Page 12

Poison Paradise

T he effects of whatever my father gave me still linger in my system as I step off the boat back at Shark Bay. The world tilts and shifts like a carnival funhouse, everything too bright and too sharp. My skin feels like it belongs to someone else, stretched too tight over bones that ache with phantom touches. I can still taste the expensive whiskey they forced down my throat and still feel the ghost of hands on my body. This isn't the first time they've drugged me, and it won't be the last. That knowledge is almost as sickening as the aftereffects.

The school's uniform they made me change into before leaving chafes against the fresh bruises blooming beneath the fabric. Even the familiar weight of my designer bag feels wrong, like it belongs to a different girl—one who hasn't been broken and remade so many times she's lost count. The morning fog rolling in from the ocean matches the haze in my mind, thick enough to blur the edges of reality. I'm not sure which is worse right now—the reality I've returned to or the nightmare I left behind.

I stumble slightly on the dock, my usually perfect balance betraying me. A strong hand catches my elbow, steadying me. For a second, I think it's going to happen again—the reel and spin and crash of someone trying to conquer and control me.

"Whoa there." Max Brooks's familiar drawl cuts through the fog. His touch sends ice through my veins, but I force myself not to flinch away. "Rough night?"

I turn to face him, plastering on my best predatory smile. Max is exactly what I need right now—another distraction, another way to prove I'm still in control. He's one of Belle's closest friends, which makes him an even more tempting target. "You could say that."

His eyes rake over me, lingering on the places where my uniform clings too tight. There's something hungry in his gaze that matches the hollow feeling in my chest. "Want to make it rougher?"

The invitation in his voice should disgust me, especially after what happened at the party. But disgust requires feeling something, and right now, all I want is to feel nothing at all. I step closer, letting my hip brush against his. "What did you have in mind?"

Max grins, all white teeth and predatory intent. He's handsome in that generic way all rich boys seem to be—perfectly-styled hair, expensive watch glinting on his wrist, cologne that probably costs more than most people's rent. His hand slides down my arm, leaving goose bumps in its wake. "My roommate's in class all morning."

"Perfect." I let him lead me toward the dorms, ignoring the way my stomach churns with each step. The drugs are still working their way through my system, making everything feel distant and dreamlike. Maybe that's why I don't protest when he pulls me into an empty storage room instead of heading upstairs.

"Can't wait," he murmurs against my neck, pressing me against the wall. His hands are already working at the buttons of my uniform shirt, eager and demanding. I close my eyes, letting the familiar numbness wash over me. This is what I'm good at—using my body as a weapon, turning desire into power. It's easier than feeling, easier than remembering.

But when his lips crash against mine, all I can taste is expensive whiskey and regret. His touch feels wrong, too rough and too desperate. Images from the party flash through my mind—hands holding me down, voices murmuring approval, my father's cold smile as he handed me another pill. The room spins faster, reality bleeding at the edges. For a moment, I'm back there in that bedroom overlooking the lake, the men towering over me like predators about to tear apart their prey. I try to speak, to push Max away, but the words stick in my throat.

Max's mouth swallows any and all objections. Through the haze, all I can feel is his body pressing me up against the wall, the air getting sucked out of me as he touches me everywhere I wish he wouldn't. Desperate for something—anything—to make this all go away, I reach for the place I always return to: anger. I'm angry at my parents for turning me into this, at myself for being so foolish to believe I could ever escape, at everyone and everything for being such a fucked-up mess. My heart's long been bricked over, but the memories of everything they did… That's the most poisonous part. I allow myself to hold on to the memory and fester with it a little longer. The drugs coursing through my bloodstream dull the effect some, but it's still there.

"You're so beautiful." Max's voice is low and guttural, his breath heavy against my cheek. "Been wanting to do this since Nicolas, Dougie, and Ollie told me how good you made them feel."

Anger is the only emotion I want to feel right now, so I focus on it. Anger and pleasure.

I roughly grab Max's hair and pull his lips toward mine, meeting him halfway in a heated, biting kiss. Max shifts in reaction to my newfound aggression and thrusts his tongue farther into my mouth, eliciting a desperate moan that comes from some neglected part of me. It's as if something inside me snapped at his last comment, and with the floodgates opened, every past trauma I've suffered as I'm stuck here with him like this. Without warning, a dark and terrible urge rushes through me to be bad and fight back. To show all the ways the school and these privileged bastards have changed me.

My hands roam underneath his shirt, and I sink my nails into his back, raking them hard against his skin. He groans and breaks the kiss, his pupils dilating as he looks into my eyes. Something unhinged passes between us—a violence I've never seen in him before. Max slams his palm next to my head and leans his face dangerously close to mine.

