Call me Lucy: An Enemies to Lovers romance

by Rania Battany

  I shook my head adamantly. ‘Trust me. She’s not.’

  ‘Either way, I can’t let her go. God only knows where she’ll end up.’ She gazed up at me, her eyes burdened, and her shoulders slumped. ‘Please. Please, watch over her for me.’

  The desperate edge in her tone made my chest pinch. I knew how much guilt she carried over Jade, and as much as I wanted to, I couldn’t say no. Not after everything she’d done for me—was still doing for me. Instead, I clenched my free hand into a tight fist, took a breath, and released it. Then … I nodded.

  Relief washed over her, and she gave me a hesitant smile. As I stepped away to open the bedroom door, she grabbed hold of my arm and stopped me.

  ‘Do me a favor, Billy. Don’t get the way you get with her. She’s been through enough. She could use more people in her life who care about her.’

  I sucked in a breath. ‘You have six weeks to get her out of here,’ I said before shuffling away.

  She was in the same spot at the edge of the living room, standing in the same position with her shoulders curled inwards and her arms dangling loosely in front of her. Her expression hadn’t shifted. Not a single hair was out of place.

  She could’ve been a friggin’ statue.

  I scrambled to the other side of the living room as Lillian hurried out of the bedroom, beaming with a smile. ‘I’m so sorry to keep you out here on your own,’ she said to the girl.

  The girl didn’t blink, nor did she speak, and we slipped into another deafening, God-awful silence. I squeezed my fingers around my crutch. What the hell had I agreed to? This girl was a damn mute.

  Lillian inhaled an over-excitable breath and clapped her hands, easing the tension. ‘Oh, that’s right!’ she squealed, looking at the girl. ‘I have something in my car for you. Just give me a sec.’

  The girl nodded—I was relieved to see her move—and Lillian darted outside, leaving me alone with my new roommate.

  She looked across the room and fixed her blank expression on me. ‘I’m not going to kill you in your sleep.’

  I curled my fingers harder around my crutch. ‘You heard me.’

  She still didn’t move—not even a twitch. ‘Of course I heard you. You walked into another room, not another dimension.’

  Smart ass.

  ‘Could you hear Lillian?’

  She kept her gaze locked with mine and spoke in a whisper, speaking like she was afraid of being heard. ‘No. Lillian obviously didn’t want me to hear her. And you won’t need to wait six weeks. I don’t need you to babysit me. As soon as Lillian leaves, I will too. I can take care of myself.’

  I blurted out a laugh. ‘I doubt that.’

  Her chest rose suddenly and fell rapidly, over and over, the rhythm irregular. And despite her quivering lips, her tone hardened.

  ‘Like I said, I can take care of myself. I don’t need your help. I don’t need anybody’s help.’

  We stared at each other, my expression as stiff as my body felt. Her lips tightened into a thin line, and the quivering stopped, but her cheeks flushed soft pink. Sadness flickered in her eyes, lasting no more than a fraction of a second, and my asshole radar kicked into gear.

  ‘What’s your name?’ I asked.

  She peered at me like I was an idiot.

  I rubbed my forehead. ‘Forget that. What would you like to be called?’

  She narrowed her eyes at me. ‘What difference will it make? I’m not staying.’

  I processed her words. If I let her go, Lillian would kill me.

  I forced out a breath and hoped it loosened my stance. This girl’s fierce independence reminded me of my own, and I knew there was only one thing I could say to stop her from leaving.

  ‘You’re right,’ I said. ‘You will be able to take care of yourself.’

  She didn’t blink, only stared. That was going to take some getting used to.

  ‘So,’ I repeated, ‘what would you like me to call you?’

  She didn’t miss a beat. ‘Maggie.’

  I shook my head. ‘No, you don’t look like a Maggie.’

  Her expression didn’t shift, and she continued, without argument. ‘Lucy.’

  What was she doing, spitting names out so quickly? I contemplated her suggestion for a moment, then nodded. ‘Okay, Lucy it is.’

  Lillian coughed, and I jerked back; I hadn’t heard her come in. She stood at the front door, clutching a brown duffle bag, her eyes wide and accusing, and her lips tight. I saw her burning to say something to me. Instead, she swallowed whatever it was and walked to Lucy.

