Amidst Crimson Kisses

Chapter Twenty One: Femme Fatale

Margo's POV

It all started with crimson painting over my lips while each brushstroke dived deeper into the creases of my mouth as a soft smile burrows in a gaudy shade of red. Then my heart pulses while a plethora of gazes bore from oblivion, but only one icy stare gleams in my imagination as sangria saturates my fingernails. I exhale as the rich petroleum molds to my heart-shaped lips while Asher captivates my closed eyelids with profound pleasure. Red was always my favorite color, and I can tell by the way my mind captures a series of entanglements with Asher. And I can still remember the taste of his lips the moment I spun from paradise, and the thought of his tongue intertwining with mine when he was with Juliet imprisons my soul, so scarlet red seemed fitting.

Then I pulled away and gawked at his harsh actions as he glared at me with curiosity in his eyes. I blink hard while Asher disappears, and I push the button to the 20th floor, disentangling on a ride to the horizon. It's almost been a week and it's like I just woke up from a spell where my mind's turned against me. Maybe, Ajiona knows how I've completely lost my comprehension, but I wonder if I'm missing fourteen hours because of my dissociative amnesia. I would have asked her this morning, but she was already gone when I woke up.

"Hey, Margo," Andre questions, snapping his fingers as concern infuses in his voice while Asher stands beside him with a raised eyebrow. "are you okay? You seem...lost, did you sleep at all last night?"

"Yeah, I don't know what you want me to say," I mutter, glancing at my black flats as I avoid Asher's piercing gaze. "I'm sorry, but small talk in an elevator counts as talking, and you said not to speak to you."

"Something's, wrong with you," Asher challenges, raising my chin with his thumb and his index finger. "it's like your still lost. Almost like when Elijah pumped drugs through the vents using a smoke bomb. I can still see it in your eyes, your high."

I draw away from Asher's touch as the elevator opens, and I walk in strides to distance myself from them while Hallie abruptly appears in my corrupted mind. I don't understand how I could've forgotten when I can recall inhabiting the garden for more than a period, but something in my soul wants me to leave behind another fallen memory. Everything's vanished, but I still feel the weight of shackles bounding me to an abyss as I walk through a cluster of teenagers. What if I lose people I spent weeks trying so hard to capture a mere glance at our elusive timeline spanning from months? How many times can one person be forced to die in the same capacity?

I push the door open to the girl's bathroom, racing to the sink as my windpipe caves in without a single breath. The mirror captures my endless gasps for air as I fall on my face, regurgitating the contents of my stomach all over the bathroom floor. I whip my mouth with the front of my hand, firmly pressing my back against the stall as I try to ease my breathing, but fail miserably when the door suddenly unfastens. I couldn't bring myself to face the stranger as I focus on each shallow breath, pounding against my rib cage. A chant expels from my lips as an arm wraps around my body, pulling me off the floor while my head swirls around me in despair and confusion.

"Hey," a voice whispers as their face intertwines in an enigma. "it's okay; just take a deep breath. Now let each inhale and exhale pass as you focus on the sound of my voice. Can you do that, Margo can you concentrate on this moment?"

"One...two...three..." I mutter as my legs become numb while he holds me against his chest. "I can't find your voice. Please, make it stop. I can't forget everyone again, not after I've lost so much already and only to watch my mother die over and over again. Then like clockwork, I forget she ever existed."

"You're going to be okay, just keep breathing," he asserts, placing both his arms on my shoulders. "Can you feel that on the palm of your hand? They say two people don't have all the same lines on the palm of their hands, but if you trace our lines, you'll see a thirty percent match. I guess it's ironic how two people who couldn't get along to save their lives can be so much alike. Do you believe in irony?"