I rolled my eyes, regretting even answering the phone.
Of all the things I’d learned in life, avoiding lying, cheating boys was quite honestly the skill I’d expected to use least in life. However, as the sun set on what felt like the worst day ever, it had proven to be a useful skill.
There must have been at least a hundred missed calls and texts from Mark, Aaron, and my dad. The betrayal was still too raw for me to answer any of them, so I’d blocked all of their numbers.
Bowen, on the other hand, had been much quieter. Eerily so. He’d texted me that he loved me and was there for me day or night if I needed answers or explanations. His last text said that he wasn’t going anywhere and would never abandon me. Obviously, he’d spoken to Linda. I couldn’t imagine he was anything but a mess. At least, the man I’d known would have been. This guy was anybody’s guess. I ignored him too.
This was when my father had managed to get creative. He’d gone to my office and used the phone at Grey Realty to call me, knowing good and damn well I was too much of a workaholic not to answer.
“Daddy, I have to go. I can’t have this conversation with you right now.”
“Okay. That’s fair,” he replied. “I just needed to know where your head was at.”
I scoffed. “My head is a needle in a mile-high haystack right now. Everyone is telling me that all the lies were for the best, but this does not in any way feel like the best.”
“Well, no.” He had the good sense to at least sound sheepish. “This part is absolute shit. The best is what you’ve been living for the last eight months though. I dare you to reflect on that and tell me any different.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. He didn’t get it. I did love my life—no reflection needed. That was exactly why all of this hurt so bad: because it was all a lie.
“I gotta go,” I clipped.
“You’ll call me if you need anything?”
“Yeah,” I relented, unsure if I was the one lying now.
“I love you, Remi.”
“Love you too.” I hung up, not feeling the slightest bit better.
Linda had been right though. If I had any hope of understanding why they’d spent so many months building an alternate universe for me, I needed to get to know the woman they’d thought they were saving me from.
I’d spent the day gathering everything I could from those nine months before the plane crash.
I’d never been much of a techie. In my line of work, I tried to keep everything as simple and streamlined as possible. MLS listings and eDocuments with neatly highlighted sign here sections were the bulk of my work on the computer. However, after I’d logged on to my hospital’s website and downloaded my electronic medical records, I’d never been so thankful for technology in my life. The police reports for when I had been missing were slightly more difficult to get my hands on. I’d sat at the police station for over three hours waiting for someone to simply hit the print button.
I hadn’t been able to find my therapist, but all in all, when I’d gotten back to my hotel room in time for the telephone ambush from my dad, I had more than enough information to keep me busy.
After tossing my phone to the bed beside me, I got to work.
With my heart in my throat and breaking only for coffee, I stayed up all night trying to get to know the woman I had once been.
Doctors. Therapists. Psychiatrists.
Voluntary and involuntary commitments.
Psychiatric holds.
Countless prescriptions for antidepressants, antianxiety, and even antipsychotics.
Multiple hospitalizations and referrals to rehabilitation facilities, including those for PTSD and alcohol abuse.
And that was just the medical jargon I could understand. God only knew what else was in there.
Bowen had said that it was bad. His pain had been palpable as he’d talked about his supposedly dead fiancée. Wrapped in his arms, I had cried for her and the hell she’d had to endure. Even though I’d heard it from his own lips, I was in no way prepared for the nightmare I found in those medical records.
The police reports were equally as devastating. Much of what I read was just regurgitated bits and pieces of the stories Bowen had already told me. The heroin in my system when I had been found in my car at Grove Hill. The fact that they’d had to use Narcan to bring me back. The police not believing there was any foul play involved. My obsession about the other woman who had haunted my dreams. A male captor who I had never seen. It was all there in black and white.
I felt ill reading through the documents. It was unlike anything I could explain. Every horrifying fact was about me. Logically, I knew that, but I had none of the memories to match the trauma. I certainly couldn’t fathom a world where I’d try to take my own life. Silly as it might have been, a part of me was relieved to know that Bowen had at least told me the truth. A warped and highly manipulated truth about a nonexistent woman, but the truth nonetheless.
It didn’t make me forgive him though. I was still in such a state of shock that I didn’t know if or when forgiveness would be back on the table. And damn if that didn’t feel like an arrow through the chest.
Around seven the next morning, my eyes weak and lids heavy, I finally dozed off only to be woken up by a pinging sound on my phone. It wasn’t my usual text notification, but I didn’t think much of it. I rolled over and lifted it into my line of sight, expecting it to be a message from a blissfully unaware client.
A pop-up window reading Find My iPhone Alert showed on the screen.
Son of a bitch!
It was a safety measure we’d implemented for when I showed houses. Aaron and Mark both had access to it. It was how they’d located me when I’d gone to the hospital with Katherine after she’d fallen and broken her arm. I hadn’t thought to turn it off when I’d decided to stay at a hotel rather than going home. It wasn’t like I was in hiding. I just hadn’t felt like dealing with any of their bullshit until I’d had time to gather my wits and thoughts.
It beeped again, the sound echoing through the quiet room.
With a frustrated growl, I threw the covers back and stomped to the door, knowing he had to be close in order to ping it. I snatched it open and Aaron quite literally tumbled inside, head first as if he’d had his ear pressed against the wood. His phone went skidding across the floor as the small tote bag he was carrying broke his fall.
“Shit,” he mumbled, quickly rebounding to his feet.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I snarled, backing him into the hallway.
I flinched when a pair of red-rimmed eyes met mine. God, he looked rough. Disheveled hair, wrinkled shirt. Though I probably didn’t look much better.
“I, uh…” His voice was thick and filled with anxiety. “I’m freaking out, Remi. I know I shouldn’t have come. Bowen made us all swear to give you space, but I feel like I’m about to peel out of my skin here. You can be mad, or scream at me, or even punch me if you want. But please, I’m begging you, just don’t shut me out. Not again. I can’t handle it.”
To be honest, punching him didn’t sound half bad. It only would’ve made me feel guilty though. Aaron had always been a gentle soul, and as my best friend, traitor or not, I softened knowing he was hurting.
I crossed my arms over my chest. “You have a lot of nerve showing up here right now, begging me for anything.”