Fruit of the Forbidden

The apple didn't belong to me.

I knew that the second my fingers closed around it. The skin was too smooth, the color too deep a red, like something painted by a hand that had never seen an actual fruit. It sat alone on a table that shouldn't have existed in the middle of the forest, on a cloth so white it seemed to glow in the dim light. And I was hungry. God, I was so hungry.

The walk had started as a way to clear my head. Chloe had texted me three times that afternoon, each message shorter than the last. *Hey, you okay?* Then, *I'm here if you need to talk.* Then just, *Please.* I hadn't answered any of them. Not because I didn't want to. Because I couldn't figure out how to explain that I'd spent the whole day feeling like I was wearing someone else's skin. Like my body was a coat that didn't fit right anymore.

So I walked. Past the campus gates, past the coffee shop where I worked weekends, past the edge of town where the streetlights stopped and the trees started. The forest wasn't big. A few acres of old growth that the university had never gotten around to developing, tucked behind the athletic fields like an afterthought. I'd been there before, years ago, back when Chloe and I were kids and the world was small enough to fit inside a single afternoon.

I didn't remember the table.

But there it was. Round, wooden, old in a way that felt deliberate. Like someone had built it to look ancient. And on it, a single apple, a knife, and a note written in handwriting so cramped I had to squint to read it.

*Eat, and be seen.*

That should have been enough to make me turn around. I'm not stupid. I know what happens to girls who eat strange fruit in strange places. But I was tired. Tired of feeling invisible. Tired of walking through my own life like a ghost. Tired of Chloe looking at me with those big brown eyes, waiting for me to say something that would make everything okay.

I picked up the knife. Cut a slice. Ate it.

It tasted like nothing I'd ever eaten before. Not sweet. Not sour. Just... full. Like the first bite of something you didn't know you'd been starving for.

The walk home was a blur. I remember the trees thinning, the streetlights flickering on, the familiar creak of my apartment door. I remember crawling into bed without washing my face, which I never do. I remember thinking, *I'll deal with this tomorrow.*

Tomorrow came.

And so did the face.

I noticed it first in the bathroom mirror. My eyes, still half-closed with sleep, didn't want to focus. But something was wrong. The shape of my jaw. The curve of my cheek. The way my hair fell across my forehead, like it had been arranged by someone who knew what they were doing.

I blinked. Splashed water on my face. Blinked again.

The reflection didn't change.

I spent an hour in front of that mirror. Turning my head. Touching my skin. Waiting for the trick to reveal itself. But there was no trick. Just me. Me, but better. Me, but the way I'd always imagined I could look if I tried harder. If I slept more. If I was born different.

My phone buzzed. Chloe.

*Can I come over? I need to see you.*

I typed back before I could think. *Yeah. Door's unlocked.*

She lived three blocks away. It took her six minutes. I counted.

When she walked in, she stopped in the doorway. Her scarf was tangled around her neck, like she'd been running. Her cheeks were flushed. She looked at me, and something happened to her face. Something I'd never seen before.

"What?" I said. My voice sounded strange. Higher. Clearer.

She didn't answer. Just stood there, her mouth slightly open, her eyes moving over me like she was reading a page she'd already read a hundred times but suddenly couldn't understand.

"Chloe."

"You look..." She stopped. Swallowed. "You look..."

"What?"

She shook her head. Took a step back. Then another. Her hand found the doorframe, gripping it like she needed to hold onto something solid.

"I have to go," she said.

"Wait."

But she was already gone. The door clicked shut behind her. I stood in the middle of my apartment, listening to her footsteps fade down the hall. And for the first time since I woke up, I felt afraid.

The day passed in fragments.

I called in sick to work. Sat on my couch. Watched the light move across the floor. My phone buzzed twice. Chloe, both times. The first message said, *I'm sorry.* The second said, *I don't know what's wrong with me.*

I didn't answer either one.

By evening, I was hungry again. Not for food. For air. For movement. For something other than the four walls of my apartment and the stranger in my mirror. I pulled on a sweater, wrapped a scarf around my neck, and walked out into the cool autumn night.

