by Tia Siren
"You mean breaking and entering?" I shot back, trying my best to ignore him as I did my best to pry open the front door without it looking like it had been opened. I had never broken into anything before, and it was a lot harder than the movies had made it seem.
"Well, there's that. Plus, the fact that it's your girlfriend’s place. So, we'll add an ethical conundrum onto the list, too. How about that?"
"You're supposed to be keeping a lookout. That's why I brought you. If I wanted my ear talked off, I would have, well, I don't know what I would have done. But it wouldn't have involved asking you along."
"All right, all right," he said. "Just double checking that you want to do this. Someone has to be the calm voice of reason."
"Like I said, I don't want to do this. I have to do this. It's the last thing that threatens to bring my world crashing down, and I have to take care of it before it's too late–ah, there you go!"
I felt a light click coming from the door lock, and a second later, the door slowly inched open. Unlocked and open.
I waved Clint in, who casually strolled through the door and into Kate's apartment. I was right behind him, closing and locking the door behind us.
"Okay,” I said. “You know what to do." He did, and so we began.
The last week with Kate had been going perfectly. Our last fight was the incident with Danny, and since then, we had both fallen into a rhythm that defied explanation.
That day we spent in bed together was probably the best day of my entire life, and by the end, I came out knowing more about her than I had when we were dating. And what was amazing, too, was how much I was willing to tell her.
I was usually very closed off when it came to my personal life and my work, in particular. That was actually one of the things that led to our original break up. It was my inability to tell her how I was feeling that resulted in me ending it so suddenly and abruptly. But that was in the past. I was living in the present, and the present was wonderful.
There was only one, very small problem. Well, there was the obvious larger problem of her remembering everything. But I tried not to think of that. I liked to worry about things that I actually had some control over, and last night, as I lay in bed, one hounding problem suddenly reared its head.
About two weeks ago, when I had first started seeing Kate, she mentioned that she had stumbled upon her old journals and that in them, I was mentioned. I didn't even know that she kept journals, but it only made sense that I featured in them. I was, after all, a very big part of her life once upon a time.
Now, at that point, when she first told me about them, I had bigger things to worry about, and as such, they faded from my memory and were all but forgotten. That was until last night anyway, when she brought them up again. She mentioned that she might like to start writing in a journal again and documenting her thoughts. It would be fascinating for when her memory came back, and she could compare new thoughts with old ones.
I couldn't argue with that point. It would be rather interesting. I also couldn't help but see the glaring problem with her plan. She would most likely go back and read her old journals while writing her new ones. There was every chance that my name in full was written down somewhere, and if she came across that, well the jig was up.
On the one hand, a part of me wanted her to find out. I hated lying to her. I hated it. Every time that my past came up, or even hers, I felt a stab of pain in my stomach, like my gut was literally being torn out. It pained me to put her in that position, and each time it happened, it was on the tip of my tongue to tell her.
But then I would think about what that meant and how she would react. I just needed more time. We had been seeing each other for about two weeks, and I was certain that we were close to where I wanted to be. I just needed one or two more shots of adrenaline to be pumped into our relationship. That way, when she did find out, she would love me too much to just drop me. Sure, it was going to be hard to come back from that, but it would be possible, and that thought, that cold and isolating thought, was all I had to hang on to.
And so that was why I was in Kate's apartment with Clint. It was early morning, and we were on our way to work. I also knew that Kate would be out running and then get her morning coffee at this time, so the apartment would be empty. It was going to be a simple job, find the journals and get out. I only needed five minutes. Five minutes and I could ensure that Kate and I were going to be together forever.
"What do they look like?" Clint asked as he fell to his knees to look under Kate's bed.
"Books, Clint. They look like books." I was rifling through her closet, doing my best to not look through her personals. The journals were the only things I wanted to find.
"Look, if you're going to be sarcastic I'll just—"
"I don't know what they look like," I snapped, closing the closet. "I assume they look like normal journals. Hand-written. That kind of thing. She implied there was more than one, so there will probably be a whole stack."
"And what are you going to do once you find these journals?" Clint asked, wandering over to the kitchen where he started looking through drawers and cupboards. The odds of them being in there were slim, but I did tell him to look everywhere.
"I don't know. Burn them. Throw them in the trash. Just so long as she doesn't see them."
"Can I ask you a serious question?"
"Sure," I said, now looking through her bookshelf. It was stacked full of classical reading, but nothing that fit the description I had mapped out in my head.
"Where do you see this going?"
"What? The journals?"
"No, not them. I mean this relationship?" Clint had all but stopped looking now. Instead, he wandered toward me, looking at me with a serious expression. "If you do find the journals, then great. You've fooled her for another day."
"I'm not trying to fool her."
"I know. Poor choice of words. What I meant was that eventually, you are going to have to tell her that you know her, that you two used to date and that you are now pretending that the whole history you two had never existed. You will, eventually, have to tell her everything. Doesn't that ever worry you? Doesn't that keep you up at night?"
