by Tia Siren
And so, after a very slow and awkward morning, the two of us packed our things and made our way toward the car. I continued the charade of being sick. He carried my bags and made sure that I was comfortable as I climbed in the back seat. I was adamant about not sitting in the front.
As we pulled away from the log cabin, I wondered what he was thinking. Surely, the weekend hadn't gone to plan. Surely, he did not expect us to be heading home in such a dire mood. But then again, he hadn't banked on my memory coming back either. How long had he planned on lying to me? How long was he going to keep me in the dark? Did he hope that I would never remember? Was he really that naive?
They were questions that would never be answered. As soon as we got home, I was going to break up with him. I didn't know what I was going to do or what I was going to say. I only knew that I had to end it. I couldn't be around him anymore.
CHAPTER 25
LIAM
It was a sleepless night for me. I literally didn't get a single wink. The most I slept or came the closest to sleeping, were the few times I shut my eyes up nice and tight in the hopes that when I opened them, everything that had happened was all a dream. But then I would open them and feel the literal cold coming off Kate, lying beside me, and I would know that it wasn't a dream and that it had happened.
When Kate bumped her head, my first fear was for her safety. That was all that mattered. Seeing her, lying in the brush unconscious, was one of the scarier moments of my life. I rushed down to help her, hoping that she was going to be okay.
It didn't take long for me to figure out that she was going to be fine. But once that realization kicked in, another much more real fear took over. That she would wake up and remember everything.
I paced the room for hours and hours, waiting for her to wake up and thinking about what I would say if it came to that moment. But when she did finally wake up, I was still totally unprepared. I just had to hope that nothing had changed. But I couldn't be that naive.
She was so cold to me, so distant. It was like nothing I had ever felt before. I tried to chalk it up to her fall and that maybe she was actually sick and tired and just wanted to sleep? But even I couldn't believe that. As I lay beside her that night, I tried to pull her in close to me, wrap myself around her, and feel for some sort of response. A stroke of the arm, a squeeze of the hand. Anything to suggest that she still loved me and that her memory hadn't come back. But nothing.
When I finally “woke up” the next morning, she still treated me with the same cold, distant apprehension. I had to accept the fact that her memory was back, and she knew who I was and what I had done.
But that just raised the question of “what now?” I had blown it. I had utterly blown it. I had waited too long to tell her the truth, and as a result, she remembered everything on her own, and now, she saw me as the enemy. In a way, I was. I just had to prove to her that I wasn't. I had to remind her of what we had and what it could mean. But I had no idea how.
We piled into the car to leave the cabin, and I was very much aware of the fact that she had chosen to sit in the back seat. She had done it under the guise of being sick and wanting to sleep. But I was pretty damn sure that the real reason was something else.
"I'll tell you what," I began as we took off. "You can stay at my place tonight, and I'll take care of you. How about that? I can run you a hot bath."
"No, it's fine," she said back. "I really just want to be in my own bed tonight. You know how it is when you're sick?" Her voice was cold and distant. It was like she wasn't talking to me, but to a stranger.
"Okay. Well, how about I spend the night? I can make you dinner. Find you a movie to watch on Netflix and—"
"Seriously, it's okay," she cut in again.
She didn't sound angry at least. Just apathetic, as if she didn't care about me at all. In a way, I would have preferred her to be angry.
"Okay," I relented, going back to facing the road. And that was the literal extent of our conversation for the entire trip home.
She laid in the back with her eyes closed, pretending to sleep, but I didn't believe for one minute that she was actually sleeping. I was sure that, like me, she was trying to figure out what to do.
For six hours, we drove in silence. The whole time, I tried to figure out what to do or say. It was too late to admit the truth to her. If I did that now, I would come off as trying to back pedal on what I had done. She would know that I knew, and it would only make me look more manipulative.
The only thing I could think of was a declaration of some kind. She still loved me. I was sure of it. She just didn't know what that meant. She was probably trying to decide if her love trumped her hate and anger. I was going to have to show her that I was worth staying with, despite all the lies.
She would still be angry with me, but at least she would know that my heart was in the right place.
The only question was what could I do? To ask her to marry me would be too much. We had, after all, only been dating for three weeks technically. There had to be something I could suggest that wasn’t quite that drastic.
As I pulled up in front of her apartment, I came up with an idea. I had always hated where she lived. Not only did the apartment itself suck, but the neighborhood was sketchy, too. I always hated thinking of her walking around here by herself, day or night. It was dangerous, and despite what she claimed, she would never be safe so long as she stayed there.
What would have been perfect was if she lived with me. That way she would have to come back to my place, and we would have to talk it out. But she didn't live with me. And just like that, I had a great idea.
I would ask her to move in with me. It was perfect. Not only would it show that I had changed and that I was serious about the two of us, which I was, but it would also give her something to think about. I wouldn’t just be the boyfriend who lied to her. I would be the potential partner who loved and cared for her. Who just happened to make one, stupid mistake.
"I'll help you with your bags," I said, jumping from the car.