The campus was quiet. A few students drifted past, heads down, earbuds in. I walked toward the library, then past it, toward the athletic fields. The forest loomed at the edge of the property, dark and patient. I didn't go in. Just stood there, looking at the trees, wondering if the table was still there. Wondering if the apple had been real.

"Hey."

The voice came from behind me. Low. Familiar in a way that made my stomach clench.

I turned.

Lucca Scott stood ten feet away, hands in his pockets, boots planted on the gravel path. He was wearing a button-up shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, collar open. His hair was shorter than I remembered. His jaw sharper. His eyes, those piercing eyes, fixed on me with an intensity that made my skin prickle.

"Sorry," he said. "Didn't mean to scare you."

I didn't say anything. Just stared.

He took a step closer. Then another. His head tilted slightly, like he was trying to place me.

"Do I know you?"

The question hit me like a slap. Lucca Scott had spent three years making my life hell. He'd outed Chloe to the entire school. He'd cornered me in hallways, called me names I still heard in my nightmares, spread rumors that nearly got us both expelled. He knew me. He knew my name, my face, my locker combination. He knew which days I had gym and which days I didn't, because he'd timed his ambushes accordingly.

And now he was looking at me like I was a stranger.

"No," I said. My voice came out steady. Calm. "You don't."

He smiled. It was a different smile than I remembered. Less cruel. More... curious.

"I'm Lucca."

"I know who you are."

His eyebrows lifted. "You do?"

"Everyone knows who you are."

He laughed. A short, surprised sound. "Fair enough." He took another step closer. Close enough that I could smell him. Soap. Leather. Something underneath that was darker, warmer. "What's your name?"

I should have lied. Should have turned around and walked away. Should have done anything other than what I did, which was stand there, frozen, while the boy who'd made my life a living hell looked at me like I was the most interesting thing he'd ever seen.

"Doesn't matter," I said.

"It matters to me."

"Why?"

He didn't answer. Just looked at me. His eyes moved over my face, my hair, my mouth. Slow. Deliberate. Like he was memorizing me.

"You're beautiful," he said.

The words landed somewhere deep in my chest. Not because they were kind. Because they were true. I could see it in the way he looked at me. The way his pupils dilated. The way his breath caught, just slightly, when I licked my lips.

"I have to go," I said.

"Wait."

He reached out. His fingers brushed my wrist. Light. Almost gentle. But I felt it everywhere. A current running through my skin, hot and electric.

"Can I see you again?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want to."

He smiled again. That same curious smile. But there was something else behind it now. Something darker.

"You will," he said.

I pulled my wrist free. Turned. Walked away. My heart was pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears. But I didn't run. I made myself walk. Slow. Steady. Like I wasn't afraid.

I didn't look back. But I felt his eyes on me the whole way home.

Chloe was waiting outside my apartment.

She was sitting on the floor, back against my door, knees drawn up to her chest. Her scarf was gone. Her hair was loose, falling around her face in messy waves. She looked up when she heard my footsteps, and her eyes were red. Like she'd been crying.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I know I shouldn't be here. I know I freaked out earlier. I just..." She shook her head. "I don't know what's happening to me."

I sat down next to her. The hallway was cold. I could feel the chill through my jeans.

"What do you mean?"

She was quiet for a long time. Then she said, "When I saw you today, I felt something I've never felt before. Not for you. Not for anyone." She turned to look at me. Her eyes were so brown. So warm. So scared. "It was like my whole body forgot how to work. Like I couldn't breathe. Like I was drowning and you were the only thing that could save me."

"Chloe..."

"I've known you my whole life. I've loved you my whole life. But not like this." She laughed, but it wasn't a happy sound. "Not like this."

I didn't know what to say. So I said nothing. Just sat there, next to her, while the silence stretched between us like a living thing.

"I'm not going to ask you to feel the same way," she said finally. "I'm not going to make this weird. I just... I needed you to know. Because I can't keep it inside anymore. It's eating me alive."

I reached for her hand. Her fingers were cold. I wrapped mine around them, trying to warm them.

"I don't know what's happening to me either," I said.

She looked at me. Really looked. And for a second, I saw something flicker in her eyes. Recognition. Like she knew, somehow, that I wasn't the same person who'd opened the door for her that morning.

