Annalise Writes

Chapter 2

Two strikingly beautiful men stared back at me.

Their perfectly symmetrical facial features reminded me of Francisco Lachowski, one of my fave male models to use as inspo for character aesthetics. They could've very easily passed for Francisco's brothers.

The blonde, tan Francisco was smirking at me now while the black-haired, pale Francisco sulked in an oddly attractive way. My heart began to pound like crazy.

From terror, mind you, not hormones!

This was how I was going to die! At twenty-one! Without even graduating from college!

My mind reeled.

I had watched more than my fair share of Law & Order, and I felt almost certain that the Francisco's were going to rape me and kill me and sell my organs on the black market.

I cried out for Kyra, "Help! Help!"

—until I remembered that she had class in the mornings.

Crap! I was alone in our apartment! Completely helpless!

I dove for my backpack and fished out my pepper spray.

I aimed it at the two hulking males in my bedroom and shrieked as fiercely as possible, "I don't care how you two perverts got in here, but, if you don't leave right now, I-I'm gonna call the police!"

"Relax, babygirl," Blonde Francisco cooed, "we're not here to hurt you."

"We would never harm a single hair upon your pretty head. You are our architect, our goddess, our maker," Dark Francisco drawled, "it is to you, dear, sweet Annalise, that Jaxon and I owe our very existence!"

I gaped at the two weirdos. Their creepyass declarations did absolutely nothing to alleviate my fears.

I narrowed my eyes and studied them more closely. There was definitely something eerily familiar about these two guys. I couldn't quite put my finger on why Thing 1 and Thing 2 felt so familiar to me, but...

Dark Francisco said the blonde one's name was Jackson. Much like the Jaxon from my stupid Hottpad story.

My tummy did an uncomfy little flip. Were they from my psych class? Had I seen them on Instagram before? Or maybe TikTok?

No, no, probably not—

I would've definitely remembered male specimens as hot as these two GIF-worthy mofos.

I tightened my grip around my pepper spray with white-knuckled intensity.

"GET OUT OF MY APARTMENT!" I shouted.

Fearlessly, like a badass bitch, I pressed down on the spray lever—

—and then, like the world's biggest imbecile, proceeded to spritz myself all over the face with the stinging, biting, burning spray.

The pain was instant, and it was agonizing.

Tears streamed down my face as I screamed bloody murder, "ARGHHHHHH! WHY, GOD, WHY! IT BURNS! OH, IT BURNS!"

I could barely keep my eyes open. My eyeballs felt like they were on fire.

Suddenly, I felt myself being hoisted over someone's shoulder.

I struggled and wailed to no avail. "Put me down! Where are you taking me?"

"Ow! Stop kicking me! I'm trying to help you, babygirl!"

Jackson carried me like a sack of potatoes to the bathroom. He plopped me into the shower stall, fully clothed, and turned on the spray.

"Water will help with the burning sensation, I promise!"

"Why do you know this?" I whimpered suspiciously. "Do you regularly get hit in the face with pepper spray?"

His expression became indignant. "I've only been sprayed once! You should know this! You sicced Cate on me in chapter twelve, remember?"

Water drizzled over me. My pain subsided ever so slightly. I frowned as the ability to form rational thoughts returned to my brain.

What was Jackson talking about?

Chapter twelve?

Cate?

My tummy did another uncomfy little flip.

Like... from my story?

Once the pain faded even more, I stepped out of the shower. Dark Francisco was waiting for me with a large bath towel stretched out between his hands.

He draped the terry cloth around my shoulders. "Do you feel better now, my love?"

I glared at him defiantly. I didn't want to accept anything from this crazy stranger, this psycho intruder in my home. I shrugged off the towel, and let it fall to the bathroom floor. Water dripped from me and puddled at my feet. I probably looked very much like a wet, homeless stray at this point, but I didn't care.

I eyed Dark Francisco warily. "Dude, what did you say your name was again?"

He sighed gloomily. I caught a glimpse of sharp, toothy canines inside the man's mouth.

"It hurts me, my love, to know that you do not recognize my countenance... Jaxon and I certainly recognized your visage the very moment we laid eyes on you!"

My temples were starting to ache. I needed an aspirin.

"Please just tell me your name," I muttered testily.

The dark-haired man released another overly dramatic sigh. "If you must know, dear Annalise, my name is Lord Byron Malachi Maxwell. Again, it is regrettable that I must recount my name to you in this manner—for you were the one who bequeathed me with such a title!"

Lord Byron Malachi Maxwell?

Again, like, from my story?

What the fuck was going on right now? Were these two playing some kind of sick joke on me?

My eyes darted back and forth, to and fro, between the two handsome men.

I took in Jackon's—no, Jaxon's appearance. His blonde hair. His blue eyes.

He had hair like the summer's sun and eyes like a turbulent, stormy, raging, fathomless ocean.

I stared at the tats all over his arms and chest. I gasped when I spotted a literal goddamn rose on his wrist.

She licked the inky black rose on his wrist.

My gaze dragged over Byron's pale, sickly-colored complexion. His devil-black hair and devil-black eyes.

His dark midnight-colored hair sparkled like black glitter under the moonlight. His ebony obsidian eyes gleamed blacker than his soul. He appeared ghostly white as though all the blood had been drained from his skin.

Shock and disbelief spiked through me.

Over and over again, I began to whisper, "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck..."

There was no way this could be happening right now.

No.

Fucking.

Way.

Slowly, I felt my body sink to the ground like a limp doll. My vision blurred and warped.

Then, I blacked out.