celiabreslin

Wilson taps impatiently on the keypad. “You want beauty and youth forever, Dorianna? I can give you that. Power over those mean girls; over a lot of people? It’s yours for a price. Just say it.” His eyes are golden and black and red all at once, like unearthly spears, piercing through me. I’m dizzy. I need fresh air now. But I want this promise more than anything. Ever.

“What’s the price?” I rasp.

Wilson’s stare burns into me. “Can’t say exactly. But there always is.” His words are ice and fire. Flutters of snowflakes pattering silently under my skin that melt into scorching sparks.
I follow an irrepressible urge to stand up, and look down on Wilson with his narrow, feral face and piercings. I need Ander to look at me with that passion. I need those hater girls put in their place. I need a friend, and for people to want to be with me all of the time, to never be bored. Only to love me.

It’s worth any price.

A powerful force in me breaks loose, as if a flu bug is racing rampant down my spine.

“Would you… give your soul?” Wilson’s whisper invades my gut, my brain.

Ander’s aching gaze from our time at the beach shimmers in front of me. Enticing. I can almost feel his kiss. Like water. Drink it in. I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want this. “I’d give anything for power, easy youth and beauty.” My voice comes from all around me, spreading, gluey on my skin. “Yes, I’d even give my… soul.”

The air spirals into a funnel, draining all oxygen from the room with a hiss.

So, so, soul.

In an instant, new air swoops in, suffused with rich, delicious minerals. I gulp it in, openmouthed, so very thirsty. “To be seen and accepted,” I murmur.

Wilson goes head to head with me. “Forget about just being accepted. How about having a following of millions, going viral?”

“Really?” I’m whirling. “Going viral.” Wilson’s promises are golden brands, anointing me, conferring an otherworldly legitimacy I’ve never, ever felt. How does he manage to do this?
Ander returns with the brownies. I luxuriate in the sexy new glint he’s giving me.

“Something feels different in here,” he notes. “It’s colder.” He puts the brownies down. Who needs sweets when he’s looking at me like this? Is this vow a real thing? Is it already working?
An unfamiliar power in me swells with precarious danger and weight as I study Ander and Wilson. Abruptly, I’m flung out of my body, inexplicably looking down on them as pitiful peons who will someday worship at my feet.

As two of the very, very many.

Then, I’m back inside myself stunned by how I was seeing them. The room seems to rush with the force of souls washing through, and I flinch when I hear them moaning. I tell myself it’s only the whir, whir of the hard drives.