Haunted Rayne

19 - Forbidden Fruit

TRIGGER-WARNING:
There is some dialogue regarding child abuse in the latter half of this chapter. It is not detailed or explicit in any way, however, please proceed with caution.

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At breakfast the next morning, Rayne Foster found it difficult to eat anything. Next to her, sat Lucas, looking uncharacteristically posh in his pressed uniform. His tan was developing a deeper bronze these days, as though he was trying to soak up as much sun and soccer as possible before the winter would kick him back indoors. Rayne felt it was becoming a bit of a coping mechanism, a habit of obsession, to feel in control of something again.

On the other side of Lucas, sat Pierce, with Jackie and Hillary sitting across from them. Cole, on the other hand, was like a ghost in the wind; no one had heard from him since the day before.

No one, except for Rayne, that is.

When she had kissed him, just to delve into his mind for more information . . .

Their initial touch that night had conjured numerous images. Cole's memories were always messy like that, chaotic pictures flung together like paint splatters against a brick wall. His lips had met hers, and in her mind, his surprise manifested itself as the image of a purple moonflower, blossoming at twilight.

Then Rayne saw his parents, sitting him down on the sofa, his father's hand on his shoulder—the bearer of bad news. Divorce.

So many memories.

When Rayne pulled him close, Cole had tried to deepen the kiss, and flashes of her laughter, her hand in his, her rain-drenched white tee, all swept her mind. It also brought forth a false vision of Cole, hungrily peeling that wet shirt over her head and wrapping his arms around her—a dream perhaps? A desire of his that had never really happened.

Rayne bit his tongue and felt him smile against her lips. He had tried to pull her body to him, to feel her chest pressed against him, but Rayne finally found what she'd been looking for: Whispered conversations. Seven-year-old Cole, peeking through a cracked door.

"He killed her?" his mother asked, gasping.

"Quiet," his father hissed. "The Livingstons don't know. But at this point, rehabilitation is useless. My father is withdrawing his enrollment immediately and letting the system take him in."

Rayne saw another flash of herself in Cole's mind. This time, she saw herself pushed against the wooden planks of the shack, pulling him towards her as though she couldn't get enough. It was the same vision Rayne had witnessed the first day they met, only back then, she had seen Bianca Hawthorne in his arms—not herself.

These were only desires.

They weren't real. They were not memories.

Next, Rayne saw the crew huddled around candlelight in the middle of the shack, telling ghost stories. David, saying, "Ten years ago, a student was murdered, right here on campus."

Cole, taking a sip of beer. "We don't need to talk about that."

Pierce, tapping his nose. "No, no. David's right. That was the worst of it. But they never caught the guy. All these security cameras and it was like she was running from a ghost or something."

Rayne detached. Her thoughts ran wild.

Suddenly, she remembered every single, painful glare . . .

Nikki.

The look of twisted rage on her face in the gymnasium, sitting on the desk in detention, glaring daggers into Rayne's side whenever she was anywhere near Cole; and lastly, Rayne recalled the moment those dead bloody lips painfully screamed, "They're the same!"