For that, I stopped what I was doing and turned back to face Clint. I wanted him to be looking into my eyes so that there could be no miscommunication. "Every damn night," I said seriously.
"Okay," he said, nodding his head. "Just making sure that you have thought about it."
For the next few moments, the two of us searched the apartment in silence. I knew that he was judging me, but I didn't care. I was doing what I was doing out of love, and that was all that mattered.
The journals were eventually found by Clint. They were in the bottom drawer of her dresser, tucked away behind some knick-knacks. I had already looked in there but must have missed them.
"And the lord said, let there be journals. And there were, and he saw that they were good," Clint joked as he piled them onto the bed. There were five altogether. They were old and worn looking, like they had been opened and used over a hundred times.
I picked one up, flipping through it without reading it. Really, I had no desire to read it. I didn't want to know what she used to think of me, and besides, I was already cheating her so much, there was no way I could add to the mess I had created. But Clint didn't have that same reservation.
"Boy she was not happy with you," he said, flipping through one of the journals. "She was really not happy.”
"Hey!" I said, going to snatch the book from his hand, only for him to jump out of the way.
"Seriously. She is a great writer, though. Some of the language she uses here. Very colorful. Although slightly exaggeratory. I wouldn't say that you had horns growing out of your–woah! Come on I was kidding."
I leapt forward, snatching the book from his grasp with a snarl. "Don't read that."
"What? We can break in and steal them, but reading is where you draw the line?"
I didn't answer. In
stead, I fixed him with an icy glare that all but told him my answer. I was aware of the morals, or lack thereof, around my actions. But, as said, I was doing it for a higher purpose, and keeping that in the forefront of my mind was the only thing that kept me going.
"Come on," I began, snapping the book shut. "Let's get out of here before—"
I was cut off by the sudden sound of the door handle to the front door rattling. I froze, eyes wide as I looked from the door to Clint. He wore a look of fear on his face that I was sure matched my own, and it compounded to even greater depths as the door handle gave another rattle.
"Shit!" Clint hissed at me. "What do we do?"
My eyes darted around the apartment, looking for a way out. The only one that might have worked was the fire escape. It was old and rickety, but it was also our only bet.
Without saying a word, I rushed toward the escape, indicating for Clint to grab the books and follow. As I reached the window, I pried it open, only too aware of the sound of the lock in the key coming from the front door. I didn't look back, praying that I made it in time as I slipped through the window and onto the old fire escape.
Clint was right behind me. We didn’t even bother closing the window, instead, we all but leaped down the escape to the opposing platform just as the front door to Kate's apartment opened.
The moment I landed, I froze, grabbing Clint and holding him steady so as not to make any noise. I could hear movement coming from inside the apartment above our heads, but it sounded calm and normal. No indication that something was amiss. Letting out a deep sigh, I grabbed the journals from Clint's hand, shoved them into my coat and proceeded to climb down the escape.
I was so shaken and so relieved at our success and escape that I didn't even bother to count the journals that Clint had given me. As such, I had no way of knowing that he had handed me four books, as opposed to the five that existed.
CHAPTER 20
KATE
Was it possible for every day to get better and better? I mean, where did it stop? Although perpetual motion was supposed to be a physical improbability, I couldn't help but feel as if my life was the exception to the rule. And of course, it all came down to Liam.
Every day, he surprised me, and every day he made me glad to call him my own. He didn't surprise me with gifts or anything of that nature. He knew that those sorts of materialistic gifts didn't appeal to me, and thus, didn't bother. Instead, he surprised me with his actions.
It was him turning up and surprising me when I thought he was at work, or buying me a book that I had been talking about, or even the free coffee club card he had gotten me for Split Bean. It was the little things that continued to remind me that I had hit the jackpot.
Sometimes, I would wonder what my life was like before I had gotten amnesia, and then I would stop myself. I was actually worried that I might remember. Isn't that funny? I was scared that I might wake up one day, remember my old life, and then realize that this one I was living was all a dream. There was no way it could have been better than now, so why try and prove the fact?
Instead, I lived in the moment. When Liam was around, I showered him with my love, and he ate it up by the bucket load. And when he wasn't around, I did what he told me, and that was to sit down and write.
That day that we spent together, after our fight, he told me about the ten thousand hour theory. He said that he couldn't consider himself a good doctor until he had spent ten thousand hours on the job. Even now, he hadn't reached that mark. That was how long it took to master something. As crazy at it sounded, it also made perfect sense. But it also made me realize that I was dangerously behind my ten thousand hour mark. I endeavored to catch up as quickly as I could, and that meant putting the work in.
My life had reached a nice little routine that I was really starting to become a fan of. Every day, I would wake up and go for a brisk walk through the park. It wasn't done as a means of exercise so much as it was a means to clear my head and get my creative juices flowing.