I narrow my eyes at him defiantly and go in for another aggressive, biting kiss. His other hand comes up and he grabs a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back slightly. He nips at my bottom lip and pulls the flesh with his teeth before letting go of it. Another wave of fury washes through me. An irritated, dangerous growl escapes my throat, and Max slams his mouth on mine again, muffling it.

"Mmm," he rumbles against my mouth, the sound reverberating against my chest.

His hands snake behind me to grab my ass, then he grinds his hardness against me. A primal lust creeps through me, battling with the need to fight back and the desire to be reckless. Even with the numbness caused by the pills, the feelings are strong and intense, almost overwhelming me. It feels dangerous, but dangerous is exactly what I'm aiming for right now.

Max unbuttons the rest of my shirt and pushes my white bra strap down my shoulder. He dips his head, his mouth covering a breast and sucking the tip. His tongue swirls around it, and I dig my fingers into his hair, clenching and unclenching, unsure if I want to pull him closer or push him away. I tilt my chin back and breathe heavily, caught between pleasure and the urge to ruin this for him.

My body betrays me once again when a quiet moan escapes me. Max looks up at me, and the intensity in his eyes makes me weak in the knees. Without breaking eye contact, he lowers himself slowly to the ground until his head's between my legs. I shiver, knowing what's about to happen, and yet wanting to test my limits and see how far I can push myself before the act is ruined.

Still looking up at me, his fingers grab the hem of my underwear, and he slowly starts to pull it down.

"Do it," I challenge him.

One corner of his mouth tips upward in a smirk, but he obliges and completes pulling them down my legs. He stays between my legs and brushes his fingertips lightly against the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. Another shudder ripples through me. I need this, crave this. The pleasure that comes only with being touched… and the pain when those same fingertips squeeze and caress, marking me with the bruises I'll be so carefully concealing in the morning.

He places a wet kiss on my pubic bone and moves his head back, then stands up. I glare at him, not understanding what's going on. To my surprise, he turns and lowers his pants and boxer briefs. I inhale sharply at the sight of his erection, longer and more aggressive looking than the others I've seen. Or at least the ones I remember.

Max places his palms on my thighs and shoves me hard against the wall, sliding his hands down to the bottom of my knees. In one swift motion, he hoists me up, and I wrap my legs around him. He reaches for my arms, forcing them up above my head, holding them in place with one hand. Instinctively, I know it's too late to walk away from this. My body won't let me, not with the ache growing deep within my core.

"Tell me you're ready," Max murmurs.

"I'm ready," I breathe.

Just like that, my walls are crashing down around me, flooding me with pent-up sexual desire. I close my eyes and remind myself this isn't real. None of this is real. And whatever happens now, with Max or any other guy here, is for me and no one else. I need this. But more importantly, it has to mean nothing.

Max pushes inside me, and my body tenses. He's thick, stretching me almost too much.

Almost.

My breath catches. The thrusts come harder and deeper as we devour each other's lips and tongue. His grip on my wrists tightens, and he pins me harder against the wall. I tighten my legs around him, pulling him deeper, and a breathy moan escapes him. It sends an animalistic rush through me to hear him respond, knowing his desire is heightening from our fucking. It's a welcome distraction from all the emotions I feel pulsing through me. A distraction, not an escape.

"Fuuuuck," Max groans.

Goose bumps rise on my skin at his deep, guttural voice. My body's warm and wet, and I bite back a whimper as he continues pounding his full length into me. Max speeds up his pace, throwing his head back and leaning in to slam against the same spot over and over. Tiny ripples form in my stomach, and I know the end is near.

I crane my neck up and nip his bottom lip, craving the taste of blood on my tongue. But he jerks back at the last moment. There's something in his eyes that was never there before—something wild and untamed. Something violent. My inner walls squeeze down on him as a wave of fear and excitement floods me. But all I can focus on is the delicious mix of pain and pleasure building within me, how the sparks are about to turn into an explosion.

Max reaches between us with his free hand and circles his thumb on my clit while his hips move in fast, deep thrusts, pushing me over the edge. I stop holding back and release a loud cry, shaking violently as an orgasm rips through me.

At the same time, Max's body goes tense. "Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck!" he chants in my ear, biting my neck. Hard. My orgasm fades, slowly this time. Max's limbs tremble and he slumps over me, pinning me more than he already was. An uncomfortable buzz goes off in my brain at the restriction in movement, but thankfully, it only lasts a second or two before he pushes off the wall and slowly steps back.

I slide to the ground, using the wall to support myself as I regain control of my legs and my mind. That was… nice. Our bodies were in perfect sync as we danced around each other, struggling for dominance and pleasure, an endless loop of violence and pleasure.

"Damn." He glances at his watch, and I smooth my blazer and straighten my skirt, adjusting the fabric so it covers the scratches on the insides of my thighs. "Where did you learn to fuck?"

