Unnatural Instinct: Wish

You moan as you roll over to silence your alarm. Your body is aching. Has twelve hours really passed?

You look up at your clock to make sure. Yes. It’s two o’clock. You sit up with a start—you’ve got to go! Staggering to your feet, you race to the bathroom, then race back to get changed. Glancing at your reflection, you turn away with a grimace.

Forcing yourself to slow down, you brush your hair. As you do, flashes of your dream rise to the surface. You look over your arms and legs but there are no gashes. But of course there wouldn’t be since the Dark Prince healed them, you remind yourself.

‘No, he didn’t. It’s just a dream.’

You lower your brush to the table as you look at your reflection, unconvinced by your own words. You touch your lips where he kissed you; it had been wonderful, unforgettable, unbelievable.

Shaking your head, you pick up your purse and phone and leave.

Thirty minutes later you’re sitting in your brother’s living room, a small plate of cake on your lap. You’re so hungry you’re shovelling it in.

‘Are you all right?’ Allan says with a frown. ‘Haven’t you been eating? You look …’

‘… sick,’ Mika finishes.

You swallow down a mouthful. ‘Well, thank you very much.’

In the next room over, the kids are fighting over their video games.

‘Keep it down in there,’ your brother yells at them. He turns back to you. ‘How’ve you been?’

‘I’m fine. Been sleeping a lot.’

‘There’s something odd about you,’ Mika says, cocking her pretty head, her auburn hair falling over her shoulder. ‘Something … different.’

‘Really?’ You take a quick gulp of iced tea. ‘I don’t see what.’

Putting her plate aside, Mika leans over her lap and says to you, her eyes intense, ‘Give me your hand.’

‘W-why?’

Her necklace dangles in empty space. The setting sun gleaming in through the window shines against the gold pentagram. Mika’s always been into witchy, spiritual stuff.

‘Please,’ she says.

Pursing your lips, you hold your hand out. Closing her eyes, she turns it over so that your palm is facing up. Moments later, she snaps her eyes open. They’re wide and gleaming, like little dark blue orbs.

‘Be careful,’ she says. ‘Be careful what you wish for.’

Your heart skips a beat. ‘What?’

You try to pull your hand away but she grips it tightly in her long fingers. ‘Know what’s important.’

‘Let go. You’re hurting me.’

Your brother rests a hand on his wife’s forearm. She jerks back and shakes her head. ‘Sorry. Sorry! I think I dozed off. Three kids, you know?’ She gives a forced laugh.

You and Allan look at each other. Abruptly, you put your plate aside and stand. ‘I’m going to go play with the kids.’

You feel their eyes on your back as you leave the room.

Hours later, you’re back home, surfing the internet as you resume searching for a job. There are two, both for shop assistants, which look promising. After sending in your resume, you close your laptop and sit back into the couch, feeling both hopeful and despondent.

Even if you get one of these jobs, you’ll be owing your housemate money. And that’s only if she’s happy to loan you anything. The thought that you might end up homeless—or worse, mooching off your brother, is crushing.

You touch your lips again as you look towards your bedroom. You get up. It’s much too early to sleep and it couldn’t hurt to while away your time reading.

It’s turning dark now. You switch on your light and sit among your pillows as you pick up the book. You smooth your hand over the plain green cover and its raised gold lettering. You turn it over but there’s no blurb. There’s no author’s name either. You haven’t really thought about it until now. Who wrote it? Who published it? What year was it made? You turn to the inside cover.

Nothing.

What about the others?

What others?

Other girls. Other women. Other readers. Surely other people have read this book and have wished just as hard. Why me?

You frown as you rest the book in your lap. Maybe there are no other books. Maybe this is one of a kind. Self-published. Self-made. You shake your head. Such an unlikely possibility. Where did you get it from anyway? You try to think back but you can only ever remember it simply being there in your bookshelf, as though part of the furniture. Nobody gave it to you. You never bought it.

Your frown deepens. You place the book aside, holding your elbows as you look at it warily. Struck by an idea, you pull out your phone and search for it on the internet. You’ve never thought to do it before. You’ve never needed to before. Your heart lifts hopefully as you tap search, only to find countless titles matching “The Dark Prince”. You’ll never find it.

You put your phone aside. Your fingers tremble as you pick up the book again and open it somewhere down the middle.

Louise lifted her chin, pretending a courage she didn’t feel. Not when he was looking at her with those magnetic and dangerous mismatched eyes.

‘I want to go home,’ she said, a frustrating shake in her voice.

His eyes seemed to glitter as brightly as the chandelier above. ‘Why? When I can give you all that you’ve ever wanted and more? The finest food, stylish clothing, a beautiful home, a man who loves you. What more could you possibly want?’

Biting her lip, Louise shook her head, unable to answer.

‘Such an idiot,’ you say.

I want to go home. You said exactly the same thing only hours before.

Lowering the book, you gaze up at the ceiling. The finest food, stylish clothing, a beautiful home—and him. The Dark Prince. It all sounds so nice. You touch your lips again.

It’s dark now but not particularly late, only seven o’clock. Sliding from the bed, you walk back into the kitchen, open the drawer and take out the bottle of anxiety pills. Use when needed, it reads. Maximum 4 per day.

With a shrug, you empty two more into your hand. That’s only four. You’ll be fine. You pop them into your mouth, then turn back to your bedroom. You switch off the lights. The window is open and a gentle wind is blowing open the curtains. As you climb into bed, you pick up your phone. Your finger hovers over the alarm.

You’ve got nothing to do tomorrow.

Putting your phone aside, you sink into your pillows and close your eyes.