Slayer

Chapter 8

Tyler pulls into the driveway of Clark's house, still gripping my hand. "You'll love it here, babe."

I grin. He's so charming. "Of course."

We get out of the car and walk inside Clark's house. The music is loud, the lights are strobed, and there's alcohol everywhere.

I love it.

"Let's go meet the host," he breathes into my ear.

Tyler grabs my hand again-- his hands are so soft!-- and leads me to a handsome guy that looks about 20.

"This is Clark," he says, gesturing to the man. I smile. I'm so glad I came here. I can tell it's going to be great.

"Brooke." I hold out my hand, and he shakes it. Weird-- he looks handsome, but his hands are slimy and gross. I can't stand to touch him. I pull away from him as fast as I can and link my fingers back into Tyler's. Clark grins at me, and I smile back, but it's not genuine. 

Something isn't right, a back corner of my mind tells me, but I shrug it off. What could be wrong? This moment is perfect.

"Let's go get a drink," Tyler's whispers in my hear send a shiver down my spine.

"Of course," I mutter, breathless, and he drags me to the table full of refreshments.

Isn't he driving home? I think, but don't voice the thought. It's a dumb thought. Why would I think something stupid like that? He can drive home himself. It doesn't matter if he's had a drink.

He hands me a drink, and I take a sip without thinking of asking what's inside. I trust him.

I trust him, right? I think I do. I should. He's perfection itself, with his perfect hair and white teeth and soft hands...

But something isn't right. I can't shake the feeling that something is wrong, something is fake.

But what is fake about this moment? This is real. His lips on mine, his hands in mine... It's real.

Tyler stares at me intently, frowning. "What's wrong?" I ask, and he shrugs.

"Nothing," he says, a grin reappearing back on his face. As he turns easygoing, the feeling of dread returns to me. What is happening?

My heart races, my stomach aches, my head swirls. Something is very, very wrong.

"Brooke," he whispers into my ear. I don't shiver with delight this time.

"Yes?" It's all I can to act pleasant. I don't know why. I don't know what's happening.

"Do you love me?"

"Yes." the word is out off my mouth before I can think it, before I can comprehend the question, and I realize what's happening.

He's enslaved my mind.

I push him away, push the thought of him away. I am my own person. He does not control what I think.

But maybe I should let him.

No. I can't.

I can barely discern my thoughts from his, the truth from the lies, the fake among the real. My ears ring, and I find I can't stand.

Tyler pulls me into his arms. "Are you alright?"

"No," I say. These words aren't mine. These words aren't mine. Can anyone hear me? "Can you take me to your place?"

This is a bad idea. I would never suggest this.

"Of course, babe." He grins, and leads me out the door and into his car. I plead for someone to help, but I don't move. I don't speak. I am just a puppet of what he wants.

I'm stronger than this. I don't need to do this.

I am stronger than him.

I am stronger than-

I am stronger--

I am--

I-

The world goes black.

When my eyes flutter open, I'm in a stranger's bed, wearing a huge t-shirt and nothing else.

Oh-- God, what happened last night?

Tyler walks in the room, and it's all I can do not to punch him. His effect on my mind is gone, and I feel nothing but hate for him.

"Hey, babe." He sits down on the bed. I want to leave.

"What happened last night?" I can't keep the bite out of my voice. I swear, if he touched me--

"It wasn't that." His eyes widen. "You asked to come over, so you borrowed some pajamas and fell asleep." He shrugs.

I don't believe him. I want to ask for the whole story, the real story, but I don't. Instead, I just say, "My mom is probably furious. I need to go."

I know he doesn't believe me. I know he can read my mind. But he nods. "Okay. Your clothes are on the dresser."

"Thanks." I try to sound genuine. "Can you, uh..."

"Oh- yeah." He walks back into the doorway. "Just-- you can go whenever you're done." He smiles, and I smile back. He steps out, and shuts the door behind him.

Maybe if he weren't so disgusting, maybe if he weren't a bloodthirsty pedo, and if I weren't 500 years old... maybe I could find him attractive.

Maybe.

But. he's not. He is a freak, a creep, and he is against everything I stand for.

I shove my clothes back on, and then my shoes. I'm glad I wore flats, because if I had worn heels I would have fallen on my face. My head aches like I'm hungover, even though I only had a sip of the drink.

Did he roofie me?

He didn't drug me. He didn't need to. Why would he risk getting caught and arrested if he could just make me do what he wants?

It doesn't matter. All that matters is getting out of here, and planning the creep's death before anything else can go wrong.

I spin around, and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Then, with a sudden gasp, I realize why my head aches, why I feel so helpless, why I've lost all of my usual strength.

I'm as white as a ghost. My hands shake, and my face looks puffy and gross. To top it all off...

On my neck are two tiny red dots.