“I’m not,” I promise, which is the truth. I’m not sure what I’m feeling right now, other than a hell of a lot of confusion.
Story of my damn life.
“Your mom mentioned you’ve been spending a lot of time in your room,” he says, watching me closely
“Resting, like I was instructed to do by the doctor.”
“She also said you barely showered or cleaned your room.”
“Are you worried about my personal hygiene?” I do my best to keep my tone light, but I’m not sure if I reach the mark or not.
He doesn’t even so much as crack a smile. “No, I’m worried about you. You’ve been through a lot, and I … We’re all worried that maybe you’re avoiding dealing with what happened.”
“But, what did even happen? It’s not like I know. All I know is the limited amount of information people have told me. For all I know, that could all be lies.”
“I already said it’s better if you don’t know.” His patronizing tone grates on my nerves.
Irritation rises to the surface, and it’s like a zap of electricity through the sea of confusion that’s been lulling inside me.
“What happened that night?” I ask. “Please just tell me.”
The corners of his lips tug downward. “I can’t. That night was too awful.” For a fleeting moment, I swear guilt flashes across his face.
I fold my fingers inward and stab my fingernails into my palms. The pain eliminates the annoyance pulsating through me. “I can handle it.”
“No, you can’t. You’re sweet and innocent and you sometimes still pretend that unicorns exist, and I …” He molds his palm to my cheek. “I just don’t want you to remember any of that—the fear, the pain, the terror.”
“Is that really why you won’t tell me? Because you think I’m innocent?” I question because it feels like there’s more to it. I don’t know why I feel that way. Perhaps because beneath the fog clouding my mind, I can sense the truth.
“I don’t think. I know.”
His words make my lips twitch.
“Have you thought that all along? That I’m innocent?”
He nods. “It’s not a bad thing, though. In fact, it’s one of my favorite things about you.”
His warm lips on mine …
Breathing air into my lungs …
He thinks I’m innocent?
“I’m not as innocent as you think,” I mumble, recalling the party I went to with Star. The trouble we got into. How I got my first make out session.
When he gives me a disbelieving look, the annoyance sparks as hazy memories of us kissing in his truck before it went over the cliff trickle through my mind. How his lips touched mine. How his hands roamed across my body. How he started to slip his fingers down the front of my shorts. How I wanted him to stop but couldn’t get the words out. How I’m not sure if he did stop, because everything became so blurry after that.
Rage simmers underneath my skin.
I need to remember. Need to figure this out.
My mind races as I stand on my tiptoes, press my lips to his, and try to drag the truth from his lips.
Trying to breathe the lies out of his lungs and spit them out onto the floor.
He instantly deepens the kiss and cups my breast, backing me up and lying me down on the bed. Then he lines his body over mine and his hands wander all over me as his lips sear mine, filling my taste buds with bitterness and making the sea of confusion stir inside me.
“Tell me what really happened that night,” I whisper as he traces his lips down to my neck while undoing the button of my shorts. “I need to know.”
“Later,” he whispers then slips his fingers underneath my waistband.
The anger inside me morphs to fear.
I don’t want this.
I want … Well, I’m not sure what I want, but it’s not this. I just kissed him because I felt so frustrated and confused and it’s making me feel as if I’m losing my damn mind.
“Foster?” Janie calls out, knocking on Foster’s bedroom door.
“Fuck.” He quickly pushes off me and ruffles his hair back into place. Then his gaze shifts to me, to my undone shorts. “You should probably do your button up or else she’s going to give us a safe sex lecture,” he teases with a smile.
Sitting up, I slowly do up the button, trying to hide how shaky I feel inside and not in a good way.
He places a quick kiss on my lips. “I love you. And I’m so glad you’re here with me.” Then he gets up from the bed to answer the door.
I lift my hand to my lips and roughly rub them, trying to rub off the lies he fed me and the feel of his lips that I’m now positive weren’t the ones that breathed life into me that night.
“Hey,” Janie says when Foster opens the door. “Your dad and I need to talk to you for a second …” Her gaze travels to me and a smile appears on her lips. “Harlynn, I didn’t know you were here. I’m so glad you finally decided to come over.”
“Me, too.” My smile is all plastic.
She smiles then looks at Foster. “Can you come into your dad’s office for a moment? He needs to talk to you about a couple of things about this weekend.”
“Sure.” Foster moves to leave, throwing me a smile from over his shoulder. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere, okay?” He doesn’t wait for me to respond, simply leaves, as if he expects me to be here when he gets back.
But I guess, in the past, I always was. Just waiting around for him.
“It’s really nice to see you,” Janie says to me. “And can you tell your mom when you see her that we’re definitely on for Sunday?”
“Sure.” I keep on smiling until she leaves then let my smile fizzle as I flop down on the bed.
I can feel everywhere Foster touched me, as if his palms seared away my flesh. I shouldn’t have allowed him to touch me. I’m not even sure why I did. Just like I’m not sure why I’m here, just waiting around for him to come back and feed me more lies.
As I’m staring at the wall, trying to decipher if I have any feelings left in me for Foster other than frustration, I decide it’s time to leave. Standing up, I cross the room, feeling a bit shaky and I end up bumping into a stack of boxes and books spill out all over the floor.
“Shit.” I start to pick them up when something shiny and silver falls out of one of them.
When I pick it up, my heart slams against my chest.
My fucking necklace.
How long has Foster had this? Since I lost it all those years ago? Why did he keep it?
Gritting my teeth, I stuff the necklace into my pocket, storm out of the room, down the stairs, and out of the house, preparing to head home. But I pause the second I step onto the porch as I hear voices floating over from the driveway.
“You’re going to have to tell her the truth eventually.” Porter says.