  ‘Sorry I took so long. I had to take a phone call.’

  She offered Lucy one of her warm, reassuring smiles, and it reminded me why she was so good at her job. Empathy was second nature to Lillian. Just like Mum.

  Lil gestured with her head toward the master bedroom. ‘Would you mind waiting for me in the bedroom?’ she asked Lucy. ‘I need to speak with Billy one last time.’

  I cringed. What the hell did Lillian want now?

  Lucy walked into the bedroom as Lillian strode toward me, the disappointment in her eyes unmistakable.

  ‘What are you doing, giving her a name?’ she snapped.

  I shrugged. ‘What did you expect? She’s living with me for God knows how long. What am I supposed to do? Refer to her as, “Hey, you” the entire time?’

  ‘Billy, you can’t just give her another name. That’ll confuse her further and will probably slow her recovery.’

  I wasn’t backing down on this one.

  Fixing a resolute look squarely at Lillian, I shook my head. ‘You want her to stay—I’m going to call her Lucy.’

  She expelled a frustrated sigh. ‘You’re impossible. You know that?’

  Yeah. I knew that.

  4

  Her

  Lillian shut the bedroom door and placed the duffle bag on the bed. ‘You ran out of the hospital so quickly I didn’t have time to collect all of your things.’

  She said that as if it was her fault.

  I didn’t reply. My voice was lost somewhere between fear, confusion, and anger; the reality of my situation left me speechless. Relying on Lillian seemed bad enough, but having to rely on her brother was something else entirely.

  Of all the people to be stuck with.

  As if reading my mind, Lillian released an apologetic sigh. ‘I’m sorry about Billy. He’s been a little touchy these past few months, but I’m sure he’ll adjust soon.’

  Not wanting to seem rude, I forced a thin smile.

  I stared around the room. It was very … pretty. Floral bed linen, an elegant lamp with an ornate wrought-iron base and decorative curtains. It was a hell of a lot better than the hospital, but a little too pretty for my liking.

  Not that I was complaining.

  ‘Why doesn’t Billy sleep in this bedroom? If he lives alone, you’d think he’d take the master?’

  Again, I’d asked something trivial, bypassing the big questions that made my heart skip.

  She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. He has his reasons, and they make sense to him. He sleeps in the bedroom across from the living room, and he uses the main bathroom. So this private ensuite is yours.’

  Lillian’s generosity set off a jumble of emotions inside me, and I gazed at the ground, feeling so unworthy. My shoulders sank inwards.

  It was no one’s job but mine to take care of me.

  I forced my head up. ‘Thank you.’

  She offered the kind of smile that lit up her already beautiful face. ‘Now, I’ll need to make several appointments at the hospital. You’ll need to have a CT scan and a neurological examination. Plus, there are cognitive tests the doctors need to perform to evaluate your short and long-term memory. About your heart, I’m going to make an appointment with the cardiologist and request it as urgent.’

  She stopped to take a breath, then continued. ‘I just want you to know I’m doing everything I can,’ she said warmly. ‘I’m working with the hospital and the police. We’ll fi
gure out who you are, and we’ll get you home.’

  Her words were as soothing as a glass of warm milk and as sobering as a punch to the face. I was so reliant on her help. On his help. But worse, I was starting to accept that I probably didn’t have a home. Three weeks had passed, and not one person had been looking for me—not one. What would happen if I found out who I was only to discover that I mattered to nobody?

  What was the point in fixing everything broken in me?

  Who was I fixing it for?

  ‘Please don’t waste your time on all these appointments,’ I whispered. ‘I’ll sort it all out once I get my memory back.’

  Her mouth gaped. ‘I really don’t think that’s a good idea. If you let me—’

  ‘Please,’ I cut in, ‘it’s fine. I’ll sort it out.’

  Her reluctance radiated in waves, and I saw the effort it took for her to leave the subject alone. But she didn’t push it, and I was grateful for that.

  I was also exhausted.

  Rubbing my eyes, I dropped onto the bed. ‘I might just have a nap if that’s okay?’

