Proxy [l.h]

17. Flashbacks and Kiss-and-tells

And somehow a few minutes later, it wasn't the sofa we were lying on, it was Michael's king-sized bed, him underneath me this round. My fingers were running along his shirt, grabbing it in fistfuls by his collar to pull his face to mine, and I could feel the heat of his body against my torso as I did so. In a quick, eager motion he simply pulled the shirt over his head, separating from me shortly just to discard it on the floor. My head started pounding. I still couldn't think straight, seeing him that way. Then I could feel his bare skin on mine, warm. My hands roamed over the taut smoothness of his back as he lifted his neck, his bright bleached hair tickling my face. As eager he was to see me, Michael tugged at the hem of my shirt. At first I pulled it back down in discomfort, ignoring the fact that it had happened.

But suddenly, in his own midst of passion, he grabbed my shirt, gliding it up all the way to my bra, and exposed most of my upper body. I separated our lips and pushed Michael away in distaste, rolling off of him in an instant. Then sitting beside him on the bed, I quickly smoothed my shirt back over my body, feeling upset and violated.

It was too late. Michael was staring at the scar. No one here at Motion had ever seen it. He was staring so intently, curiously- I felt something repulsive rise in my throat. Even though I'd pulled my shirt back on, I quickly drew my arms over my rib cage, just above where the skin puckered across my skin in an angry line. I was on the verge of tears.

The scar no longer in view, Michael looked back at me, his lips hanging on the edge of a smile. A smile I wasn't sure I liked. Then he leaned in close, like he was about to kiss me again, and I stopped breathing.

"Don't cover up. I don't mind," he whispered. Then he reached towards me again, his lips just missing mine as I turned my head to the side.

"No," I said as guilt started to eat me up inside. Fortunately, I wasn't feeling it anymore- whatever brainwashing came from the thing Michael put in my drink. I knew he did something to it, there was no doubt. "This isn't me," I muttered under my breath.

I suddenly felt embarrassed, and sank back into the pillow without a word. Michael sighed beside me and drew his arm over his eyes, as if I was equivalent to a child acting 'difficult'.

"Okay, fine," he blurted out, after about a minute of silence. Then he reached across the bed and sluggishly pulled his shirt back on, facing away from me. 

"I'm gonna go to the washroom," he grunted, and jumped to his feet. It didn't seem like it at all- Michael was probably just a sore loser, and even more disappointed that I hadn't fallen into his trap. Finally, he let out an irritated, barely-coherent grumble, and Michael disappeared around the corner.

I jumped into action as soon as I heard the bathroom door close. First, I reached into my pocket, my fingers wrapping around Michael's iPhone. I'd pulled it from his pant pocket ever-so-carefully while he was busy trying to peek under my shirt. Then I typed in the password I'd seen (and memorised) many times over his shoulder for the few days I'd been with him. 0426. A date, I guessed. But what it meant, I didn't know.

I clicked on the camera roll and there it was at the very bottom of the album- the photo of Luke kissing me on the plane. And right before it, just like I'd expected- an almost duplicate photo of Michael's mouth on my sleeping lips. I knew it. Luke wasn't the only one playing this game. They'd both decided to carry out some...some sort of sick, manipulating amusement that involved taking advantage of me while I was asleep. And this- pulling me into his room and trying to strip me naked- that was part of the plan, if not more.

I felt a rush to my brain that made me feel instantly nauseous. It slowly reduced to a drowsy feeling in my limbs, then my body in turn started to feel numb, like I was being pulled by a million strings.

I knew it. Michael had been doing it to- but had tried to tell me it was only Luke. But why? Why were they doing this?

'It was just a stupid game', a part of me answered, sending shivers down my spine.

True. It was a stupid game involving both their egos, and I was just the one being played.

And it hurt so much more than it should.

I climbed out of Michael's bed and crawled along the wall, the strength in my body slowly leaving. I felt like I was turning into a vegetable, and the sour taste from the glass of water pierced my tongue again and again. I felt like barfing. Using the wall's support to push me along to the second washroom, the one Michael wasn't occupying- I crouched down and dropped his phone in the toilet. Didn't think twice about it. 

Then I'd collapsed on the couch in the living room. The drug in my system made the floor lurch underneath my feet as I swung them over. It was date rape Michael had given me, or something similar, at least. I'd come across it before, before the accident- even had a taste. Michael probably used the smallest possible portion just to keep me awake long enough, daze me slightly and lure me into kissing him (and more), but it hadn't worked, not completely. Other than the obvious physical delays, I was only feeling small shifts in my mental strength, and here I was, I still knew what I was doing, and what I'd just seen.

And I was strong enough to realise that everyone in this god-forsaken company were either using me, or against me.

TO BE CONTINUED- 

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