by Beck, J. L.
There’s a gnawing in my gut, something that tells me if I look deep inside myself, I won’t like the person I find, the person I was before the accident. I don’t want to be her...I don’t want to do whatever my father had me doing.
“I don’t care what his reasonings are, that’s not me. That can’t be. I don’t want to hurt people, deserving or not.” Matt scrubs a hand down his face and lets out a frustrated sigh.
“The damage is already done, Princess. Sullivan Bishop has been out for revenge for a long time, so don’t be surprised if he comes for you next.”
“What does that mean?” I ask because I don’t understand. I don’t understand anything, and the frustration over it grows inside me the roots sinking deeper and deeper. It’s like everyone is speaking in tongues, a language I used to know but no longer understand.
Matt gets up from the bench and walks toward me, he stops a foot away, leaving just enough space between our bodies, so I don’t feel suffocated by his presence. Still, his body towers over mine, and I don’t like it. I don’t like the fragileness I feel. There’s a sweetness to his scent, and it tickles my nostrils. His fingers lift my chin up, forcing me to look into his eyes as he speaks.
“It means if he or his brothers fuck with you, there will be consequences. Your father just got you back, and I doubt he’s going to let anything happen to you again.”
When he releases me, I feel compelled to ask him what he means about my father getting me back? Is he referring to the accident? Or is he referring to something else? Matt doesn’t give me a chance to digest my thoughts fully before he takes hold of my hand, tugging me back the way we came.
“It’s time for the Princess to go to bed.”
“I’m an adult you know, not six-years-old, and I’m not a princess, stop calling me that,” I growl under my breath as he leads me back into the house.
He stops once we reach the grand staircase, a tight-lipped smile on his lips, “You might be an adult, but you’re fragile, like the most beautiful piece of sea glass, and right now you need your rest. You are still recovering, and if you don’t take care of yourself, you will never fully recover and come to remember the life you lived.”
I guess I can’t argue with him there. I’ve been exhausted, my headaches have been more constant than normal. It’s like my memories are trying to come back, pushing against the barrier my brain has put up. I want to remember, no, I need to remember. I need all the missing puzzle pieces so I can figure out what the hell is going on.
“I want to kiss you, Harlow,” he murmurs, and before I can object, he’s leaning in, cupping me gently by the back of the head, his fingers threading through my hair. His lips descend brushing against mine in the faintest way, but it’s still enough to send an electrical shock through my body that sparks something inside my brain.
A memory, a thought… the barrier separating the two spaces, my past, and my present, cracks a little and I push through the crack grabbing onto the thought with two hands, letting it drag me into the darkness.
“Okay.... A kiss… A kiss would be okay, I mean,” I whisper right before he brushes a strand of hair from my face. His thumb brushing against my cheek leaving my skin tingling beneath his touch. He leans in, eyes open wide, as if he doesn’t want to miss the chance to see my face when our lips touch.
Then our lips touch, pressing together and my eyes close on their own. Tingles of warmth ripple through me. Everything around us fades out as if we are the only two people in the world. All I feel are his soft, full lips against mine. The kiss is gentle, heart-warming, and I lean into him while our lips melt into each other.
I give myself this one second to forget everything, the reason I am here and the reason I should hate him. Butterflies flutter around inside my stomach igniting a deep tremble in my core. A warmth seeps into my bones, melting me like an ice cream cone sitting in the afternoon sun.
I want to get lost in that feeling, feel nothing else beside it, but my father's voice rings in my ears right then. I need to remember what his family has done, the pain they’ve caused.
With a heavy heart and an unsteady hand, I grab the small plastic bag from my pocket and slip it into his before I pull away breaking the kiss.
Try as I might to hold onto that memory it slips between my fingers like tiny bits of sand, the kiss with Matt ends as well and I’m left wondering what the hell just happened.
“I’ll see you later, and like I said...call me if you need anything.” Matt trails his thumb over my cheek, and I turn on my wedges, damn near falling on my face, as I do.
Thankfully, I catch myself against the railing and start up the stairs, all but racing toward my bedroom. By the time I reach my room, I’m panting, my chest rising and falling in such a manner, I wonder if I’m going to have an anxiety attack.
Slipping inside the room I close the door behind me and turn the lock into place. Then I slide down the door, my ass hitting the floor with a hard thud. That was definitely a memory from my past, and it was obviously with Sullivan, and it proved my biggest fear. I had hated him, but not enough to not give in to the temptation of kissing him, and if that’s not the scariest part of all of this, I don’t know what is.
If Sullivan was supposed to be an enemy, if we were fated to hate each other, if I hurt his family, and him, then why the hell were we kissing each other? And why did he find me and say he wants to help me? None of this makes sense, and as badly as I want answers, I know I won’t get any unless I dig deeper, unless I find them out for myself. Pushing up off the floor, I get ready for bed, putting my PJs on, and washing my face.
By the time my head hits the pillow, I’m partially asleep. My mind drifting to someone I shouldn’t have anything to do with.
3
Like every morning, for the last few weeks, I wake confused. It takes me a while to grab onto my bearings and make sense of anything first thing in the morning. I’m always looking around the room for something familiar…something that makes me remember this place, but it never happens.
