Forgetting You

by Casey, L. A.

  Anderson said nothing.

  “You knew.”

  It wasn’t a question and he knew it.

  “I wanted to tell you ages ago, but your parents and Elliot were dead set against it. They didn’t want you to know, for their own selfish reasons.”

  There wasn’t anything selfish about Elliot or my parents keeping Bailey’s death – or anything else – from me . . . they’d done it to protect me. I wanted honesty from Elliot, but it wasn’t something I could cope with just after my accident. I was barely holding it together now.

  “I feel like everyone should have told me,” I replied, emphasising the word. “Everyone. I understand why no one did though. It’s killing me to learn about it now . . . I wouldn’t have been able to handle learning of her . . . of her death when I woke up.”

  “I only got to speak to you one-on-one on two occasions,” he said. “You don’t know me like you once did, so how would you have reacted to news of Bailey’s death coming from me compared to him?”

  I blinked.

  “You have a point,” I said. “But either way, I didn’t know and now I do, and it’s killing me inside.”

  Anderson sat forward. “I’m sure it’s distressing – in your mind you were still close to her, but the fact of the matter is you weren’t close to Bailey, or him – or anyone except me. You never spoke of them at all.”

  I flinched at his words. They were so abrupt, cruel and completely unnecessary considering the topic. I had only spoken to Anderson twice before, like he said, but both of those times he’d been upset and sweet and someone who I wanted to take care of because my situation was hurting him. His coldness while talking about Bailey upset me.

  “Can I use your bathroom?”

  “Of course,” he said. “It’s your bathroom too. Down the hallway, first door on the right.”

  I got to my feet and, without my crutches, made my way out of the room and towards the bathroom. When I was inside, I locked the door. I felt sick at how dismissive he was being about her death and how I felt about it. He was my husband; he should have been comforting me, or at least understanding of how I felt. I wanted to leave but I couldn’t; I hadn’t found out anything about Bailey yet and I needed answers. I took out my phone and saw a text from Elliot that he’d sent just two minutes ago.

  Everything okay?

  I swallowed.

  Yeah, it’s a bit awkward, but I expected that. He made me some tea and we’re talking now. I’m waiting to broach the subject about Bailey. If I don’t reply, it’s because my phone is on silent.

  I sent the message, then relieved myself in the toilet before I washed my hands. I checked my phone and read Elliot’s return text.

  Okay. I’ll be out here, so don’t worry.

  Love you.

  I pocketed my phone after I’d thumbed out my reply, and returned to the sitting room where Anderson was staring into space.

  “How have you been?” I asked as I retook my seat. “Anderson?”

  His eyes moved to mine. “Not great.”

  I frowned. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “For everything,” I said. “None of this is your fault and you’re suffering because of it.”

  He didn’t reply; he just took a gulp of his tea before placing the cup on another coaster on the table.

  “You came here to see me?”

  I blinked. “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  I shifted. “I wanted to ask you if you know why I was with Bailey that night? Like you said, I pushed her away and had no contact with her. Why was I with her?”

  “I have no idea,” he answered with a blink. “I’ve been wondering that myself. I didn’t even know that you’d left the flat that night. There was a blackout and I went to bed early . . . I awoke to the police at my door informing me of the car accident.”

  My shoulders slumped as his words sank in.

  “You have no idea?”

  “None.”

  My gut twisted. “I was hoping you’d be able to shed some light on it . . . I can’t remember anything. I’ve had no flashbacks, no dreams of things I don’t remember. Nothing.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up about it,” he said, as if things were that simple.

  “How can I not?” I questioned. “My entire life is different, Anderson. I feel like a stranger in my own body. I’ve been making progress but today has knocked me back massively.”

  “You’ll get past this,” he said with a small smile. “I’ll help you, baby.”

  A shiver of discomfort ran through me every time he called me that word. I had never liked it; it was the reason Elliot never called me it. I’d made it clear years ago that it was an endearment I didn’t care for. Why hadn’t I made that clear to Anderson? Unless I had and he’d disregarded it.