  I didn’t really want to sleep. I just wanted to be alone.

  ‘Of course, you must be exhausted. We can chat about your appointments another time. I’ll head off now and let you rest, and I’ll pop in to see you every day.’ She paused for a moment, then offered a reassuring smile. ‘I know how Billy seems, but he’ll take care of you. He’s good like that.’

  I mentally cringed.

  Lillian left, clicking the door shut behind her. The weight of the silence crushed in on me. Two minutes ago, I was desperate to be on my own, but now I was petrified of being alone.

  I stared at myself in the full-length mirror on my closet door. My hair was jet black. Jet. Fucking. Black.

  Streaks of blond regrowth feathered down the center part. Why had I gone from blond to black? I wished I could remember the thought process that had led to such a stupid decision. From my one-centimeter regrowth line, I gathered I must have colored my hair right before the accident.

  The accident.

  Hit by a drugged driver.

  Brain injury.

  I shook away my thoughts. I wasn’t prepared to think about that yet.

  I pulled off my pink t-shirt and purple sweatpants, studying myself like an onlooker observing a stranger from a distance. My hip bones protruded from my plain black underwear, my skin the color of talcum powder. I unclipped my bra, allowing it to fall to the ground, and cupped my boobs. My pink nipples perked against my palms. My boobs were an exact handful—nothing to sing about. Nothing like Lillian’s generous breasts.

  I pulled off my undies, and my mouth dropped open. Through my dotted black pubic hair, I saw it—a tattoo. I had a tattoo on my vagina. On my vagina!

  Holy crap, that would’ve hurt.

  Swirls of black-and-red ink twirled in intricate lines right above my pubic bone. I slipped my fingers down my stomach toward the tattoo. My pubic hair had recently been shaved, though I didn’t remember doing it, allowing me to see the pattern clearly enough. I traced my index finger around the tattoo, and it stirred a warm sensation between my legs. Tingles pulsated through me, and I slipped my hand further down, feeling the lightest throbbing against my fingers.

  I knew what coming felt like. And I knew that I liked it.

  It was funny—how all my memories of who I was were gone, and yet there were some things I just knew. Knowing an orgasm felt good was one of those things.

  I never did go to sleep when Lillian left. Lying on the bed, I’d stared at the ceiling until I finally found the courage to look at myself. And now that I had, I wasn’t overly impressed. I was a skinny, pale blond-haired girl that had, for some stupid reason, decided to go black. And I had a tattoo above my vagina.

  I had more questions about myself now than I did before I had taken off my clothes.

  I couldn’t stand the thought of putting the purple sweatpants and pink t-shirt back on. Rummaging through the bag Lillian had left for me, I pleaded with the universe for something less garish and a lot more black. Instead, I found much of the same, plus an assortment of toiletries—shampoo, tampons, pads, shavers, body wash, some basic makeup, toothpaste, and a toothbrush.

  Something at the bottom of the bag caught my attention, sending excitement and apprehension bubbling through me. I reached in, smiling as I pulled out a drawing pad and a pack of twelve graphic pencils.

  How did Lillian know I could draw?

  How did I know I could draw?

  I flicked through the pad, seeing loosely sketched images of my hospital room, a man I didn’t recognize, and … Lillian. So many drawings of Lillian. They weren’t my best effort; the contrast between light and shadow was wrong on most of the images.

  I stared at everything Lillian had given me, all the toiletries, makeup, and drawing tools. She had thought of everything.

  Billy didn’t deserve a sister like her.

  Ugh. Billy. The thought of him made my stomach squirm.

  Outside this bedroom, he was in the house, doing something. I didn’t know how long I’d been alone in the room, avoiding walking out there, avoiding him. It had been hours, most likely, because my stomach was starting to rumble like an old man snoring. I could do with some buttered toast, but that would mean walking out of this room and possibly being alone with him in another room. And that thought made me nauseous.

  And yet, I knew my choices. Eat or starve.