Each day I wake up here, I feel like a visitor, a guest staying in a five-star hotel. Still in my jammies, I wander around my room, having the sudden urge to find something, anything that looks or at least feels familiar.
Walking over to my bookshelf, I let my fingers trail over the spines of the books, there are countless books, some of which I’ve read and loved, but nothing seems recognizable. Pulling the nearest book out, I search between every page, looking for something, anything, but nothing comes up. I do it with each of the books, but the outcome is the same.
Frustrated, I move to my desk and start to go through all the drawers, old notebooks, and pencil cases, but again, nothing worthy of investigation. I scour through the rest of the room meticulously, before I move on to my closet, touching every piece of clothing, every pair of shoes and accessories inside the large space. Nothing. Always nothing.
Tears prick my eyes, the frustration inside me boiling over. All I want is a thought, a memory, good or bad, it doesn’t matter. I just need something to keep me going. God, please give me something to show me that I’m not going crazy.
With my head hanging low, I exit the walk-in closet, but as I cross the threshold, I spot something out of the corner of my eye. A backpack. It’s thrown carelessly in the corner beside the door. It’s hidden in plain sight, and I wonder why I’ve never noticed it before.
Bending down, I pick up the old worn backpack. It looks nothing like the clothing and purses that adorn the hangers in my closet. It looks like… me. Urgently, I move to my bed and unzip it, pouring the contents out on my comforter.
Books, papers, folders, and loose pens fall haphazardly onto my bed. This must be my high school backpack. At first glance, nothing out of the ordinary sticks out to me, and I start to feel depressed again, but when I start to put all the contents back inside, something slips out of one of the books and lands on the floor at my feet.
My gaze darts to the rectangular laminated Student ID
card. I know it’s mine because there is a picture of me on it, and my name is printed across the top right corner, below the words: Bayshore University.
Picking it up, I inspect it further. Written next to my picture is my name, my birthday, and my Student ID number. I realize then that this isn’t my high school backpack. It’s my college one, but if I wasn’t in college, then why do I have a student ID for one? Turning, I sit down on the edge of the mattress.
Flipping the card over there is an address, phone number, and website link.
My eyes dart to the sleek cellular device sitting on my nightstand. Since coming home, I’ve looked at it a handful of times. There’s nothing on it. I’ve looked through it, it contains a few numbers, but that’s it. It’s practically brand new, and I’m doubtful it has ever been used.
Grabbing it, I decide to make a phone call to the University just to make sure that I was attending college there. My fingers shake as I dial the number, my heart beating wildly in my chest. If I was really going to school there, then why am I at home right now? Why didn’t my parents tell me?
Pushing the thoughts away for a moment, I press the green call key, and the sound of the phone ringing fills my ears.
“Bayshore University Admissions, how can I help you?” A woman greets joyfully.
“Hi, yes, I was wondering if you had a student by the name of Harlow Lockwood in attendance there?”
“Hi, and who am I speaking with?”
“Harlow Lockwood.”
“Umm,” she pauses, obviously confused.
“It’s a long story, but I can confirm my date of birth and possible student ID number if that helps any?” The click of fingers on a keyboard fills the speaker of my phone.
“That would be great. Whenever you’re ready.”
I recite the information on the card back to her, and within seconds, she confirms what I had suspected.
“Okay, Harlow, I can confirm that you were a student here. It looks like you’re still enrolled but on a leave of absence. Was there anything else that you wanted to know?”
Leave of absence?
“No, thank you.” I hang up the phone catching the beginning of her wishing me a good day, knowing damn well that won’t be happening.
My hunch was spot on, my parents have been lying to me, and have definitely been hiding stuff. The question is, why? Whatever their reasoning, it had better be good because no longer will I stand by and be made a fool of.
With my ID card in hand, I storm out of the room and down the hall heading toward my father’s study. I need some answers, and I need them now. As I get closer to the door, I notice it’s cracked open, Dad’s voice filtering from within. He’s either on the phone or talking directly to someone. Since I’m barefoot I’m able to creep closer without making a sound, at the door, I peer through the slit into the room.
From what I can see he’s alone, no one else is in the office with him. Thankfully he’s turned toward the window, his back to me.
“I told you that I would meet you tonight at the hotel…”
The person on the other line must say something because a moment later he answers with, “Yes, wait there, naked on the bed, like always, and please next time don’t call my office. Anyone could answer. I have to get back to work, I’ll see you later, baby.”
Blinking, I try to absorb what I just heard. My father is… is he having an affair? It sure sounds that way. I know I should be angry, maybe even sad, but it’s almost like I have no emotion toward it. It’s like… I don’t care. Which is strange, because I should definitely care.
Impatiently, I wait another minute before entering the room. I don’t want him to know that I heard the conversation. Shoving it to the back of my mind, I concentrate on the anger boiling in my veins over him lying to me about college. If he lied about this, then what else has he lied about?
Certain that enough time has passed, I march into the room without knocking. My father’s head snaps up from the papers he is working on at my appearance.
“Harlow?” Shock fills his features. Why is he so surprised to see me? I don’t dwell on the thought for long since there are other pressing matters.