  “When are you coming home, Noah?”

  I felt my body go rigid.

  “Anderson.” I clasped my hands together, realising this was the moment I needed to tell him our marriage was over. “Don’t you feel a change in me when you’re in my presence?”

  “Yes,” he almost growled. “I do.”

  I stared at him, surprised at his sudden anger.

  “Surely you understand that because I don’t know you . . . it means I have no feelings for you.”

  He cracked his knuckles, the action drawing my attention.

  “Anderson,” I continued after I cleared my throat. “Do you love me?”

  “More than anyone has ever loved another person.”

  I wasn’t sure why, but I didn’t believe him. He was acting strange, not like the times he’d come to the hospital late at night to visit me. He was being blunt and somewhat rude now, but what I noticed most of all were his black dahlia eyes. They were cold, hard, and if I was being honest with myself, they made me very uneasy in that moment.

  “When . . . when I look around this flat and I see images of our life together, it doesn’t seem real,” I admitted as softly as I could. “The last thing I want to do is hurt you, Anderson, but this place . . . this life I had with you, it’s not my home any more. I’m truly sorry.”

  He said nothing, he only watched me with a calm that caused tingles of worry to dance up and down my spine. I stared at him, then a small dizzy spell struck me and made me shake my head. I raised my hand to my head and rubbed. It felt foggy and I suddenly felt tired – really tired.

  “I came here to ask about Bailey, but you don’t know anything,” I heard myself almost slur as I clumsily grabbed my crutches. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to hurt you but I don’t feel anything for you. I have to leave, I have to go home.”

  I stood up, my legs shaking. Then I turned and stumbled forward.

  “We have to get a divorce, Anderson. It’s the only thing I can think—”

  My words were cut off when something slammed into the back of my head and sent me spiralling into a dark void of loneliness.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  NOAH

  Twenty-nine years old . . .

  I can’t do this any more.

  I sat cross-legged on the floor of my bedroom, flipping through a picture album that was filled with lies, pain and fake love. I stared at my wedding photos; I was standing next to Anderson and smiling, but I could see the pain and uncertainty in my eyes. It was just the two of us at our courthouse wedding . . . one of the biggest mistakes of my life. I flicked through a couple more pages and with each photo that my eyes slid over, I felt less and less upset and more and more angry.

  I closed the book, picked it up, got to my feet and put it back on the table of Anderson’s office. He always kept it there within touching distance, and I didn’t know why. I didn’t look happy in any of the pictures even though I was smiling from ear to ear. He was too stupid to see what was in front of him, or he simply didn’t care. I turned and left the room I was not allowed inside, and walked down the hallway and into the bathroom.

  I stared in the mirror at myself, and when my eyes
took in the swollen flesh of my cheek, the usual monologue that had replayed in my head the past few years didn’t start. The reasoning I automatically made up on behalf of my husband never began. The excuses I made for why Anderson did what he did never formed and didn’t make it to front and centre in my mind. The realisation of this made me gasp. I put a hand over my mouth.

  “I’m done,” I said to myself in the mirror. “I’m so fucking . . . done.”

  I began to cry and laugh as soon as the words left my mouth, even as my body began to tremble.

  I’d given up my entire fucking life for this man, and for what? For him to beat me whenever I questioned him or did something he didn’t like? For him to control every little thing I did, from who I spoke with to the activities I took part in? Somehow, he had even convinced me that having a relationship with my parents was toxic for me, and that cutting them out was the only option if I wanted to have an open, healthy mind.

  “Stupid,” I snapped at myself. “Stupid, stupid, stupid!”

  I had options; I didn’t have to do anything that I didn’t want to . . . I just hadn’t realised that until now.

  I wasn’t sure what had brought on this frame of mind. This thought process had never occurred to me before, I had always been so scared. Scared and never angry. Today, I was angry. Maybe the punch Anderson had landed on my face had knocked some sense into me. I’d allowed him to hurt me and drain me for far too long. He was evil. He’d manipulated me when I was at my most vulnerable. He’d used the heartache of the end of my relationship with Elliot against me so he could worm his way into my life and take over every little aspect of it.