"What did you do?" she whispered.

The question hung in the air between us. I could feel the weight of it. The truth of it.

"I don't know," I said. "But I think I made a mistake."

The next morning, I went back to the forest.

I told myself I was just going for a walk. That I wanted to clear my head. That the table wouldn't be there. That it had all been a dream.

But it was there. Exactly where I'd left it. The white cloth. The knife. The note.

*Eat, and be seen.*

I stood in front of it for a long time. The trees around me were silent. No birds. No wind. Just the heavy stillness of a place that didn't want to be found.

"What are you?" I said.

The forest didn't answer.

I reached for the note. Turned it over. There was something written on the back, in the same cramped handwriting.

*The price is not yours to pay.*

I dropped the note like it had burned me. Stumbled back. My heart was racing. My hands were shaking.

"What does that mean?" I said. Louder this time. "What does that mean?"

Nothing.

I ran. All the way home. All the way back to my apartment, where I locked the door and sat in the corner of my bedroom with my knees drawn up to my chest, just like Chloe had been sitting the night before.

The price is not yours to pay.

But if it wasn't mine, whose was it?

Lucca found me three days later.

I was at the coffee shop, working the afternoon shift. My manager had given me a look when I walked in, like she was seeing me for the first time. The customers stared. One of them, an old man with a cane, actually dropped his cup.

I kept my head down. Made drinks. Wiped counters. Tried not to think about the way people's eyes followed me. The way their voices dropped when they talked about me.

Then the bell above the door jingled, and I looked up, and there he was.

Lucca. In a black coat, collar turned up against the cold. His hair was damp from the rain. His eyes found me immediately, like he'd known exactly where I'd be.

He walked to the counter. Didn't look at the menu. Just looked at me.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi."

"You work here."

"Clearly."

He smiled. That same curious smile. But there was something different about it now. Something sharper.

"I've been thinking about you," he said.

"That's not my problem."

"It could be."

I turned away. Started making a drink I didn't need to make. My hands were steady. My voice was calm. But inside, I was falling apart.

"What do you want?" I said.

"Your name."

"You don't need it."

"I want it anyway."

I turned back to face him. He was leaning against the counter, close enough that I could see the stubble on his jaw. The small scar above his eyebrow. The way his eyes tracked every movement I made.

"Why?" I said.

"Because I can't stop thinking about you. Because I've looked for you every day since I saw you. Because I don't know what's happening to me, and I think you do."

"I don't know anything."

"You're lying."

The words hit me like a punch. I felt my face flush. My hands clench.

"I don't know you," I said. "I don't owe you anything."

"You're right." He straightened up. Reached into his pocket. Pulled out a card. Slid it across the counter. "But I'm going to find out who you are. One way or another."

I looked down at the card. His name. His number. Nothing else.

"I'm not going to call you," I said.

"I know." He smiled again. "You won't have to."

He turned and walked out. The bell jingled behind him. The whole shop seemed to exhale.

I picked up the card. Held it over the trash. Then, for reasons I couldn't explain, I put it in my pocket.

Chloe called that night.

"I need to see you," she said. Her voice was strange. Tight. Like she was holding something back.

"Okay."

"The forest. The one behind the athletic fields. Meet me there."

"Why?"

"Just come."

She hung up before I could ask anything else.

I found her standing at the edge of the trees. The moon was full, casting long shadows across the ground. She was wearing a thin jacket, no scarf, her hands shoved in her pockets. She looked smaller than usual. Fragile.

"You came," she said.

"You asked me to."

She nodded. Looked at the trees. Looked at me. Looked at the trees again.

"I've been having dreams," she said. "Every night since I saw you. Dreams about a table. And an apple. And a woman with no face."

My blood went cold.

"What did she say?"

Chloe turned to look at me. Her eyes were wide. Scared.

"She said the price isn't yours to pay."

The words hung in the air between us. Heavy. Final.

"What does that mean?" I whispered.

Chloe shook her head. "I don't know. But I think we need to find out."

We stood there, at the edge of the forest, while the wind picked up and the trees swayed. And somewhere, deep in the dark, I felt something watching us. Something patient. Something hungry.

The price is not yours to pay.

But someone was going to pay it.