by Stella Noir
He hesitates, not saying a word for a moment and it hurts even more. I don’t know what I thought - that he would jump back into a relationship, not knowing a thing about me? I told him so much heavy stuff last night it’s a wonder he didn’t disappear into the night once again.
“I want to make this right,” he finally admits. “I want to make you feel … the way I should.”
I look up into his steel eyes, which have some warmth in them today. But behind them, the confusion is there, too. And darkness … So much darkness it scares me to look, fearing I’ll get lost in the depths and stories his eyes are telling me.
“I understand,” I say weakly, though I really wish I didn’t. I wish I could be selfish, demand for him to love me like he used to.
But deep down, I love him too much to make that kind of wish.
And I also know this is karma.
I betrayed Matthew.
He loved me, and I slept with Dylan so soon after his death … Plus, I never really stopped loving him, no matter what happened.
Some people never experience love. I’ve had two that could both shape my life in a completely different way. Yet one is gone, never to be seen again … and the other - he has no idea who I am.
All of a sudden, Dylan pulls me to my feet and off the kitchen stool I’ve been sitting on. My eyes widen in shock as he pulls me closer, clutching me tightly as if he’s scared I’ll slip away.
He really doesn’t remember a thing, I realize. Because if he would, he would know I would never leave his side … never again.
“Dylan,” I whisper softly.
“Shh,” he whispers, our faces so close it scares me for hoping for too much. “I just want to try one thing …”
And with that, he lowers his lips to mine ever so slowly, until our mouths crash together. But that isn’t the right word … We’re just barely touching.
But it is like a crash for my body, because all the blood in it suddenly rushes into my head and I go weak at the knees when our bodies connect. And then I get even weaker as he presses his lips even closer, kissing me.
It’s an innocent kiss, full of questions and doubts. But it means so fucking much to me … He’s the world, and his lips are my anchor, and it’s so much and too soon and too late at the same time.
I melt into his embrace and I let him kiss me, take me in his arms, claim me for one last time.
Then he moves away and the spell is broken instantly.
“Sorry,” he breathes heavily.
I look away, feeling embarrassed and like I all but forced him to do this.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “I know it’s too soon … We shouldn’t be doing this-”
Before I can go on, he steps closer to me once again and grabs my arms by the wrists. My heart starts pounding in my chest, and I raise my eyes to meet his ever so slowly.
“We shouldn’t,” he agrees with me, and my heart drops. “But …”
And that makes it soar all over again…
“But it made me feel …”
He presses my palm to his chest and I feel the beat of his heart, erratic, loud, asking me to make him feel like that all over again.
“And here …”
He moves my hand downward, to his belly. I can feel his rock hard muscles through his shirt and I feel butterflies fluttering in the pit of my stomach.
“But also, here.”
Finally, more hesitantly, he moves my palm even lower, lower … lower still, until we’re on his jeans, my hand cupping his hardness over his zipper, his fingers helping me do so.
I gasp lightly and my eyes travel upwards to meet his, looking at him, my gaze full of questions I don’t expect answers to.
He’s rock hard, his cock stiff from our kiss.
So now I have proof - even though he doesn’t remember me, his body does.
And it’s my job to make his mind do the same.
Chapter 46
We eat our breakfast after that, smiling shyly at each other.
My heart is still beating like crazy, just thinking of the moment we shared together, and aching for more of Dylan. I realize only now how much I really need him, want him … love him.
I realize my heart beats for him now.
“Good?” he asks me in the middle of our meal, and I nod with a happy smile.
It feels good to sit with him here, pretending like everything is normal and perfect … too good, actually. And I should’ve learned to trust my instincts a long time ago.
So I should see what happens next coming a long time ago.
Because I know life just isn’t perfect … There are bumps and there are problems, and everytime I let out a heavy sigh of relief, another thing comes at me.
This time, it’s in the shape of my phone ringing shrilly.
I smile apologetically at Dylan and reach for my cell which is lying forgotten on the counter. A look at the number reveals Detective Andrews as the caller, which I’m none too thrilled about. I frown at my phone.
“Something the matter?” Dylan asks me and I’m quick to shake my head, not wanting to worry him further.
“Nothing for you to worry about,” I say with a shaky smile, then finally answer the call. “Hello?”
“Lola, hi,” his voice comes over the line, making me uncomfortable immediately.
“I’ve asked you to call me Mrs. Roberts a few times now,” I reply, my tone icy.
But he chooses to completely ignore what I’ve just said, which annoys me to no end.
“Are you alone at the present moment?” he asks me, his voice almost strict, like a parent’s.
“I am not,” I reply, equally formal.
“I need you to listen to me carefully, Lola,” he says, and I roll my eyes at his informal use of my name. “You are with Dylan Rawlings?”
“I am,” I answer.
“You need to be very careful,” he says, the shrill tone in his voice even more present now. “I have spoken to the doctors at the hospital, as well as the police officer who found him after he escaped from there.”