  At the start he was so wonderful – my knight in shining armour. He came to me when I was at the lowest point in my life, when getting out of bed became harder and harder to do every day. Everything I had lost in Elliot, I seemed to have found in Anderson. He worshipped me, told me he loved me, that he wanted to marry me, to have a family with me and be with me forever. I could now see that I was severely depressed and only saw the things I thought I wanted to see in Anderson . . . By the time I found out who he truly was, it was too late. I felt broken inside whenever he laid his hands on me, but once his anger subsided, he would return to the wonderful, kind man he was when we first met, and he would cry and cling to me as he apologised and swore it would never happen again.

  But it would always happen again.

  I dropped my hands and examined my face. The swelling and reddening of my flesh were nothing compared to injuries I had sustained before. I glanced at the white scar that cut through my eyebrow and recalled one of the first times Anderson hit me – he’d punched me so hard that my eyebrow busted open and I was knocked unconscious. That injury was the first time I’d woken up in a hospital because of my husband – the man who was supposed to love, cherish and protect me.

  “Bollocks,” I grumbled. “What a load of fucking rubbish!”

  I left the bathroom and headed straight for my bedroom. I felt myself begin to rush as I realised what I was doing. I was leaving. I was leaving Anderson, this flat, this godawful life I had with him, and I wasn’t looking back. I felt sick to my stomach as I kept jumping at every noise. I grabbed a bag and shoved some clothes inside, followed by my purse and a spare pair of shoes. My gut was churning, and I looked over my shoulder every few seconds out of blind fear.

  After our fight Anderson had left the flat, saying he needed to cool down before he did something he would regret. Punching me in the face and making me cry were apparently not things he regretted doing, but he would regret them later. I knew what was going to happen next. He would come back to me with a gift, likely flowers, and he would be on his knees, crying, as he apologised for hurting me. But this time he wasn’t getting my forgiveness.

  When the small bag was packed, I got dressed. I changed out of my pyjamas and put on a pair of thick leggings, a T-shirt and a hoodie, followed by my coat. I slid my feet into socks and my trainers, and put my hair up into a bun on the top of my head. I didn’t need anything else, but I hesitated because I had nowhere to go. I knew in my heart that my parents would come for me, but I couldn’t trust my father not to attack Anderson if he showed up. I couldn’t risk him getting arrested, because Anderson would spin the situation in his favour. He was a master manipulator; he could argue with God that He was really the Devil and he would somehow come out on top.

  “Elliot,” I whispered.

  I had no right to call him. Just the simple thought of him caused my chest to ache with need. I loved him – I loved him so much and I always had – but I’d ruined everything with my own stubbornness. I couldn’t call AJ as I’d cut him off too. I’d cut everyone off, because Anderson made me. He was the only person I needed – that’s what he’d said. And I’d believed him too. I shook my head as I left the bedroom and then paused by the house phone.

  “Bailey.” I blinked. “Bailey.”

  I hadn’t spoken to her in years, but she would help me, I knew she would. I picked up the phone and dialled the number I remembered, and hoped it was the one she still used. The phone rang a few times, and I held my breath as I waited for an answer.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey.” I cleared my throat. “Hey, Bailey?”

  “Hiya,” came her response. “Who’s this?”

  “It’s Noah,” I said. “Noah Ainsley.”

  Using my maiden name felt good, and also like a big fuck you to Anderson.

  There was a pregnant pause, then a whispered, “Noah?”

  “Yeah,” I answered. “It’s me, Bails.”

  There was a rustle on the other end of the line as if she was moving, then I heard her breathing.

  “Ye haven’t phoned me in years,” she said. “Ye don’t even look at me when ye see me on the street.”

  There was no hate in her voice, no accusation or bitterness, only hurt.

