Illusions of Love

The need to hug

       "You're not big on talking. Are you, farm boy?" She settled further into the rickety chair, laboring on the stuffy air.

      "It's no bed time story." I brooded as my boots flicked a spider back into its hole. "It's the work of a demon, cannibalizing the energy from anyone who strays onto Bracken Plain. Blood, moaning, chanting. Someone I loved died in there once."

     "Who?" She cringed. Her heels created a trail in the dirt floor.

      As I thought about the one who died, my legs felt as though they were ropes hanging in the air, and I'm sure my tongue, trying to swallow, had Velcro attached. A girl like her—normal in every way—she would never look me in the eye once she knew. This ceaseless groaning—it crushed any chance I had to hold a normal conversation—even to sit next to her safely. I shot her a look as I stepped away.

     "It was no one you would know."

      When I stole a look back, Wanda's eyes had followed me, insistent. Her hands had come to rest on her thighs as she sat.

     My airway constricted. The image of Cassie, covered in blood, lying on the lounge room floor, repeated in my head. I squeezed my eyes shut for a split second and locked my jaw to rid myself of it. Perhaps, Wanda would not react so badly if she didn't know what I had done. I turned away and focused on the metal wall, formulating a sweet lie.

     "It happened a long time ago." I pivoted. "It was my stepmother, Cassie. But you don't need to worry about that."

     "Inside that house?" Her hand leaped to her mouth. "Aunt Alma." She said her aunt's name all at once. Her eyes on the stones, her hand fixed to her mouth, she stood up from the chair. "Oh my God, this is really happening. She never hurt anyone. She can't die. She was going to—"

     I put my hand on her shoulder and nodded.

     "This is so my fault. I made her stop . . . ." Wanda seemed to ramble. Her hand trembled at her mouth. "We saw you digging, and . . . ."

      Breath entered my lungs as though it was a dead dog dragged by its leash.

      What else could I say? "I'm sorry."

     "You're sorry?"

      I nodded again. "I mean, it might not be that bad." My palm pressed against my forehead hopelessly. If her aunt were a dog, I'd tell her its only a dog. I'd go and get her another one. She wasn't going to cry was she?

     Creeping closer, I made sure half an arm's length still separated us.

     Do you see, David. She is vulnerable now. Take her.

     The heat whooshing in my veins overran my ears, pounding all the way around to my stomach, eating the oxygen that fueled the hollow ache.

     "I can do this," I murmured.

      "You can do what?" she whispered back.

      Relaxing my shoulders, I straightened. Now would be a great time to show Fearkah I could resist him and show Wanda I was not just part of a bad dream. Ignoring Fearkah's voice, I frowned at her. My hand rose from her shoulder, hovering just above. "Wanda ... " The words came out softly.

     She looked up. "David, it was my idea to stop here. I thought you looked . . . ."

     I waited for her to finish as my heartbeat thundered in my fingertips, making them tingle. I looked—what? What was she going to say?