Red Moon Rising

30. stuck

Chapter Song: Wolves - Phosphorescent

XX

By the time the grey of morning washes through the window, I realize I've not really been asleep or awake for most of the night, but poised in some in-between state where the events of the evening stretched out for hours and hours behind my closed eyes. And in the stillness of the room, I catch Isaac in quiet conversation. The sound of his voice hooks sharp and painful in my heart, and the feelings that were so far away last night, that I couldn't bear to feel, come roaring back to me with a vengeance. Holding my breath to fight back the burn of tears, I open my eyes slightly to see Isaac slipping on a pair of jeans, his phone pinched between his shoulder and his ear.

"How did he get out?" His voice is cold, a little tired. "Well, one of you should have been watching him. I shouldn't have to micromanage you." He pauses, and I close my eyes when he turns toward me. "She's still asleep. Didn't sleep well." Another pause. "That's none of your fucking business. Where are you now?" He sighs and takes a breath. "Okay, I'll be there soon. Don't ask him any more questions until I get there."

Isaac mutters a curse beneath his breath and I listen to the shift of clothes as he finishes dressing. I can smell the leather of his jacket when he leans in to press a kiss to my forehead, and it takes everything in me to lie still until I hear the click of the door as he leaves. It wasn't an animal he was talking about—that conversation was about a person, one that "got out" before sunrise. Just what the hell is going on here? I can't help but think of the trespasser from the previous morning. Who else could they be keeping here—potentially against his will? I don't want to believe that Isaac is the kind of person to hold someone hostage. I don't want to believe that the person in bed with me last night was really him.

It's difficult to avoid the reality of this present moment as I make my way to the bathroom, feeling suddenly too naked in the cold room. The light in here is too bright, and the mirror reflects a body that seems foreign to me. The smear of blood on the insides of my thighs makes me grip the counter and lean forward, sucking in a breath as a wave of dizziness weakens my knees. I'd forgotten about the condom in the trashcan, and it's too late to avert my eyes now. It too is bloody—did he notice last night? Did he care or understand that he hurt me? Maybe those are two different things.

And still there's this awful fucking voice in my head that can't acknowledge it was Isaac. It's like those nights spent willing my mother back into existence. If I believe hard enough, if I force the memory away, maybe it didn't happen. Maybe the real Isaac is the one that whispers quiet confessions to me before we fall asleep. Maybe last night was an imposter, or maybe last night never happened. I clean the blood away and dress in leggings and a sweatshirt, one of his—any of my warm clothes are his. It's better to be covered up, even if I'm wearing something that smells like him. I'd never thought of nakedness as something threatening before, but now it feels like a strange secret I was previously unaware of.

When I make my way to the cafeteria, the school is mostly silent, but I can hear Isaac and Reiner's voices toward the front entrance. I fully understand the weight of what I'm doing when I make my way down the hall toward them. The thought of being seen by Isaac now is chilling in more ways than one. I don't want to see the look on his face, to know if he regrets what he did or not. I don't want him to see me in his sweatshirt and think he owns me. But most of all, I want to figure out just what it is he's doing so early in the morning, and who he's keeping here.

I watch Isaac and Reiner from the window as they make their way across the grassy lot toward the woods, and only when they've reached the treeline do I leave the shelter of the school. The wind is bitter this morning, the first bite of November working its way beneath the collar of my sweatshirt. I tuck my arms around myself and walk quickly through the grass, picking up their trail in the soft dirt beneath the trees. I can hear voices now, one belonging to Max and another that I don't recognize. It's a man's voice—young, by the sound of it—and it's begging Max to let him go in such a swift clip that I can barely make out his words.