  “I’m so sorry, Bailey,” I said, my voice cracking. “I’ve been . . . I’ve been stuck for a very long time. I’ve been trapped in this world with Anderson, and I’m finally seeing now that it’s not a world I have to remain part of if I don’t want to. And I really don’t want to.”

  I heard Bailey’s gasp. “You’re leavin’ him, aren’t ye?”

  “Yes,” I answered. “But I need help. He’s out right now and I have nowhere to go. This is my only chance.”

  “I’ll come for ye,” Bailey announced. “I’ll come and pick ye up, Noah.”

  I released a nervous breath. “Really?”

  “Of course, but why d’ye want to leave, tonight of all nights?” she demanded, and when I didn’t answer right away, she cursed under her breath. “Has he hurt ye, Noah?”

  “Don’t tell Elliot,” I blurted. “He’ll kill Anderson.”

  Things had ended badly between us but I knew him . . . he was a real man. He’d go ballistic if he knew how Anderson had been treating me all these years – how he’d abused me in more ways than just physical. Even though I’d hurt Elliot and hadn’t given him the chance to speak to me when I should have, I knew he would still come to my aid. That was the kind of man he was: a gentleman.

  “Son of a bitch!” Bailey snapped. “How long has this been happenin’?”

  I looked down at my feet. “A very long time.”

  “Fuck, Noah, I had no idea. I thought . . . I thought ye were just so hurt by your break-up with Elliot that ye just pushed us away, I never imagined he was the reason why.”

  My hands were shaking. “You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for. I ruined everything. I’m so sorry.”

  “You have nothin’ to be sorry for,” she stressed. “Don’t even think of takin’ any blame upon yourself for what this scumbag has done to ye! D’ye hear me? He’s abused ye. Your silence in that situation isn’t silence, it’s a scream that only you can hear.”

  I began to cry. “I miss you so much, and Elliot. God, I ruined everything when I left him. I was so upset and angry with him at the time that I just couldn’t go back to
him, but I wish I did.”

  “Shhh,” she soothed. “I’m on my way right now, literally leaving the house and running to my car.”

  “Be careful,” I sniffed, wiping my nose. “The roads may be dangerous, so much of London has no power. It keeps coming and going here. Watch out for ice too.”

  “I will, Noah,” she assured me. “Get whatever you want to bring with ye, I’ll be at your place in a few minutes. I know the buildin’, just not the floor or flat number.”

  “Fourth floor,” I said as I glanced out of the window. “Flat 406.”

  “Got it. I’ll be right there, I promise.”

  I put the phone down and noticed my hand was trembling. I jumped with fright when the lights knocked off for the fifth time in two hours. The darkness scared me. I felt trapped in the flat in which I was forced to spend nearly all of my time. I was here all day every day, but I’d never felt more stuck inside of these walls than I did right now. I looked around and felt nothing but emptiness. There were no happy times here – even the times I’d thought were happy were really sad. I just hadn’t been able to see it through the web Anderson had woven in my mind.

  I could see now, though. And I hated what I saw.

  As the lights came back on I began to rip the photo frames from the wall and threw them on the floor, feeling powerful when each one of them smashed. I ran into Anderson’s office, grabbed a crowbar he once hit me with and smashed all of his belongings. His prized computer, his precious drawing materials, I slammed the bar into everything. Then I dropped it and focused on the photo album that Anderson kept so close to him. I ripped out all of the pictures and shredded them into pieces, and threw them around the room as if they were confetti.

  “Good fucking riddance.”

  With a grin of delight, I turned my back on the room, grabbed my bag and walked out of the prison that had kept me caged for far too fucking long. I unlocked the door and stepped into the hallway, shutting it behind me as firmly as I could. I hurried towards the stairwell and ran down them as fast as I could without tripping and falling. When I reached the bottom floor, I slowed my movements way down. I opened the door to the entryway slowly. I heard nothing, not a single peep, so I walked briskly out of the building, relief slamming into me as a rush of freezing cold hit me. I carefully descended the steps, wary of the ice.