why he’s crying?

  Is he lost?

  “It’s going to be okay.” My voice sounds faraway, like an echo.

  I reach out to him and put my hand on his shoulder.

  He trembles even more.

  The monitor beeps numerous times before he sucks in a breath, mutters something about sucking it up, then wipes his eyes with his hand and lifts his head back up. He looks like hasn’t slept in days, making him appear older than twenty-one-years-old.

  He takes my hand in his. “How are you feeling?”

  Such a simple question, but it throws me off.

  “Good . . . but where is everyone?”

  A strangled sound gets caught in his throat. “Zhara, Alexis, and Nik are at home with Jessamine.

  “Oh good . . . She made it here.” I skim the white walls and ceiling, trying to piece together what happened. “But why am I here?” I nod downward at the foot of the bed. “And what happened to my leg?”

  “You can’t remember what happened?” He rubs his red, puffy eyes with his free hand.

  “I remember there was an accident. And the nurse said I had to have surgery on my leg, but she never explained why. She also said I’ve been out for, like, over a week, which just seems crazy. I mean, it’s just a leg injury, right? How the hell does that knock someone out for over a week? And why the hell aren’t Mom and Dad here . . . Wait, are they in the hospital, too?” An image of a mangled car briefly flashes through my mind. “Are they okay?”

  “You weren’t knocked out, Anna . . . They had to keep you heavily sedated for surgery and then again after you woke up because you . . .” He summons a deep breath, dragging his fingers down his face. “I don’t even know how to tell you this.”

  His voice cracks, and my heart races. Loki frowns at the monitor then gives me the same look he wore when he had to tell me our dog had been run over.

  Tears spill down my cheeks. “Just spit it out,” I whisper. “Just say it!”

  “I’m sorry, Anna. I’m so fucking sorry.”

  He never actually says the words aloud, but I figure out what happened on my own. I think I might have known the moment I heard the semi truck hit our car, but my head was crammed with glitter and rainbows and unicorns, fairytales and illusions. I didn’t want to believe what I saw and heard. That my parents could be dead.

  “I don’t even know what I’m going to do,” Loki whispers. “I don’t think I can do this.”

  “Do what?” My voice is hollow, empty.

  “This . . . take care of Nikoli, Zhara, Alexis, you . . .” He slips his fingers from mine as his head falls forward.

  “Why would you have to take care of us?”

  “Because,” he says, his voice cracking, “there’s no one else but me.”

  There’s no one else?

  No one.

  Else?

  Reality is brutal. Mean. Harsh. The reality is my parents are gone. I never got to tell my mom about Ben. I’ll never get to tell her about another boy again. I’ll never get to pick out outfits with her or hang out with my dad at his store, listening to old rock songs and chatting about books. The last memory I’ll ever have is my mom lying to me. The last time I ever looked my dad in the eyes was when I withheld the truth from him—when I betrayed him.

  There’s no one else.

  No more glitter rainstorms. No more burnt breakfasts. No Fourth of July picnics or crazy birthday trips. No catching imaginary fireflies.

  I want to scream. Cry and yell until there’s nothing left inside me. Get out all the anger and guilt out that I can feel rotting inside me.

  This can’t be real.

  It just can’t.

  Instead of screaming, my lips remain sealed, and the pain, guilt, and anger remains stuck inside me.

  Chapter Three

  The Promise of Rain

  Six Months Later

  “Anna, open the damn door!” Nikoli hollers, banging on the bathroom door. “I’m going to be late for practice!”

  I crank up the volume of my iPod so the lyrics of Rise Against suffocate his hounding. Definitely not dancing music, which makes the song that much more perfect.

  Leaning over the sink, I check my reflection in the mirror. My eyes are heavily framed with liner, but I need more to cover up who I used to be. I pop the cap off and trace the pencil around my eyes a few more times. Satisfied, I move on to the lipstick—dark purple to match the streaks in my hair. Then I slip on a leather jacket and sit down on the closed toilet seat to lace up my combat boots. The car accident left me with a shitty knee scarred from surgery and a scarred thigh with muscle deterioration thanks to a smashed artery and a blood clot. I don’t dance and can’t walk without a limp, something the doctors and therapist say is probably permanent.

  I was lucky, though, or so everyone says. Lucky to walk away from such an accident with only minor injuries. Lucky. Lucky. Lucky. Som
etimes it feels like my entire body is a scar that will never heal.

  Shifting my weight, I clutch onto the edge of the counter and hoist myself to my feet.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” Nikoli snaps when I open the door and hobble past him.