After the walk, I liked to head to Split Bean for my coffee. Sometimes, I would have it to go, and others, I would sit in and watch the morning crowd. On this particular morning, I had chosen to take my coffee on the go. I wasn't in a rush, but I was in the mood to write, and I always found that when I was in that mood, I needed to take advantage.
So, with my coffee in hand, I hurried across the park to my apartment so I could enact the second part of my daily routine–to write. I was unemployed at the moment, but even still, I was doing okay. It turned out, I had enough in my savings account to cover my expenses for the next few months. Thank you, pre-amnesia me.
So on that front, I was fine. And Liam assured me that anything else I needed he would cover for me. But I hoped that never happened. The way I saw it, I had two months to find my voice and write something spectacular.
When I entered my apartment, I was surprised to find that the window to the fire escape was open. I didn't think I’d ever actually opened that window before. Just because the fire escape isn't exactly a romantic balcony, and the wind can get a bit chilly. No matter though. I crossed the room in a few short strides and closed it. It must have been the wind.
I was about to pull up my laptop and get started when I spotted something on my bed. On closer inspection, it was one of my journals. Usually, that wouldn't bother me, except that I hadn't so much as thought about my journals in weeks. I definitely didn't get them out of the drawer.
Picking it up, I flipped it over, as if half expecting it to tell me what it was doing on my bed. The only conclusion I could come up with was that I had thrown it there when getting something from the bottom of my dresser. Although what it was, I couldn't recall.
I sighed, giving my head a shake. Being a writer meant a lot of isolation, and perhaps that was getting to me. Sure, I saw Liam almost every day, but that was always at night. I spent a big chunk of the day alone, and clearly, it was starting to take its toll.
It was curiosity more than anything that saw me sit down and open the journal. A part of me didn't want to read it. I had no desire to open up paths into the past. I was happy in the present. But despite this, I opened and read nonetheless. It wasn't any passage in particular. Just the first that my fingers found.
He didn't even bother calling this time. Usually, he calls. Usually, he makes the effort to at least let me know that he won't be home. But lately, he's been getting worse and worse. I don't want to be that naggy, cliché girlfriend that you always read about. I've seen the movies and know where that leads to. But still, I would like just a little warning.
I told him that I was going to be making his favorite dinner tonight. Nothing fancy, spaghetti and meatballs–but with the meatballs cooked in coconut oil, just the way he likes them. I told him that, especially so that this wouldn't happen. But an hour later and he hadn't turned up. Two hours later, I called Clint to see if he was with him, and of course, he was.
"Just blowing off some steam, Kate. Just blowing off some steam?" What does that even mean? I understand that his job is tough and takes it out of him. But why doesn't he want to blow off steam with me? What's wrong with me. Okay, there I go, being that whining girlfriend again.
I've been telling myself a lot lately that it’s only a phase. And then he tells me how one day he'll open up his own practice, and we won't have to worry about the hospital anymore. And when he tells me that, I let out a sigh of relief because I want to believe it. I want to believe that he is telling me the truth. But now, I just don't know.
I'm going to give him another chance. One more. If he does this again, I'm going to have to sit him down and tell him that I'm not happy. I'm sure that if I do that, he will be perfectly–actually, I bet it won't even get that far. I bet that this won't happen again.
Seriously Liam! Why do you make me act this way! I hate how you do it to me! I also hate how much I love you.
Kate out
I re-read the passage again, feeling an odd sense of confusion. That pas
sage was one of the last ones in the book, and by the looks of it, was written shortly before I stopped writing journal entries. Evidently, Liam didn't change, and evidently, we broke up because of it. But that wasn't what had me concerned.
The mention of Clint was the first thing that sent a wave of panic down my spine. What were the odds of that Liam knowing another Clint? I had only met his friend Clint once before, but he seemed nice enough, and there was no indication of him knowing me. At least, he didn't act that way.
And if that was the only thing, I would have been fine. I'm sure there are a dozen Clint's in the city working as doctors. But it was Liam's favorite meal that got me. Spaghetti and meat balls, where the meat balls were cooked in coconut oil. I knew that Liam loved spaghetti and meat balls. He had told me on several occasions. But he was yet to mention whether or not he liked them cooked a different way.
Okay, I had to stop myself there. There was no way that what I was thinking was possible? It was all just one big coincidence. It was a very spooky coincidence, but one none the less. Even if the parallels were clear, there was one glaring difference that I could not overlook, and that was that my Liam, the one that I loved, never put the hospital first. He always called me when he was going to be late and had yet to ditch me to blow off steam.
I stood up from the bed, shaking my head again. I was just being stupid. The only other possibility was that Liam was using my amnesia to get close to me again. It sounded ridiculous, and I even forced a laugh out of myself as I threw my journal back in the bottom drawer of my dresser.
Then, with somewhat of a clear head, I grabbed my laptop and opened it up, preparing to do some work.
As I worked, I did all I could to push thoughts of Liam and some devilish scheme to trick me into dating him again, out of my head. But, even so, I made a subconscious note to double check with Liam how he liked his meatballs cooked. Just in case.