“Okay, so what?” I ask impatiently, my eyes finding Dylan who is staring at me questioningly. I give him a reassuring smile, barely listening to what Andrews is saying.
But as I tune back in to his words, I realize I better listen to what he has to say.
“I thought it a little strange, the way he just agreed to go back to your place,” he begins. “The man shouldn’t remember a thing about you, or at least so he says. So I have no idea what exactly happened, but the officer who found him explained something worrying.”
I furrow my brows. “And what exactly was that?” Andrews is quiet for a moment, and my heart actually skips a beat with worry. “Lola, when they found him, he was in your house,” he admits reluctantly. “You were in the hospital, but he somehow got inside … Which would only be possible if he knew the code to your alarm.”
“I gave it to him … weeks ago …” I mumble, pondering this new information.
“Exactly,” Andrews says darkly. “So how was he supposed to remember it, if he indeed lost his memory?”
There’s a dramatic pause and I look at Dylan with shock, but he just gives me a sweet smile, like he always does.
“Oh,” I say lamely.
“Yes,” Andrews replies, and I hate his triumphant tone. “And another thing … The officer found him in your bedroom, going through your drawers. As if he was searching for something.”
“I have no idea what that could be,” I reply truthfully.
“Neither do we,” admits Andrews. “But there’s something wrong with his story, and we’ll be looking into it as soon as we can.”
“Okay,” I reply shakily. “I’ll be waiting for … more information.”
Andrews cuts the line and I look at my phone with wonder, realizing what this all means. Dylan claims he lost his memory, yet he came into my house … He searched my drawers. He was looking for something. And he lied to my
face.
“Everything okay?” he asks now, and I quickly look up to his face.
And this time, I don’t see the man I love … I see someone sinister, someone I’m afraid of.
“Sure,” I reply, afraid the fake cheerfulness is obvious in my tone. “Everything is perfect. it’s just the hospital checking up on you.”
Is it just me or does his expression darken for a moment?
Chapter 47
I have some errands to run, but after Andrews’ confession I feel a little strange leaving Dylan alone in my apartment. Finally, I hesitantly offer him to come with me to go shopping.
He agrees, and I’m not sure whether I’m happy about it or scared about the prospect of what else he might be hiding from me.
We spend an awkward day together as I make runs to the bank and get my nails done. When I go into the salon to have my monthly beauty routine over and done with, he says he’ll wander around town for a little while, and I find myself nodding hesitantly. But the whole time, I’m wondering what he will actually be doing.
I’m sitting on the chair, a bunch of tinfoil in my hair, when my phone rings again. And once more, Andrews’ number flashes on my phone again. Annoyed, I answer it, barking a hello down the line.
“I’m afraid I’ve got some more bad news,” he begins, and I’m already rolling my eyes. “What else is new?” I ask sarcastically.
“No need to be short with me,” he says, actually having the audacity to sound offended. I’m about to fight him further, but he starts speaking immediately, so I shut up and listen to what he has to say.
“You know Venetia?” he asks me.
“Oh, let me see,” I say angrily. “Dylan’s sister, woman who tried to kill me and whom you ignored as the suspect being the incompetent doofus that you are?”
There’s a brief pause down the line and I can just picture him staring at his cell in horror. I cannot imagine ever liking this man - he annoys me to no end now.
“I think I remember her, yes,” I finally finish, my tone cold as ice.
“Well,” he replies sheepishly, and I already know whatever follows won’t be good. “It turns out she escaped from her cell.”
“What the hell do you mean?” I ask angrily, my heart starting to beat erratically in my chest. “How could she escape? When did this happen?”
“We aren’t too sure,” he admits, the shame obvious in his voice. “It happened three days ago.”
I swallow the lump in my throat and count to three. “Are you telling me,” I begin as calmly as I can. “That the woman who tried to murder me and her brother, had escaped the same day you arrested her? And you’re telling me this two days later?”
My voice is shaking by this point, and so are my hands.
“I believe that would be correct,” Andrews replies nonchalantly as my hand forms a fist at my side. “Of course, you will receive police protection immediately until she is returned to custody. No need to worry.”
I have to take a moment to collect myself, because I’m feeling so angry at the moment I might just explode. “Are you serious right now, Andrews? Is this for-”
Before I can go on, I hear the line being cut and realize he’s turned off his phone. With a growl, I throw my cell across the room until it hits a wall with a satisfying crunching sound.
I ignore the horrified looks of the other women in the salon and instead motion for the hairdresser to take care of me so I can finally leave.
This can’t be happening …
*
I can’t very well call Dylan, since my phone is now smashed to pieces, so I wait for him in front of the salon. He comes by soon, and waves at me from across the street.
I watch him coming closer, and I can’t quite put my finger on it, but something seems … off about him.
He’s walking differently. Or maybe he’s slumping, because he doesn’t seem as tall as I know he is. And when he comes to stand next to me, there’s this glint in his eye, which makes me uncomfortable and I find myself looking for excuses to look anywhere other than his face.