"No you really don't have to," she began, but it was too late. By the time she was out of the car, I had her suitcase under my arm and was already on my way up to her apartment.
I walked ahead of her the whole way, making sure that she didn't have a chance to stop me and refuse me entry. When I reached her front door, I pulled out the spare key that she had given me a few days prior and walked on in.
"I don't know why you live in this place," I started as I dropped her suitcase on the floor. "You deserve so much better."
"Yeah, well it's the best I can afford," she said with just a hint of disdain.
The tension in the room was near breaking point. I could tell that she wanted me to leave. I was also certain that if I didn't, she would throw me out, but not before telling me what she knew. I had to act fast.
"Listen, Kate," I said walking toward her. When I reached her, I took her hand, kissing the back of it. She didn't pull it away, but I could feel her clam up. "You know I love you, right?"
She hesitated for just a moment, but to me, it felt like minutes. "Yeah," she finally said.
"And I've been thinking for a while now, like I said, this apartment isn't good enough for you. Not even close. And we spend so much time together any way that it doesn't make sense for you to live here. I think that you should move in with me. What do you say?"
I had caught her off guard, which was exactly what I wanted. Her first dropped in shock as she studied my expression, trying to see if I was being serious. "Are you really asking me that?" she asked.
"Of course. I want to spend forever with you Kate. You need to know that. Why not start forever today?"
For a moment there, I actually thought that I had her. I thought for the barest of seconds that I could feel her heart thawing, and she might have begun to remember why it was that we were together in the first place. But if that did happen, it was only for a second.
"No," she suddenly said, pulling her han
d from mine. "I can't do this. Not anymore."
"Do what?" I asked, wondering to myself at what point was it that I was going to admit everything. Was I just making it worse? Was it a hole that I couldn't possibly see my way out of anymore?
"Don't,” she said, shaking her head vehemently. “Don't act like you don't know, you son of a bitch." Her voice was shaking, as was her whole body.
She wasn't mad, I could tell that much. She was just upset. Destroyed might have been a better way of describing it. She looked weak in a way I had never seen her. It broke my heart.
I realized then that the jig was up. There was no use pretending anymore. "I never meant for it to go this far," I said with a sigh, dropping my shoulders at the same time. "I never meant to hurt you."
"You never meant to hurt me? Then what did you mean to happen? Tell me! Please! What did you expect?”
"I meant to show you how much I loved you," I said. She’d been raising her voice, but I tried to keep mine even. "I meant to show you that breaking up with you the first time was the biggest mistake I had ever made."
"How? By tricking me? By making me look like an idiot!"
Despite my best attempts to stay calm, she was having none of it. Her voice was well and truly raised, and she still shook, but from anger.
"No, not by tricking you. That was never the point. That day you came in, I had no idea at first that you had no memory. I was going to apologize to you, the actual you and—"
"So, this isn't the real me then? Or this is the real me, and that girl you were sleeping with was just some pawn?!"
"What? No! Listen, please!" She took a step back, and I took one forward. As I did, she looked away, as if the very sight of me might burn her eyes. "I just wanted to show you that I had changed. I had no idea we would become so serious. I thought your memory would come back earlier, and then..."
"And then I'd forgive you, and we'd fall in love for real? Is that what you wanted? Or did you actually hope that it would never come back and we would live the rest of our lives as a lie?"
"No. I always wanted your memory to come back."
"Then why didn't you tell me sooner? Why did you wait? Tell me that."
I had no answer. No matter what way I spun it, I was in the wrong. There was no way around it. I had lied and cheated and taken advantage of her.
"I want you to leave," she said, her voice dropped. The anger was gone. Now it was full of disgust.
"Kate, please..."
"Seriously, leave or I will call the police," she said, pointing toward the door.
I hung my head, knowing that anything I did or said would only make it worse. As I reached the door I paused, turning back to say one final thing. "I do love you, Kate. And although what I did was wrong, I don't regret it. If I hadn't done it, then I wouldn't have gotten to meet you again. I wouldn't have fallen in love with you all over again. For that, I won't say sorry."
And then I was gone.
The walk back to my car was the longest walk of my life. The whole way, I half expected her to come running out, screaming for me to stop. I expected to turn and for her to throw herself in my arms and tell me that she forgave me. But that never happened. I could only drag my feet for so long until I was finally at my car.
As I climbed in the front seat, I was forced to face the harsh reality that I had ruined everything. Kate would most likely never talk to me again. And the worst part was that I didn't blame her. I didn't deserve someone as special as Kate.
CHAPTER 26
KATE
Nothing was the same anymore. Everything was either tainted by the new memories I had of Liam or the old ones I had of my life before the amnesia.
Now that I was able to remember who I was and how I had gotten to be where I was, everything just seemed more real. Before, when I had no memory, I could tell myself that I had just fallen into a slump and all I needed to do was pull myself out of it. But now that I knew how I had fallen into the slump, and what I had already tried to get out of it, I wasn't so sure it was possible.
