Filed To Story: Pretty Poisoned Novel by Elle Mitchell
My heavy lids fall closed again, my legs shaking and my back arching off the mattress as the waves of pleasure roll through me, and I pulse around the imaginary masked intruder’s cock. Maybe I’m still a little too loud because he grabs me by my throat and squeezes as he fucks me through it, then flips me over and forces himself inside me again, pushing my face down into the mattress until my air supply is so limited I see stars behind my eyelids.
Then, I sink back into oblivion.
image-placeholder
“Teagan?” my mom’s voice calls as she pounds on my bedroom door. “I hope you’re just about ready. Blakely is going to be here in twenty minutes. Surely, you’re not sleeping.”
A putrid scent assaults my nostrils before I force my eyes open. Dried vomit runs from my mouth down the side of my comforter to the floor. I try to reply, but my mouth is like sandpaper, and barely any sound comes out.
I swallow hard, clear my throat, and try again. “No, I’m not asleep,” I lie.
“Okay,” she says. “I’ll see you downstairs soon. There’s coffee, but you’ll probably have to warm it up now.”
“Okay.”
Once I hear footfall on the staircase, I roll onto my back to take inventory of this shit show. I remember last night; I remember drinking and falling asleep, I remember the man in the gold mask, but
But now, I’m fully clothed. My shirt and bra are both in place; my underwear, sweats, and even my black Chuck Taylors are on and tied.
I don’t even remember putting those on.
It wasn’t real. Of course, it wasn’t. I sigh with relief before reminding myself that lucid hallucinations like that aren’t a good sign, and my imaginary friends weren’t supposed to follow me home from San Flores.
The comforter is a problem, though. So is the smell.
I open the window before rolling the blanket into a ball, carrying it down the hall, and throwing it in the washing machine. Then, I turn into the bathroom, pull my hair into a bun, strip down, and stand under the spray. I’m stickier between my legs than usual, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything other than I haven’t gotten laid in months and had a vivid sex dream.
I didn’t take my pills yesterday, either. Of course that makes sense. I’m used to being spoon-fed my medications instead of remembering on my own. I step out of the shower, towel off, brush my teeth, then pop two pills into my mouth and wash it down with water from the bathroom sink.
I throw on a pair of jeans with a t-shirt and apply some mascara and lipstick before heading downstairs.
“God, you don’t look very good,” my mom says. “Are you feeling okay?”
“Yeah, I just didn’t sleep much,” I tell her. “I was having nightmares. Is there any cereal or anything?”
“Your sister will be here any minute,” she says. “Better just grab a protein bar and a travel mug instead.”
“Awesome.”
As if on cue, Blakely walks through the front door. “Hey,” she says. “Ready to go?”
“We’re ready,” Mom says. “I’ll drive.”
“I’m so glad we’re doing this, Teagan,” Blakely says as we climb into the Range Rover. “I’m really glad you’re here with us.”
It’s superficial, and I know that. Still, I tell her, “Yeah, I am, too.” I force something I hope looks like a smile before I bite into my protein bar and listen to my mom and Blakely go on and on about the wedding details during the twenty-minute drive, which doesn’t help my hangover. I lean against the window and close my eyes until we pull into the parking lot.
“We went with lilac for the dresses,” Blakely says as we get out of the car. “Which I know you don’t love, but it’ll look so pretty with your coloring, Teagan.”
I’m not sure how to reply. Was there a time when I would have cared about the color of the dress I had to wear? I guess there was, but it seems so trivial now.
Some days, I can barely wash my face. All I can think about is Luca and Declan. I definitely don’t care about the color of some fucking dress.
“I’ll survive,” I say.
Once inside, my mom reminds the woman in charge of the appointment of what we’re looking forsomething in lilac that we can buy now and have altered in time for the wedding in a couple of weeks. After the woman, Angela, grabs all the lilac sample dresses in my size or larger and puts them into a changing room, I strip down and indiscriminately step into the first one.
It’s a ruched A-line with spaghetti straps; it’ll need hemming, and it’s maybe a little bit snug, but it’s good enough.
“Honestly, this one’s not that bad,” I say, stepping out of the dressing room.
Angela gasps loudly, covering her mouth with her hand.
“Teagan ” Blakely says, shaking her head. “She can’t look like that.”
“It’s okay,” my mom says. “It’s okay. I’m sure there’s something in there with a high neckline or aa thick halter, right?”
Around us, others have begun to stare, too.
“Holy shit, that’s Teagan Townsend,” one girl says, trying to get her friend’s attention.
As a few of them pull out their phones and start taking pictures, I turn and dart back inside the dressing room.
My mom follows me inside, her expression twisted with frustration. “It’s okay. One of these will cover them.”
She frantically flips through dress after dress, looking for the one that will make me look like a normal girl, but there isn’t one. None of them will cover the scars.
Frustrated, my mom grabs them all and tosses them onto the ground. “Angela!?” she calls, throwing open the changing room door.
“Yes?”
“These are all terrible. Don’t you have anything with a high neckline or thick straps?” I back into the corner and try to make myself smaller somehow. She pauses, gesturing at the crowd gathering nearby. “And can’t you get them away from us? Don’t you all have anything better to do than to harass my mentally ill daughter?!”
“Ma’am, this is all we have. We spent hours searching our inventory to have these ready for you this morning.”
“Well, look again!” my mom shouts before slamming the door shut. Then, she sinks down onto the bench and begins rifling through her purse.
“Mom I’m not ”
“What?” she snaps.
I’m not mentally ill. “Nothing ”
Officially, my mom stopped smoking when I was twelve, but she keeps a stash of emergency cigarettes for times like these. I guess this is an emergency because she puts one in her mouth and fumbles with the lighterright there in the dressing room.
“Mom?” Blakely calls. She opens the door just as Mom gets the cigarette lit and takes a drag. “Mom, oh my god, you can’t”
“Just shut the fuck up, Blakely.”
“Can I have one?” I ask.
She passes me the one from her mouth, and I bring it to my lips and inhale.
“She said there’s nothing. I’m sorry, I tried but it’s not going to work out, Mom.”
“What’s not going to work out?” I ask.
“You can’t be in the wedding,” Blakely says. “But you can pick a dress you likesomething that covers youand you can stand with the guestbook.”
“Well, I like this dress,” I tell her. “Can’t I just wear this? Please, Blake?”
“No,” she says.
“Well, what if she kept her hair over her chest like”
New Book: Returned To Make Them Pay
On her wedding anniversary, Alicia is drugged and stumbles into the wrong room—straight into the arms of the powerful Caden Ward, a man rumored never to touch women. Their night of passion shocks even him, especially when he discovers she’s still a virgin after two years of marriage to Joshua Yates.