  With a grunt, I slipped my hideous clothes back on and crept to the bedroom door. The tiny apartment was open plan, and the moment I walked out of the room, Billy looked up from the sofa. His piercing brown eyes penetrated mine, and I needed to swallow. He appeared not much younger than Lillian, perhaps around twenty-five, and his skin was darker than hers, a shade above dark tan. His unstyled hair was as brown as his eyes. His chiseled jaw made his face nowhere near as warm as his sister’s, but his lashes were every bit as long. He was beautiful. And if I cared to admit it, he had the perfect face to draw.

  ‘Good timing. I heated enough dinner for you.’ He didn’t say it kindly. He said it through clenched teeth as if it pained him to have to feed me, and I suddenly remembered that he hated me.

  As if I’d eat anything he dished up with an invitation like that.

  ‘I’m not hungry,’ I lied.

  The TV offered relief from our extended silence. Billy wouldn’t look away, and his stare sent an unwelcome shiver up my spine. I refused to back down, to let him win whatever staring game we had started.

  Finally, he jerked up from the sofa and reached for his crutch. He wore a black brace on his left leg, which went from his knee to his ankle and across his foot. His bicep flexed and tightened underneath his t-shirt with every step he took toward the kitchen. Lucky for him, his arms looked muscular enough to support his solid frame.

  I didn’t move, but my gaze followed his every step. In the kitchen, he took out two plates from the cupboard, then pulled a container from the microwave. A scent like no other swept across the apartment, intensifying the hunger I was trying to ignore. He peered at me from across the kitchen bench, his eyes like bullets piercing through me with every look. It unnerved me, and I wanted to run into the bedroom and slam the door shut. But I didn’t. I couldn’t.

  ‘What the hell are you wearing?’ he asked.

  Something unimaginably hideous and embarrassing.

  I shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Lillian said it was donated.’

  His gaze lingered a fraction too long before he returned his attention to the food and used a spoon to serve unequal portions onto the two plates. I watched with anticipation, wondering how he’d manage to transport the plates to the table and use his crutch. Despite his rudeness, I wanted to offer a hand and carry them for him. But I didn’t imagine he’d be the sort of person to accept my help even if I offered.

  As it turned out, he didn’t need my help anyway.

  Sliding both plates to the edge of the bench, Billy bounced his way a
round the kitchen until he was standing on the other side, beside the dining table. Resting his hip against the counter, he clutched the plate with the smaller portion, then swiveled on his good foot, dropped the plate onto the table, and pushed it to the other end.

  Watching him repeat that process was painful.

  We sat at the table in silence. I stared at my plate, taking in the sheer awkwardness of sharing a meal with him as I inhaled the aroma of blended spices. The dish appeared to be homemade sausage-shaped meat in a rich tomato sauce, served on rice and potatoes. I was sure I’d never had anything like it before.

  His phone rang, and he answered it. I figured he didn’t mind taking the phone call in front of me since the only words I understood were, “Hey, Mum,” and “No.” The rest of the conversation was spoken in a language I didn’t understand.

  He got off the call, and silence consumed us—again.

  ‘That was your mum?’ I asked.

  The quiet was killing me.

  He responded with a half-nod and mumbled, ‘Yep.’

  ‘It’s nice of your mum to call.’

  He stared at me from between his long, dark lashes but didn’t bother to reply.

  I poked the meat around with my fork. ‘Why do you only use one crutch? Wouldn’t it be easier with two?’

  He shrugged. ‘I can bear some weight on my leg. I don’t need two crutches.’

  ‘How long ago did you hurt it?’

  Billy shoveled forkfuls of food into his mouth, his head down, his fork clinking against his plate. ‘Five months.’

  I picked off a tiny piece of meat and studied it with narrowed eyes. ‘That’s a long time to still be in a brace, isn’t it? What happened to your leg?’

  ‘I don’t wanna talk about it.’

  That conversation went well.

  Cautiously, I placed the fork in my mouth and nibbled the meat. Flavor exploded with every chew. That was a surprise.

  ‘Did you cook this?’ I asked, not wanting to sound impressed, even though I was.

  He didn’t look up from his plate. ‘My mum cooked it. Lillian dropped it off this morning.’

  My tone rose with surprise. ‘You get your mum to cook your meals and your sister to drop them off to you?’