Thirst

ILLUSION

Juanita jolted upright, gasping for air as her eyes flew open. Her heart hammered a frantic rhythm against her ribs, the phantom remnants of a nightmare evaporating from her mind before she could catch them. All that lingered was a profound, suffocating sense of horror.

She blinked, squinting into the darkness. She was in her own bed, tucked beneath her light pink sheets. The digital clock on her nightstand glowed a harsh, neon green: 4:00 AM.

Her head throbbed with a vicious, pulsating ache. She felt utterly disoriented, as if she had fallen asleep in London and woken up in an entirely different universe. Her fingers flew to her chest—she was still wearing the blood-red velvet costume, the structured corset suffocatingly tight against her lungs.

The roof, she remembered suddenly, her mind spinning. Samil. The kiss. The violet fire.

Before she could process the flood of memories, the door to her bedroom burst open with a loud slam. The overhead light clicked on, blinding her.

"Juanita!"

Cherry stood in the doorway, looking entirely unraveled. Her braids were slightly messy, her purple witch makeup smudged beneath her eyes. Her expression was a chaotic mix of terror and profound relief. The moment she saw Juanita sitting up, she dropped her bag and lunged across the room, throwing her arms around Juanita’s neck in a fierce, crushing grip.

"What happened? Are you okay?" Cherry’s voice shook, her chest heaving as she held her best friend tight. "You just left and didn't say anything! You could've sent a text or something! I was so f*****g worried that you'd been kidnapped or something, oh my god."

Juanita swallowed hard, her throat feeling like sandpaper. She squeezed Cherry back, the guilt already starting to prick at her chest. "I'm fine, Cher. I'm sorry for worrying you. I was just... I got really overstimulated by the crowd. I figured you were having fun and I didn't want to drag you away, so I just walked back. I forgot to text or call, but I'm okay. I swear."

Cherry pulled back slowly, her dark eyes narrowing with immediate suspicion. She scanned Juanita’s pale face, taking in her wide, haunted eyes. "Something happened."

"Why would you think that? I'm—"

"Was it Samil?" Cherry interrupted, her voice turning sharp, protective anger flashing across her face. "Did he follow you? Did he try to do something to you?"

"No! No, of course not," Juanita lied, the defense slipping out of her mouth before she could stop it.

She didn't understand why she was protecting him, why she was keeping the surreal truth hidden, but the memory of the terrifying vision—of her own father holding a blade—clamped her jaw shut.

"I didn't even see his miserable face after we left the bar. I'm fine, really. I just felt really weird and needed to sleep it off."

Cherry’s eyes lingered on the silver-and-red locket resting against Juanita’s collarbone, but after a tense moment, she let out a long, heavy sigh.

"Fine. As long as you're alright now. You scared the absolute s**t out of me, Nita."

Juanita offered a weak, apologetic smile and then slumped over.

"I'm incredibly hungover, Cher. I need rest. And I desperately need to get out of this costume. As much as I love it and the absolute masterpiece you created, this corset is definitely cutting off my airflow."

A genuine, hearty laugh broke through Cherry’s tension, and she squeezed Juanita’s shoulders.

"Alright, lay out your terms, Your Majesty."

"I could use some aspirin," Juanita groaned dreamily.

"Maybe some orange juice? And a sandwich if you're feeling saintly."

"Okay, I'll get you the orange juice and aspirin, help you unlace this death trap, and run a hot bath for you and then when you're out of the bath, there'll be a beef salad sandwich waiting for you." Cherry promised, standing up and smoothing down her skirt.

"God, I love you," Juanita sighed, sinking back into her pillows. "How are you even still able to function normally after all the alcohol and weed we took last night?"

Cherry laughed, walking toward the door. "Years of practice, baby. Years of practice. And I love you too." She paused at the doorframe as she was about to leave, the humor fading from her expression as she looked back. "You know you can tell me anything, right? No matter what it is. I'm always here for you. You know that, right?"

The weight of the question made Juanita's chest tighten with a fresh wave of guilt. "I know, Cher."

Cherry stared at her for a beat longer, her expression unreadable, before stepping out and closing the door softly behind her.

The weekend passed in a quiet, agonizingly slow blur. Juanita locked herself in her room for most of it, needing the solitude she'd always despised at home, needing to be away from the world, desperately trying to construct a facade of normalcy. She read her textbooks, worked on her crocheting, watched mindless documentaries, and forced herself to attend her Acapella practices.

But it was no use. The vision of her father killing people plagued her, replaying behind her eyelids every time she closed them.

On Sunday evening, her parents video-called her.

"Look at our university girl!" Jocelyn beamed through the screen, her amber-brown eyes crinkling with warmth. "How was your Halloween, darling? Did you have fun?"

Juanita stared at her mother, then at her father, Dawson, who smiled warmly beside his wife. Looking at his face, all Juanita could see was the cold-blooded executioner from her vision, raising a glowing silver blade in a room filled with violet fire. Her throat constricted. She wanted to scream, to ask them about the locket, to demand the truth about who they really were.

But she didn't.

She forced a bright, practiced smile onto her face, burying the terror deep down. "It was amazing, Mama! I had an absolute blast. Classes are going great, and I've joined a few more clubs. We have an upcoming showcase for Acapella soon."

"Oh, I wouldn't miss it for the world," Jocelyn promised, clapping her hands.

Dawson sighed softly, a look of genuine regret crossing his features. "I'm sad I'll have to miss this one, my little viper. Work is incredibly hectic this time of year. But I am so proud of you."

"It's okay, Dad," Juanita whispered, the nickname hitting her like a physical blow. "I love you guys."

By Monday morning, she had almost convinced herself that it had all been a hallucination. The alcohol, the weed, the intense atmosphere of the party—it had just been a vivid, terrifying waking nightmare. The kiss with Samil? A drunken mistake. The vision? A manifestation of her father’s overprotective warnings. If she just avoided Samil at all costs, her life would go back to normal.

But during her literature seminar, reality began to crack. She couldn't focus on a single word the professor was saying. Her fingers nervously fiddled with her silver locket, and every few minutes, sharp flashes of violet fire appeared uninvited across her vision.

She also couldn't help but notice that Samil’s seat beside her was entirely empty. He wasn't in class.

Cherry had noticed her sour and aloof countenance, of course and to distract her, Cherry dragged her to a new bakery on campus after lectures. Sitting in the warm, brightly lit shop, biting into a super delicious, flaky pastry that was entirely worth the exorbitant price, Juanita finally felt a wave of genuine calm wash over her. See? she told herself. You're fine. Everything is going to be completely fine.

“I knew food would cheer you up," Cherry teased her, making Juanita pout playfully.

Cherry chuckled and wiped off the cream sitting on Juanita's lip.

“I know something's going on and whenever you're ready to share, I'm right here. Always."

“I know," Juanita got a bit misty eyed and then held her best friend’s hand. “And thank you, I really needed this."

Cherry kissed her hand and they enjoyed themselves talking and laughing and filling their bellies with pastries and wine.

Juanita was calm and convinced that everything was fine. Everything was normal.

Even ignoring the shiver she felt up her spine like she was being watched as she walked back to her dorm with Cherry chattered away.

On Tuesday morning, the illusion of normalcy shattered forever.

The moment Juanita’s alarm blared, she sat up and immediately felt a strange, heavy electricity buzzing beneath her skin. It felt like her veins were humming with live wire.

Groaning, she dragged herself out of bed and went into the bathroom to brush her teeth. She squeezed the toothpaste onto her brush, looked up into the mirror, and froze dead in her tracks.

"What the fuck...?" she whispered, the toothbrush slipping from her fingers and clattering into the sink.