“Why did you lie to me about college?” I bellow, getting straight to the point. Walking up to his desk, I toss the ID card at him. It slides across the polished wood, coming to a stop right in front of him. As if he had this all planned out, his lips part, and he looks up at me, shame flickering in his eyes.
“Harlow, you don’t understand. I’m trying to protect you.”
“Protect me? From what? Getting an education?”
“From being hurt. You were not safe there. Someone tried to kill you, twice!” he growls, “You’re a Lockwood, and as your father, it is my job to protect you.”
“Protect me from the truth? If there was really someone trying to kill me, then why wouldn’t you tell me? Why would you hide that information from me?”
“What do you want me to say, Harlow?” He tosses his hands into the air, frustration seeping into the space between us. “There was no way you would have healed if we had put you under more stress. I brought you home and kept things from you because I wanted to help you heal faster, and I wasn’t going to have you miles away from your family, only for someone to succeed in killing you.”
My heart sinks into my stomach, “I feel trapped here. If I was away at college, then that’s where I should be right now. That’s why I don’t remember anything…” My voice trails off, “I don’t remember anything because I wasn’t here. This place isn’t my home anymore. The doctor said I should be where I was before the accident, but I’m not.”
Something that resembles anger ignites in his gaze, “That’s a lie, and you know it. This is your home, and it will always be your home. You’ve lived here your entire life, why would you say such a thing?”
Truthfully, I don’t know, all I know is that if this place were home, if it was where I belonged, then surely, I would remember the simplest of things. As it is, I can’t even walk around the house without getting lost.
“I want to go back to college, and even if you don’t want me to, I’m still going.”
“And who do you think is going to pay for that, young lady?” he spits, and I have the sudden urge to stomp my foot. Him treating me like a child, makes me want to act like one.
“You will,” I snap back at him. “Because if you don’t, I’ll tell Mom about your affair.” Dad looks at me like I’ve just slapped him. A short silence settles between us, and I can see the uncertainty in his eyes, he’s trying to figure out what to say next.
“How did you find out about that?” he finally says, his voice oddly calm.
“I just heard you on the phone before I came in.” I don’t see the point in lying to him, I’ve got leverage now, and I’m going to use it.
“It’s not what you think…” He starts, but I interject.
“I don’t care who you’re with, or what you’re doing. All I want is to go back to Bayshore. I don’t belong here.”
“You do, but I wasn’t lying about being worried about you. Someone is trying to hurt you, and I can’t protect you from here. So, if you must go, then I’ll be sending two of my men with you.”
“Two men?” I’m bewildered, and I’m sure my face shows it. “What? Like as bodyguards?”
“Yes, exactly like that. You must think I’m stupid if you think I’m sending you there unprotected.”
Annoyed and thoroughly done with the conversation, I roll my eyes, “Fine, send who you want, as long as they stay out of my way.” I spin around and head for the door when he calls after me, making me stop midstep.
“Harlow, like any family, we have had some disagreements in the past. We are not perfect, but you must believe me when I say, I truly care about you and I don’t want anything to happen to you.” The sincerity in his voice is unmistakable, but still, I can’t fully forgive him for lying to me. If he’s lied once, he’s most likely lied before.
I
stare at him, feeling an ocean of space between us. “You don’t lie to the people you care about,” I say, and walk out of his office without looking back. When I close the door behind me, I smile, because for the first time since I came here, I feel like I might just have a grasp on my life.
4
With my worn-out backpack slung over my shoulder, I walk across campus for the first time. Well, the first time that I can remember. I’m not sure if it’s me or the two bulky guys following me that has everybody looking my way curiously. Either way, I feel a little like a walking sideshow with everybody gawking at me like this.
I try to ignore all eyes on me as I walk into the classroom. Thankfully, my two goons, Ernie and Bert, as I like to call them, wait outside the door. I take a seat all the way in the back and get out my textbook. It’s in the middle of the semester, and I have no chance of passing this or any other class, but that’s not why I’m here.
Flipping through my textbook, I’m waiting for the professor to start class when someone clears their throat in front of me getting my attention. I look up from my book, and for a second, I think I’m looking into Sullivan Bishop’s eyes… but I blink and realize it’s not him.
It’s just someone who looks a lot like him, same russet brown hair, the same shade of blue eyes, and even something about his soft smile is familiar.
The similarities between the two are startling.
“Harlow,” my name falls from his lips as if he’s said it a million times before. “We were really worried about you,” he continues, taking the seat beside me.
“Do I know you?”
He nods, his smile widening, “I’m Banks,” he introduces himself, extending his hand out to me.
“I’m Harlow, but I guess you already know that.” I lift my arm, reaching out to shake his hand. The moment we touch it feels like a lightning bolt shoots through my body and straight to my brain…
“Shh, Princess. We didn’t say you could speak. Keep your mouth shut, otherwise, we’ll find a better use for it...” Clear as day, Banks’ voice rings in my ears. Another snippet of a memory starts invading my mind. My back pressed into his chest as he whispers the threat into the shell of my ear. Panic rises up inside of me like a volcano, and I push the memory away. I don’t want to remember this.