Blindfolds of Desire

ARABELLA I hate this house so much. I hate the ceiling light. I hate how clean the floors are. I hate how perfect everything looks on the surface. And I’m starting to resent my parents too. “You’re not going,” my father says. He’s standing by the mini bar, holding a glass of whiskey. My father, Victor Garcia. Everyone in this city knows that name. They reverence it. Except me. Not anymore. “I love him,” I say, my voice breaking. “Liam isn’t just some guy. I love him. We’re passionate about each other.” He laughs. I hate it when he laughs like this. “Love? You’re twenty-three. What do you think love is? You love a mechanic? Have you lost your mind?” “Dad, he has plans,” I say, “for his future, for us.” “Enough.” My mom, who has been silently watching us, finally speaks. “You should listen to your father. Liam is way out of your league.” She stands, placing her drink down. “What have I been teaching you?” My chest feels tight as I listen to her. “I love him, Mom. Why don’t you understand? Were you…” My dad drops his glass with a loud crash, cutting me off. He shakes his head. “You will leave for France in the morning, so you’d better get to bed early.” He climbs the stairs without another word. I watch him go, my eyes burning with tears. “The daughter of Victor Garcia, hanging around a mechanic. Do you know what that does to our reputation?” my mom says, her voice rising. I turn back to her. “It’s always been about your reputation. Do you even care about me? About how I feel?” She walks toward me, closing the gap between us, and rests her hands on my shoulders. “Feelings change, honey. Your feelings should never dictate your life.” I wipe my eyes, looking away. “This is for your safety. There is no way that mechanic will ever be able to protect you.” “Safety?” I almost laugh. “You mean I should be thankful that you’re sending me to France?” I step backward. After years of silence and playing the perfect daughter, the pain bubbles up in my chest. “I’m not your toy. You can’t move me around as you like.” She sighs. “This is for your own good. It’s okay that you don’t see it now.” She empties her glass of wine. “Think about it. We would never do anything to harm you.” She kisses my temple. “Goodnight.” Then goes up the stairs. I follow a minute later. In my room, I move fast. I grab a box from my closet. Jeans. Sweaters. Underwear. My phone. My wallet. I’m leaving. Liam will let me stay with him until I figure out where to go. I change out of my nightdress into jeans and a black sweater. I shove my feet into my slides. I have to get to him. He’s the only person who understands me. My hands shake as I text him: I’m leaving. I’m walking toward the ivory gate. Please, come get me. I stand still, my eyes not leaving my phone. Then the reply comes. I’m coming. Stay there. I’m eight minutes away. Eight minutes. I can make it to the ivory gate in five. But I can’t go through the main door—my parents might hear me. The window. I can see the garden from my room. I climb onto the balcony railing. The metal is cold. The night air is ice against my skin. I swing my legs over and find the first foothold in the ivy. My heart beats harder. I jump into the garden, then run. As I pass through the gate, I check my watch—it’s almost midnight. I try to stay hidden between trees as I head toward the ivory gate. I’m almost there when I hear a loud sound. Thunder. I cover my ears with both hands. Rain pours down instantly. It’s heavy, soaking me entirely in seconds. Just my luck. I increase my pace. The ivory gate is just ahead. Even with the streetlights, I can barely see. I check my phone again. No new message. I text him: I’m at the ivory gate. Where are you? When I reach the gate, I stop, standing on one foot. The cold is freezing. It soaks through my sweater, through my jeans. But I stand there, watching the road. Five minutes pass. Then ten. Then fifteen. He doesn’t come. I text again. Liam? No response. I call him. It goes straight to voicemail. I stare at my phone, my heartbeat tripping. Something is wrong. He said he was coming. He said eight minutes. That was twenty minutes ago. I text again. I’m scared. Please come. No response. I start walking. I don’t know where I am headed, as long as it’s far away from the estate. I keep checking my phone. Nothing. No response. Panic starts to build in my chest. Where is he? Why isn’t he answering? Did something happen to him? Did his truck break down? Did he get pulled over? I look back at the estate. I can’t go back there. My father will lock me up or worse—send me to France. But I can’t stay out here either. It’s freezing. I’m soaked. I walk faster. I need to find shelter. A bus stop. a*****e. Something. Then I hear it. The sound of an engine. Coming from behind me. From the direction of the estate. It’s like a quiet thunder, so I’m not sure. I turn. The rain makes it hard for me to see clearly. I see a black car not too far behind me. The headlights are low down, but the light is super bright—maybe because it’s midnight, I don’t know. For some reason, it’s moving very slowly. It’s not Liam’s Ford truck. Panic goes from my chest to my throat. Did they realize I’m gone? Did my father send someone after me? I start running. My slides slip on the wet pavement, but I push forward, running down the road. The black car accelerates. I hear the engine roar. The tires hissing on wet asphalt. I run faster. My throat feels dry. For some reason, the small box suddenly feels heavy in my hand. I trip over a crack in the pavement. My ankle twists, causing me to fall forward. My knees slam into the mud at the edge of the road. I try to stand, but the pain in my ankle is intense. The black car is close now. I hear the door open. Then I hear footsteps on the wet pavement. I scramble backward in the mud, my heart beating even faster. A figure stands over me, silhouetted against the headlights. I look up. It’s a man. Tall. Broad shoulders. Dressed in black. The rain plasters his dark hair to his forehead. His blue eyes stay fixed on me as I lie in the mud. He squats down but doesn’t touch me. “Where are you headed?” he asks. His voice is calm. I don’t answer. I’m breathing fast now. I try to crawl backward. “Running away from home?” he asks. “Bad timing.” I freeze. What is he talking about? It must be the weather. I finally find my voice. “Who are you?” “Someone who has been waiting for you,” he says. “For a very long time.” He reaches out to brush a wet strand of hair from my face. His touch is ice-cold, even through the black leather glove. “What do you want?” I whisper, my voice breaking. He leans closer. His breath is warm against my ear. “Blood,” he murmurs. There is a loud thunder again. Oh no. He pulls me up from the ground in a single movement. “Please don’t… stop!” I continue to yell. He ignores me, moving toward his car as if I weigh like paper and he can’t hear me. As he carries me, I wonder what happened to Liam. It’s been over thirty minutes.