"Are you really going to ask that question after what we just did?" My laugh comes out a bit shaky.

"Fair point." He flashes his impish smile again. "Hey, what do you think about hooking up again later today?"

"Hate to break it to you, but you're just not good enough to make it to the second round," I lie. It was nice, but he's no one. He's just a distraction. A release of all these hidden secrets and anger.

Max's face darkens. He grabs my wrists, his grip tightening as he pins them above my head and grinds himself against me. The pressure sends panic shooting through my veins, burning away the chemical haze. "Just what game do you think you're playing, bitch?"

"Let me go," I order, but my voice comes out as shaky as my knees. "You're hurting me."

"Come on, Luna," he growls, misinterpreting my resistance as teasing. "Everyone knows you like it rough. Belle told us all about your little games."

The words hit like a slap. Of course Belle would spread rumors, twist my actions into something darker. But right now, I can't focus on revenge or power plays. All I can feel is trapped, suffocating under the weight of too many hands, too many demands.

"Get off me!" The words tear from my throat, raw and desperate. I thrash against his grip, no longer caring about maintaining control or keeping up appearances. The drugs turn my panic into something wild and uncontrollable, amplifying every sensation until I'm drowning in it.

Max finally seems to realize something's wrong. He releases my wrists, stepping back with confusion written across his features. "What the hell? I thought?—"

"Get out." My voice shakes, but there's steel beneath the tremor. When he doesn't move fast enough, I shove him hard enough to make him stumble. "Get the fuck out!"

He backs away, hands raised in surrender. "Jesus, you really are fucking crazy. Belle was right about you."

The door slams behind him, leaving me alone with the wreckage of my carefully constructed facade. The sound echoes through the storage room like a gunshot, making me flinch. My designer bag lies forgotten in the corner, its contents spilled across the floor like evidence at a crime scene. A tube of expensive lipstick rolls toward me, the same shade my mother always insists makes me look "presentable." The sight of it sends bile rising in my throat. My legs give out and I slide down the wall, wrapping my arms around my knees as the first sob tears free. The room won't stop spinning, and I can't tell if it's the drugs or the panic making it hard to breathe.

"Luna?" Erik's voice cuts through the chaos in my head. I look up to find him standing in the doorway, concern etched across his features. "What happened? I saw Max leaving?—"

"Don't." I try to stand, but my legs won't cooperate. The world tilts dangerously, and suddenly Erik's there, catching me before I can fall. His touch is different from Max's—gentle, steadying, asking nothing in return. It makes everything worse. "I can't… I can't…"

"Shh." He helps me sit back down, keeping a careful distance between us. Smart boy—he must see the wild look in my eyes, the way I'm barely holding myself together. "Just breathe. You're safe now."

A broken laugh escapes me. "Safe? There's no such thing as safe. Not here, not anywhere."

"Luna—"

"Don't pretend you care." The words come out sharp enough to draw blood. "I know what you really want. It's what they all want. To use me, to break me, to—" My voice cracks as another wave of dizziness hits. The drugs are still coursing through my system, making it impossible to maintain my usual walls.

Erik's expression hardens. "You're high."

"No shit." I press my palms against my eyes, trying to stop the room from spinning. "Daddy's special cocktail. Can't disappoint the guests, after all."

Understanding dawns in his eyes, followed quickly by something darker. "The party. Your parents?—"

"Don't." I cut him off before he can voice what we both know happened. "Just… don't."

For a long moment, he's silent. Then, carefully, he shrugs off his blazer and drapes it over my shoulders. The fabric smells like him—clean laundry and something spicy I can't quite name. It should make me feel trapped, but instead, it grounds me, giving me something to focus on besides the chaos in my head.

"Let me help you back to your room," he says quietly. "You shouldn't be alone right now. Or with Belle of all people."

I want to refuse, to push him away like I do everyone else. But the grogginess I feel makes me honest in ways I can't afford to be. "I'm always alone."

His hand finds mine, warm and steady. "Not anymore."

I let him pull me to my feet, swaying slightly as the world refuses to stay still. Erik keeps a careful distance as we walk, close enough to catch me if I fall but not so close that I feel trapped. The halls are mercifully empty—everyone must be in class.

By the time we reach my room, the edges of panic have started to recede, leaving exhaustion in their wake. Erik helps me to my bed, then steps back, giving me space to breathe. I clutch his blazer tighter around my shoulders, inhaling the scent of safety it represents.

"Thank you," I whisper, the words foreign on my tongue. When was the last time I genuinely thanked someone? When was the last time anyone deserved it?

