Prologue

The desert wind tore at Michelle’s Gray Ford F250 XLT with savage fury, a relentless howl that clawed across the barren highway like an invisible beast in the night. Sand assaulted the windshield in furious gusts, each grain a tiny dagger glinting under the moon’s cold, unfeeling gaze, pinging against the glass with the sharp rhythm of a thousand accusations. Her hair lashed wildly around her face, caught in the draft of the half-cracked window, the strands whipping her cheeks like a cruel reminder of the chaos she couldn’t escape. The stereo blasted, jagged guitar riffs and thunderous drums from the 90’s shaking the truck’s frame to its core, a desperate cacophony cranked higher, needing it to drown out the oppressive silence of the desert, the void that threatened to swallow her whole.

Her foot crushed the gas pedal. Ninety. Ninety-five. One hundred ten. The speedometer quivered under the strain, the engine’s roar a primal scream echoing the turmoil raging in her chest. The highway unfurled before her like an endless black serpent, merciless and unforgiving beneath the vast, indifferent sky. Shadows twisted and writhed in the harsh beam of her headlights, morphing into grotesque shapes she refused to acknowledge, ghosts of shattered dreams, specters of betrayal, nightmares that clawed at the edges of her sanity, whispering secrets she wasn’t ready to hear. And the large, white moon that she wanted to drive her truck right into was there, in the distance.

Amid the storm, her lips twisted into a smile, jagged, defiant, a rebellion born of madness or liberation, she couldn’t tell which. It was a grin that defied the fear knotting her gut, a silent scream against the unknown horrors lurking just beyond the light.

Her mind, desperate for sanctuary, dragged her back to a memory so vivid it cut through the darkness like a blade of light. She was entwined with Christopher on their gray, L-shaped couch, their bodies a tangle of limbs and warmth, the TV’s flickering glow casting soft, dancing shadows across their skin.

Crumpled chip bags, scattered candy wrappers, and half-empty Pepsi cans littered the coffee table, remnants of a night lost in unfiltered joy. Rules of Engage played on the screen, its canned laughter mingling with their own, raw, unrestrained, the kind that bubbled from deep within, healing wounds she didn’t even know were there. His arm draped over her shoulders, heavy and possessive, his fingers weaving through her hair with an absent tenderness that sent shivers down her spine. His lips grazed her temple, a kiss so casual it felt like destiny, his cologne, dark, woodsy, intoxicating, enveloping her like a lover’s embrace, mingling with the salt of their skin and the sweetness of shared candy. Their legs intertwined, her body pressed flush against his, the heat of his chest igniting a fire in her core that spread like wildfire, every brush of his fingers a spark, every shared breath a promise of forever.

In that moment, she’d loved him with a ferocity that consumed her, convinced nothing could extinguish it. It was one of the happiest moments of her life, a stolen paradise where she was utterly his, and he was hers.

The memory shimmered, then shattered like glass underfoot, plunging her back into the cold grip of the present.

Her eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, and her breath seized in her throat, a cold vise clamping down on her lungs. The reflection staring back wasn’t her, not the Michelle she recognized, not the woman who’d once believed in happy endings. Not the beautiful woman everyone adored and laughed with. Instead, she was replaced with blood matted hair, dripping in thick, viscous clumps that trailed down her forehead like tears from a wound that wouldn’t heal.

A deep gash split her lip, raw and jagged, pulsing with a phantom pain that made her wince. Bruises bloomed across her face in violent, mottled shades of purple and black, like dark flowers unfurling from unseen blows, her eyes hollowed by exhaustion and something far more sinister, despair, perhaps, or guilt. Her hands, gripping the steering wheel in the mirror, were smeared with blood, the skin shredded and raw, knuckles torn as if from a desperate fight. She gasped, her gaze dropping to her real hands, clean, trembling. Her eyes snapped back to the mirror. The bloodied reflection remained, unyielding, its eyes locking onto hers with an accusation that pierced her soul.