For example, my shitty apartment that I was convinced I would be seeing the tail end of once the lease ran out, felt more like home than it ever had. But that was only because I could remember living there for over eight months. I had thought over one hundred times about moving out but was never able.
And my writing. I hadn't written anything for three months before the accident. Every time I had sat down at my laptop, words had totally eluded me. I had all but given up on writing and settled into my terrible life.
The worst thing too was that I was totally prepared to move on. With no memory of any of that, I had a sense of confidence and assurance in my own ability that I no longer possessed. All my old fears and reservations had come pouring back into my head, and they weren't going anywhere.
And then there was Liam.
After he left my apartment, I cried all night long. I didn't sink into a bottle of vodka or put on a romantic movie to try and distract myself. Instead, I let the tears flow.
I didn't know what I hated more, the fact that I despised him so much for what he did, or the fact that I still loved him with all of my heart. It was crazy, and I knew that, but even after what he had done to me, those new memories were so fresh that I couldn't just forget them.
And now, everything I did reminded me of Liam. My life had fallen into a new pattern over the past few weeks, and it all revolved around him.
I got up early the next morning to go for a walk, as I always did. This only reminded me of him and the way I was desperate to stay in shape and on track for him. Half way through, I abandoned my walk and went to get a coffee. This was no good either as I used my free coffee card at Split Bean and was very quickly reminded of him again. Even the leather clad, overtly gay biker couldn't distract me from my thoughts.
My coffee tasted even more bitter than usual. I was about to walk back to my apartment to commit to the final part of my routine. This was when I would pull myself up to my laptop and spend the rest of the day writing. I had gotten pretty good at it, too. In the last two weeks, I had written five short stories, each one getting better and better. I could feel myself improving and was able to sense that big break just around the corner.
But as I strolled back in the direction of my apartment, I couldn't think of anything I felt less like doing than writing. Not only did it remind me of Liam, but my old memories and habits were clouding my judgment, too. The writer's block that I was experiencing was coming back in full force and threatening to destroy all the progress I had made.
With nothing to do, and a mind that wouldn't let me rest, I did the only thing I could think of that might help. I called Liana.
--
We ended up having lunch at a restaurant near where Liana lived. It was about a forty-minute walk from my place, but I insisted on meeting her there. I needed the walk to compose myself and prepare myself for the onslaught of questions that were sure to come from her.
She was, of course, ecstatic about the fact that I had my memory back and couldn't wait to gossip with me about everything that had happened over the weekend. Especially after I told her that I had broken up with Liam.
I didn't tell her why I had though. I decided to save that little tale for a face to face. Liana always made a great audience, too. She knew when to gasp, sigh, laugh, and curse in all the right places. As I told her what happened at Niagara Falls and about my past with Liam and the way that he exploited it, she didn't let me down.
"I can't believe it!" she exclaimed as soon as I had finished telling her everything, right up to the moment that I kicked him out. "I seriously cannot, will not, and don't know how to believe it! I mean, what in the fucking fuck?!"
"I know, right," I said, feeling a sense at relief at having told her. I'd been carrying a lot of pent up energy since the previous night. As I told her the whole story, I realized that what I needed was a way of getting it all off my chest. Liana really was the perfect conduit.
"I jus
t can't believe he did that? It's crazy? Isn't it crazy? I mean, he just seemed like such a nice guy!" She took a long sip of her glass of wine. We had been at the restaurant for a little over an hour by that point and were already on our second bottle. The more I spoke, the louder we both got.
"He still is a nice guy," I said, accidentally defending him. I didn't even mean to. It just kind of slipped out.
"Hey, don't do that!" Liana protested. "The man is a pig. All men are. Have you ever seen that movie? The one where all the men are dead? I tell you, that's the world that we need to live in. One free of men."
"What about the sex?" I countered, unable to keep from smiling. Liana had definitely managed to turn my mood around, even if it was only temporary.
"Sigh. You're right. Even a dildo isn't going to cut it. Maybe we can just take over and keep them as sex slaves? No talking, no cuddling. Just stick it in, do your thing, and get the hell out."
She nodded to herself as she took another sip. Something told me that she had thought about this scenario before.
"Yeah, I guess," I said, sighing. My good mood lasted exactly thirty seconds. Liana's talk of sex made me remember some of the great times I’d had with Liam, and that only served to drag me down again.
"Hey," Liana said, noticing my mood slipping. "Don't let him do that to you, okay? The moment that you feel sad, he wins. The pig isn't worthy of that. In fact, it's probably best to imagine that he is at home right now, crying his little lying eyes out. Better yet, maybe he was so sad that he took a razor and slit his—"
"Don't," I cut in. "Seriously, Liana. Don't say that."
"Why not?" she asked, not looking the least bit put out. "After what he did to you? I think he deserves nothing less."
"Yeah, maybe you're right," I said absent-mindedly.
The truth was that I actually hated thinking of Liam being upset. Every time I thought about him at home, alone, it broke my heart. The fucked up thing was that I still had feelings for him, and I knew that despite the way he acted, he still had them for me. He was without a doubt hurting, and that thought hurt me, too.