I don’t whether this is due to what Andrews’ told me, but he’s definitely making me feel a little uncomfortable.
We call the driver from his phone and I thank my lucky stars I have his number memorized. After that, we finally head back home. Or maybe I should say my home … because somehow, I feel like Dylan is a little out of place there.
Love is a little strange when we come back home, I notice. She isn’t as crazy when Dylan bends down to pet her, and she actually whimpers when he tries to pick her up.
“Strange,” he says with a shrug, then changes the topic immediately, the puppy already forgotten.
As we’re putting away some groceries, I realize he’s wearing different clothes.
“Did you change?” I ask him softly, and he looks down at himself like he doesn’t even know.
Poor thing, he’s probably still feeling confused after hitting his head … And I immediately feel awful for doubting him.
And I immediately feel awful for doubting him.
“Yes,” he finally admits after a long pause, shooting me an apologetic smile. “I went to a boutique downtown and just left my old clothes there.”
I look at him doubtfully. The thing is, I’ve seen Dylan’s apartment, and the Religion jeans he’s wearing at the moment definitely don’t fit into his budget. Besides, I’m not sure how he even paid, since he doesn’t know the security code for his credit card …
I don’t mention anything though, thinking better of it as he shoots me a grin.
But I have a bad feeling in my gut that just won’t go away, and as I exchange glances with my puppy, I can sense her discomfort, too.
Something is up here and I have no idea what it is. But I’m determined to bring Dylan back, no matter what it takes.
We finally arrive back at my place, and there’s a bunch of mail waiting for me on the kitchen table. I start digging through the pile absent-mindedly, still thinking about Dylan and the subtle, but strange changes in him.
There are some bills, invitations, some promotional material … And then an unmarked envelope.
I turn it around in my hands, wondering who sent it to me.
Finally, I rip it open and pull out a simple piece of paper.
There is something written in the middle, and my eyes widen as I make out the words.
‘TIME TO PAY, BITCH.’
There it is, in capital letters, the sentence staring me straight in the face.
My hand flutters to my chest as I stare at the letter in shock, and I can hear Dylan calling me, but it feels like it’s coming from a distance. The letter falls out of my hand and I can hear myself gasping, but before I can react further, I feel the darkness taking over.
This time I don’t go under though, as Dylan immediately grabs me and patiently talks to me, preventing me from losing consciousness.
I motion for the letter with a weak hand and he grabs it from the table, still supporting me with one hand.
He reads the writing on the piece of paper and his eyes widen as he takes in the warning message.
“Who left you this?” he asks sternly, and I don’t have to think too hard before I respond.
“It must’ve been Venetia,” I admit weakly. “The detective … Andrews called me today. She escaped the night they took her into police custody.”
I expect him to be confused, but a resolved look appears on his face as he lets go of me, pacing the room, the letter still clutched in his hand.
“We have to tell the police about this,” he says sternly.
I nod slowly, realizing that the letter did not hold a stamp.
Which means someone delivered it here … Someone was on my property.
I imagine Venetia creeping around the grounds and I shudder with the mere thought of her being near me. I know she means me harm, and she will stop at nothing to hurt me.
Dylan boils me a cup of tea and tries to calm me down, but I’m stil
l shaking as he calls the police.
Then, something comes over me.
“Dylan,” I ask softly, and he immediately looks over at me, disconnecting the call.
“Yes?” he asks patiently.
I gulp at the lump in my throat, finally admitting what I’ve wanted to ask him since yesterday when we first got home from the hospital. “Would you mind … would you mind if we slept in the same room tonight?”
He looks shocked for a moment, but then a smile appears on his face. And as reassuring as that sounds, there it is again … That sinister feeling I get whenever he grins like that.
What the hell is going on with me? I think angrily. This is Dylan, for God’s sake. He always had my best interest at heart.
“Of course, Lola,” he finally replies, and I reward him with a thankful smile.
But why do I feel scared, then?
Chapter 48
The evening comes all too soon, and then, nightfall. I excuse myself to get ready for bed and take some extra time getting ready. I take a long, hot bath, soaking myself in bubbles from some expensive bubble bath. I rub lotion all over my body and remove my makeup.
I do everything to prolong the process of getting ready, realizing I’m actually dreading sleeping in the same room as Dylan.
Why is that? Only a few days ago, I would have trusted him with my life.
Finally, I can’t delay it any longer. I slip into a silk camisole and wrap a warm fuzzy robe around myself, emerging from the guest bath into the bedroom.
I’m just in time to see Dylan’s bare back as he strips off his T-shirt.
And as soon as I do, a gasp escapes my lips.
“Dylan!” I let out a distressed cry.
“What the hell happened to you?” I wonder out loud next, immediately rushing towards him, my hands trembling as I reach for his exposed back.
Because his skin is covered with long, puckering scars.
They look like snakes, eating up his body.
And I realize I didn’t notice these before - not when we were teenagers, not when we made love such a short while ago.