“What did I do?” she whispered, her voice a fractured plea, barely audible over the music’s relentless assault. This isn’t real. It can’t be. Doubt clawed at her mind, a chilling whisper that this was no hallucination, but a glimpse of truth she couldn’t face. Her foot pressed harder, the truck lurching forward with a growl. One hundred and fifteen. One hundred twenty. The speed was a frenzy, a futile bid to outrun the terror unraveling her from within, the desert blurring into a streak of desolation.

Then she saw him. Christopher.

He materialized in the highway 62’s dead center, illuminated by the stark glare of her headlights, standing motionless like a sentinel from her deepest nightmares. His strong jawline cut sharp in the light, framing those crystal-blue eyes that had once ensnared her soul, now piercing her with an intensity that stole her breath and ignited a storm of conflicting emotions, love, hate, longing, fear. His dimples flashed in a mocking smile, a cruel echo of the charm that had drawn her in, as he wore that faded black Steele T-shirt she’d stolen to sleep in, its soft fabric forever imprinted with his scent. His body was perfection incarnate, broad shoulders, sculpted muscles, a physique that radiated raw power and allure, a god forged in the fires of her desires. But he couldn’t be here. He can’t be here. The thought exploded in her mind, her pulse thundering like a war drum. His cologne flooded her senses, rich and heady, wrapping around her like invisible arms, as if he were pressed against her, not standing defiant in her path, defying the laws of life and death.

“NOOOOO!” Her scream erupted from her core, raw and primal, shredding her throat until it burned, tears scalding her cheeks as they streamed down her face. Rage surged through her veins, something she hadn’t felt since childhood consuming her fear in its flames. How did he find me? The question fueled her fury, her foot crushing the accelerator to the floor, the truck roaring like a beast unleashed as she bore down on him, her body braced for the inevitable collision, for the cathartic end of whatever twisted bond still chained her to him. She had enough! It was enough already. Why can’t he just let her go already?

The headlights engulfed him, her truck tearing through his form with unyielding force. She waited for the impact, the sickening crunch, the jolt that would shatter everything, nothing came. Only silence, profound and deafening. He was gone. Vanished like smoke in the wind. No body sprawled on the asphalt, no trace of blood or wreckage, just the empty highway mocking her with its indifference. Panic seized her, a wild frenzy clawing at her chest as her hands trembled on the wheel, her eyes darting frantically to the road, the mirrors, the encroaching darkness. Where is he? Where’s his body? The absence was a new terror, her mind fracturing under the weight of impossibility.

Michelle jolted upright, her chest heaving with ragged gasps, tears carving hot paths down her face. She wasn’t in the truck anymore. Her bare feet sank into the cold, unforgiving sand, the desert air biting at her exposed skin like a thousand invisible needles. Jagged rocks towered around her, their surfaces etched with graffiti and vibrant painted art that glowed eerily under the moonlight, familiar yet distorted in the shadows, Joshua Tree National Park, her sacred sanctuary, her “happy place,” where she’d first brought Christopher upon his arrival in California. Here, under these same stars, they’d shared kisses that tasted like promise, his hands roaming her body with a hunger that left her breathless, their forms pressed against the warm rocks in a frenzy of need and discovery. Now, the vast sky above stretched like an infinite void, each star a piercing accusation, sharp enough to draw blood. How did she get here? She was just driving.

The silence was a crushing force, seeping into her pores, suffocating her with its immensity, her every nerve alight with primal fear. She spun in a slow, dizzying circle, the sand shifting beneath her feet, confirming her isolation, alone, utterly alone in the heart of the desert. How am I here? Where’s my truck? Why am I barefoot? The questions cascaded like a torrent, unanswered, her mind a whirlwind of dread, confusion, and a growing horror that this was no dream, but a reckoning. She touched her face tentatively, no blood, felt no bruises, but the mirror’s grotesque reflection haunted her vision, a phantom of violence that whispered of sins she couldn’t recall, of a love that had twisted into something monstrous.
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addiction secrets

The Mirror Trilogy: Book 1 Reflections of Love & Lies