Red Moon Rising

28. rules

Tasha pauses, and I know she understands the pitch of my voice. "I've called most days since we last talked."

"Oh."

"Your friend didn't tell you?" I catch the bite in her tone when she uses the word 'friend.'

"No."

"Layla..."

"I know, Tasha, I know. I didn't...I don't like it either."

"You need to be able to make calls."

"I know. I just...I don't have money for a phone." I do have money, but I gave it to Isaac to keep in his safe. I have to ask him for my fucking money. Layla you stupid, stupid bitch.

"Are you safe? Where are you?"

"I'm safe, don't worry. This is just a misunderstanding, okay?" I can't believe he didn't tell me that she called. Does he think he's protecting me? From my own sister? "I'm in northwestern Minnesota."

I catch Isaac's voice filtering down the hall and my heart beats hard in my chest. Fuck it all, I'm so angry I could smash this phone into pieces. But there's another part of me that is so off-balance, so strangely scared that Isaac could and would hide something like that from me.

"I have to go, Tasha," I say finally, and I hear her take a breath to protest. "I'll call you again, okay? I promise. Just trust me." I don't even trust myself—Tasha probably knows better than to trust me now too. I end the call and unlock the phone—I've seen Isaac do it enough times that I remember his password. I find myself on the list of recent calls, and in this moment I nearly do break the phone. There are pages of missed calls from Tasha's number. He didn't bother to answer a single one to let her know that I was okay. Even if he didn't plan on telling me, he could have at least done that.

But it isn't just her number calling this fucking phone. There's also a name—Paul, just Paul—and these calls Isaac actually bothered to pick up. There are at least five calls in the last two weeks, some outgoing and some incoming. All answered. I close the screen as the doorknob turns, and Isaac enters the room with a sigh, shedding his jacket as he sees me.

"Max told me I could find you here." He smiles softly at me, and then he seems to register my face. I have no control over my expression now—I imagine that I look a little ashen, a little enraged. When his eyes fall to his phone, his smile drops away. "What are you doing?"

"Answering a call."

"From who?"

I consider lying to him, telling him that I talked to Paul. What would he say then? How would he explain that connection? There are a lot of Pauls in the world, but I know in my gut which one is programmed into Isaac's phone. Maybe Paul sought Isaac out just as he did with me, and Isaac actually accepted his offer to chat. But it seems like no small coincidence that Isaac is somehow wrapped up with the same man that the trappers were. "Tasha," I manage finally. "Were you just going to keep lying to me? What the fuck was your plan?"

"I didn't lie to you."

"Oh, you—" I swallow and grit my teeth. "You didn't lie to me? Tell me more about that."

"You don't need her in your life anymore."

"Why? Because I have you?"

His face is cold, a little foreign to me. When he steps toward me, I'm struck fully by the notion that I don't know him nearly as well as I think I do. "No, Layla," he says in a low voice, a little venom finding its way to my name. "Because your old life is holding you back."

"That isn't your decision to make."

"You weren't going to make it."

"Oh so this is all for my sake then, right? Nothing remotely selfish about controlling my contact with the outside world, right?"

He steps quickly up to me and reaches for the phone, but I hold it behind my back and out of reach.

"You need to calm down."

"I have every right to be angry right now. Don't you dare tell me to calm down."

"Look, I told you I'd take care of you, and I thought you were going to let me."

"I didn't realize being taken care of involved losing basic freedom."

"Letting you use my phone is a privilege."

"That's such bullshit, Isaac."

"Give me my phone."

"Are you even going to acknowledge that you messed up? I don't even get an apology here?"

"Layla," he says slowly. "Give me the fucking phone."

"Just answer me!"

He stares at me, just stares at me as if he's never seen me before in his entire fucking life. "You have five seconds."

"Are you fucking counting to five right now?"

"You're the one acting like a child."

"I want my money from the safe. I'll buy my own phone."

"I'm going to hold onto it for you until you figure your shit out."

"Isaac—" I don't get a chance to finish. Isaac's fingers bunch into the back of my shirt collar and shove me hard, face-first into the bed. When I try to push myself up he jams the heel of his hand down again. I feel the shift of his weight on the bed as he leans over me to take his phone. Suddenly both hands are gripping into my arms, rolling me over until I'm facing him. He's kneeling over me, a cold, cold look on his face as he pushes his hand down into my neck. It's not enough to cut off much air, but I reach for his wrist in a panic and try to wriggle away from him.

"Hey," he growls, and the hand pushes down. "Settle the fuck down."

And I do, because I am at his mercy in more ways than one right now. Because I am faced with something in this moment that I don't understand and have no power over.

"This isn't funny, Isaac," I manage, pushing up on his wrist until I'm sure I'll leave a mark on his skin. "Just let go of me."

"Are you going to be calm?"

I nod, quelling my anger, my fear, to settle back onto the mattress. Slowly, I let my fingers fall away from his wrist, and the pressure on my throat lessens enough that breathing is a little easier.

"You don't get to snoop around my things without my permission."

"I'm sorry," I gasp, "But you should have told me about Tasha, and you know that."

"Fucking hell, Layla—I was trying to protect you. I'm not sorry about it."

"If I'm going to stay here I need to be able to call her."

"You lost the use of my phone."

"Then the money—"

"I'm not going to talk about this anymore." He releases me and I let go of a breath I didn't realize I was holding. When he stands and retrieves his jacket, I don't know what to do but lie on the bed where he left me. "And when I come back tonight you better not bring it up."

"That's seriously fucked, Isaac."

"Tough shit." He glares at me from the doorway before disappearing through it, the door shuddering in its frame with the force of his exit. I'm left alone, more alone than before he came, with a sinking feeling that I'm too terrified to look at closely or put a name to. Instead, I crawl beneath the blankets and force my mind to grind through any memory, any thought, that isn't related to Isaac.