He studies me for a long moment, those storm-gray eyes seeing too much. "You don't have to tell me what happened. But if you want to talk?—"

"I can't." The words catch in my throat. "They'll hurt you too. Just like they're threatening to hurt Alex, just like they—" I clamp my mouth shut, horrified at how much I've already revealed.

"Luna." Erik kneels in front of me, careful not to touch. "Whatever your parents did, whatever they're threatening you with—you don't have to face it alone."

For a moment, I'm tempted. My fingers twist in the fabric of his blazer, seeking an anchor in the storm of my thoughts. The scent of his cologne mingles with laundry detergent, so different from the cloying sweetness of the party perfumes that still haunt my dreams. Erik's presence is steady, like the lighthouse that guides ships through Shark Bay's treacherous waters. But I've seen too many ships crash against those rocks, too many people destroyed by my parents' games. The words press against my teeth, begging to be released. How easy it would be to tell him everything—about the parties, the threats, the way my parents use people like chess pieces in their twisted games. But I can't. The moment I let someone in is the moment they become a target.

"You should go." I turn away, pulling my knees to my chest. "I'm fine now."

"You're not fine." His voice is gentle but firm. "And that's okay. You don't have to be fine all the time."

Something inside me cracks at his words. A sob builds in my chest, but I swallow it down. I can't afford to break, not here, not now. "Please," I whisper. "Just go."

He stands slowly, and for a terrifying moment, I think he's going to argue. But then he simply nods. "I'll give you space, but I'll be right here if you need me."

He sits on the floor, leaning against the door, giving me enough space to be alone with the ghost of his kindness and the lingering effects of my father's drugs. I press my face into Erik's blazer. Tears threaten, but I refuse to let them fall. Crying means feeling, and feeling means remembering. And the thought of what I did at that party, what I allowed to happen—it's enough to send a single tear trickling down my cheek.

I push it all away, and instead, I focus on the steady beat of my heart, counting each pulse until the world stops spinning. One beat for each secret I have to keep. One beat for each person I've pushed away. One beat for every time I've had to choose survival over humanity.

And on this poisonous paradise, surrounded by monsters and ghosts, surviving is the only path I've ever known.

Tomorrow, I'll go back to being Luna Queen—the ice queen, the manipulator, the girl who uses sex as a weapon. I'll find a way to hurt Belle for messing with me, to remind everyone that I'm not someone to be pitied or used. But right now, wrapped in Erik's blazer with the ghost of his kindness lingering in the air, I let myself be broken.

Because sometimes, breaking is the only way to stay whole.

The drugs eventually pull me under, dragging me into dreams filled with phantom touches and whispered threats. But even in sleep, I can feel Erik's presence by my door—a silent guardian against the monsters that live inside my head.

When I wake hours later, his blazer is still around my shoulders, but the boy himself is gone. In his place is a note written in precise handwriting: "You're stronger than they are. And you're not alone."

I crumple the paper in my fist, torn between wanting to believe him and knowing better. Because that's the thing about monsters—they don't just live in nightmares or lurk in dark corners. Sometimes they wear designer suits and call themselves family. Sometimes, they host parties where the price of admission is your soul. Sometimes, they dress like angels and spit poison.

But as long as I'm living under their rule, I can't afford to forget they're monsters nonetheless.

And sometimes, the scariest monster of all is the one staring back at you in the mirror, wearing your face and speaking with your voice, but empty of everything that once made you human.

We're all monsters here.

I stand on shaky legs and make my way to the bathroom. The girl in the mirror is a stranger—hollow eyes, smudged makeup, bruises blooming beneath her uniform collar. She looks like a ghost, a shadow of the person she used to be. But ghosts can't hurt you. Ghosts can't feel pain.

And those are the only kind of ghosts I can afford to be.

Maybe that's what I need to fully become. The perfect daughter, the perfect weapon, carved from ice and sealed in designer armor. My mother always said that power isn't about being loved—it's about being feared. And fear, like the drugs they feed me, can numb everything else away. I should embrace it, the power it gives me, the detachment it offers. Maybe then, I'd be free. Maybe then, I wouldn't feel anything at all. Maybe then, the memories of hands and whispers and expensive whiskey would fade like morning fog over the bay.

Carefully, I wash away the evidence of weakness, reapplying my armor one layer at a time. Perfect hair, perfect makeup, perfect smile hiding perfect lies. I trace the constellation of bruises blooming across my collarbone, already plotting how to turn them into weapons. Every mark is a reminder, and every scar a lesson in survival. By the time I'm done, no one would guess that Luna Queen spent the morning having a breakdown in a dusty storage room.

But as I fold Erik's blazer, smoothing out the wrinkles with trembling hands, I can't quite silence the voice in my head that whispers maybe, just maybe, I don't have to do this alone.

It's a dangerous thought. Hope always is.