The Moonlight Mates: A Tale Of Unseen Bound

The room was dim, lit only by the soft glow of a single desk lamp. I sat hunched over my sketchbook, the pencil in my hand moving almost of its own accord. The world outside was silent, or at least what I had thought, but inside my headphones, the vibrant beats of my favorite 90s song '' With or Without You by Robert Smith pulsed, filling my senses and drowning out the quiet of the night.

I was lost in the rhythm, and the lyrics, my eyes drifted to our family picture and the memory it evoked. Music was a time machine, transporting me back to when I was nine years old, when I went camping with Father in the Green Woodbery forest, Silver Spring. The nostalgia was a comforting blanket, wrapping me in its warm embrace. Sadly, this is the only memory I have of my father.

In my mind, everything went blank after that. I don't know why I don't remember the precious years I spent with my father.

Mother never shared anything about my father except when he passed away from cancer when I was twelve years old. She always changed the subject of my father.

After his death, my mother moved to Virginia along with me and my youngest sister Candice. Candice is seventeen years old, and we have nothing in common except that we're sisters. She is overly manipulative and a white liar. She never misses an opportunity to get me in trouble. I don't know why she is like that, but she is the biggest headache of my life.

My eyes travel back to the sketchbook... Those striking blue eyes that had been my dreams the night before. They were vivid and intense, a shade of blue so deep it was almost surreal. I had never seen eyes like those in real life, yet in my dream, they had been as real as the sketchbook in front of me.

I stroked the pencil across the paper, the graphite leaving a trail of gray. I shaded and smudged, erased and redrew, my hand moving with a mind of its own. The eyes on the paper stared back at me, their gaze as piercing as the one in my dream. I could almost feel them watching me, their icy blue depths filled with an emotion I couldn't quite place.

Once, I finished the piece and I picked up the sketchbook, staring at it, I was so drawn to his blue eyes, a blue, his eyes were. Like the center of a flame, as though some internal furnace lit them. I was tempted to hold my hand over to them, to see if I could feel the heat.

However, before I could act upon my impulse, a hand came out from behind me and snatched the sketchbook out of my grasp, leaving me utterly stunned.

Then, I quickly stood up and turned around to see who had taken my sketchbook. And I found myself in disbelief when I saw Connell, standing holding my sketchbook. My heart skipped a beat. My body froze like a statue. And a series of questions came rushing into my mind. What is he doing here? What does he want from me?

Connell Everston For the world, he is often described as the embodiment of the perfect man. His personality is a harmonious blend of strength and gentleness. He treats everyone around him with respect and kindness, understanding each person. But in reality, I hate him to the core of my heart. He is a pathological liar. Narcissistic to the max and beyond. Can't speak without referring to himself in some grandiose manner, and takes credit for every action he considers good, but in truth, he doesn't know the difference between that and just plain bad.

Hypocrite probably in all ways. And claims to have the highest IQ of - I don't know; forgot something so utterly stupid. Claims to be the best, the greatest, the "very, very" of everything attainable by a human being, almost to the point of asserting that he's a god. He has a controlling nature beyond your thinking. He preyed on fear and if the devil in disguise had a face it would be Connell Everston hands down.

I feel his gaze on me, pricking the hairs on my neck. He stepped forward towards me and made me wonder what he was doing in my bedroom. And who let him in? His eyes were deeply entrancing, in a dangerous, luscious way, and he had them on me as if he coveted me more than anything or anyone else in this world. I sensed his gaze falling upon me time and time again. My heart pounded more than it should, and my cheek picked up a seemingly perennial red tint. I wondered whether he thought of me as mere prey to feed on its heart or if there was something special to that look he shackled me with.

He finally stopped before me and I could feel his breath on my skin, his rich scent filling my nostrils. His hand reached out for my headphones which I was still wearing, and he gently removed them and put them on the table behind me, his eyes traveling down to the sketchbook. His eyes widened and his eyebrow arched.

" I never knew that you were so talented, Curly Bell, if I may, ask you whose eyes you are sketching?" He finally spoke in his deep gravelly voice. While looking at my sketchbook, 'Curly Bell', he gave me this nickname the first time he led his filthy eyes on me because of my hair. I hate it when he calls me that. I immediately found my composer back and straightened my spine to look unaffected by his presence.

" None of your business!! What are you doing here? Who let you inside?" I growled in anger while trying to snatch it from his hand, but he was so clever he raised his hand in the air, out of my reach. I made a few failed attempts to reach his hand.

" GIVE ME BACK! THIS IS MINE!" I raised my voice at him and his eyes turned red, and I could feel the tension between us rising.

" "An incorrect response, Curly Bell. You're aware that I don't accept a 'no' easily. I assumed you would learn from your previous mistakes, but it seems you're as obstinate as a mole. However, being a good friend, I'll give you another opportunity to reveal his identity," his voice echoed ominously in the silent room.

I could feel the icy tendrils of fear creeping up my spine as I realized his intentions. He was a puppeteer, skillfully pulling at the strings of my terror, manipulating me like a marionette on his stage. His moods were as unpredictable as a tempest at sea. I was aware that he was attempting to frighten me, to use my fears against me. He's an expert at psychological manipulation. One moment, he's as sweet as candy. The next, he's consumed by a furious rage! He enjoys messing with my mind. He's adept at hiding his true identity... I can see a deceptive mask on his face. But this time, I won't let him triumph. I gathered the remaining courage within me.

"I'm not obligated to respond to you. I'm not scared of you," I retorted and attempted to walk past him, but he grabbed my arm, preventing me from leaving. I struggled to break free from his grip, but it was futile.

"What are you doing? Let me go!!! This isn't amusing, you're causing me pain," I exclaimed, attempting to wriggle my wrist free from his grasp. He pulled me against him and I met his gaze... His eyes flashed seven kinds of hell. He leaned forward against my ear...

" You are going to regret it. Let's see, how you are going to explain this to your mother when I tell her about the letter?" he whispered in my ear. Terror had me all for a moment, and it ravaged me, and when it was finished, shock had its way through me, and left them cold and helpless. I drew a deep breath, trying to think of something to say, but he let go of my wrist. He threw the sketchbook on the wall.

" Connell, what are you going to tell my mother?" my voice faltered to a stop. Fear and confusion clutched at my throat like some terrible beast, and suddenly I was finding it difficult to breathe. But Connell ignored me like a plague and with the blink of an eye. He reaches for the door and walks out.

I remained rooted to the spot, pondering the possibility of him revealing to my mother that I had been hiding my college acceptance letter from her. How would I justify this to my mother? She would never accept my explanation. This time, she would not allow me to continue my schooling and would confine me within these walls indefinitely, just as she had done before.

What should I do? What should I do? I must prevent Connell from speaking to my mother. I sprang into action, chasing after him to intercept him before it was too late. My heart pounded in my chest like a drum as I dashed downstairs, my feet barely touching the steps. The world around me blurred into a whirl of colors and shapes as I focused solely on my mission.