It’s late, the stars and moon are gleaming in the sky and the porch light isn’t on, so it’s dark enough that I can’t see them.
“Listen,” I swear the wind whispers.
I tense and nearly run back into the house, but then I find myself curious enough to hunker down in the shadows and listen.
Yeah, apparently on top of becoming a thief, an emotionless shell, and maybe even crazy, I’ve now become an eavesdropper too.
“You know I can’t tell her.” Kingsley sounds stressed. “It’s too risky. Plus, it’s not like she’d believe me anyway.”
“She might,” Porter replies. “I mean, she was in your room for hell’s sake, and you two were grinning at each other like a couple of lovestruck idiots when I walked in. There’s no way she could still be afraid of you.”
“We weren’t grinning like lovestruck idiots. We were just… Talking. And I’m not even sure why she was in my room. She was just in there when I walked in.” Kingsley gives a short pause. “She does seem less afraid of me, though. And I think she’s mad at Foster for some reason.”
Porter snorts a laugh. “For some reason? Because
I can think of about twenty reasons off the top of my head that gives her every right to be pissed at your asshole of a brother.”
“Maybe, but Harlynn is… in love with that asshole of a brother you’re referring to,” Kingsley utters. “She has been since we were kids. And if she’s mad at him right now, she’ll eventually get over it. She always does.”
“Maybe not after this,” Porter says. “I mean, this is big, you know.”
“Yeah, I know, but still…”
“Still nothing. You don’t know what’s going to happen, so stop assuming you do.” Porter pauses. “But she might end up pissed off at you too the longer you keep the truth from her.”
Kingsley sighs. “I know, but like I said, it’s too risky. I mean, if anyone else found out…”
“You could always just ask her to keep it a secret.”
“Maybe.”
They grow quiet after that. Car doors slam, then the roar of Kingsley’s car revving up fills up the quietness.
Moments later, headlights cascade across the porch as the GTO backs up onto the road. I crouch lower to avoid being seen and stay in the shadows until the car is gone.
Then I hurry off the porch toward my house, my mind filled with questions of what they could’ve meant by all that stuff they just said. Kingsley needs to tell me the truth? What truth?
Wait… Does he know Foster didn’t save me that night? Does he know the truth about what happened? How, though?
Dammit. Why does it feel like everyone around me is lying to me?
I need to remember. Somehow.
I strain my mind to see further into that night, but a wall of darkness slams down. I try again, over and over again, so lost in my thoughts that I barely notice a person leaning against a street post just a ways up the road.
They’re wearing a hoodie pulled so low I can barely see their face, but I can tell they’re extremely tall—like almost inhumanly tall. “Why are you walking around alone so late at night?” His voice sounds strangely low and croaky.
Ignoring him, I pick up my pace.
He pushes away from the street post and crosses the street toward me. I walk quicker, aware of the slightest spike in my pulse, a reminder that I’m alive, even if it feels like I’m not most of the time.
“Hey, I’m not going to hurt you,” he calls out as he nears the sidewalk.
I break into a run, cutting across front lawns and hauling ass for my house while digging out my phone from my pocket. I can hear him shout something after me, but I ignore him and start to dial my mom’s number.
But then it suddenly grows quiet. When I glance over my shoulder, he’s gone.
Still, I keep running, not slowing down until I reach my house. I barrel inside, shutting the door and locking it. Then I work to catch my breath. Air in. Air out.
Come on; breathe.
“Harlynn? Is that you?” My mom steps out of the kitchen. She frowns when she sees me. “Did Foster drive you home?”
I shake my head. “No. I walked.”
Her frown deepens. “I thought I told you to get a ride home if it was dark.”
“Sorry. I forgot.” My mind is racing so swiftly that I struggle to concentrate on what she’s saying.
“You forgot?” She shakes her head in annoyance. “There was a reason I told you to get a ride. It’s not safe to be walking around alone, especially at night. Not until we’re absolutely certain why Foster’s truck was crashed into.”
“I know. And I’m sorry.” I take a deep breath to steady my breathing. “Mom, I don’t want you to panic, but I feel like I should probably tell you about a sketchy guy I just ran into.”
Her eyes widen then she pulls out her phone from her pocket.
“What’re you doing?” I ask, trailing after her as she walks toward the living room.
“Calling the detective and telling her what you just told me.”
“Is that necessary?”
She nods, putting the phone up to her ear. “She told me to inform her of anything out of the ordinary or alarming— Hi, Detective,” she says into the phone. “I need to report an incident that happened tonight with Harlynn.”
I start to walk away, but she snaps her fingers at me, indicating for me to wait.
“I’m going to need you to give me a description of the guy,” she whispers, covering the phone with her hand.
I move back toward her and tell her what I can recall about the guy. But since I didn’t see he face very well, I’m not much help. I do tell her he was tall, though. So tall it was almost like he was standing on stilts. She looks at me strangely when I say that, like she was concerned maybe I hallucinated the incident.
And at this point I have to question if perhaps she’s right.
Maybe this is all just one big hallucination.
Sixteen
Harlynn
After I tell my mom everything I can remember about the guy, I head to my bedroom. I change into my pajamas and climb into bed, then examine the necklace I found in Foster’s room, spinning the locket around, watching it spin around and around and reflect against the light.
I’m not sure why he kept this after all these years and never gave it back or how he ever found it to begin with, but I need to find out. I need to find out a lot of things about Foster.
Fastening the necklace around my neck, I pick up my phone as it vibrates. It’s gone off a handful of times since I left Foster’s house, and I know who the messages are from without looking.
I almost don’t open them. Just let them sit unread on my phone. Pretend he was never texting me. That he didn’t lie to me. That he didn’t have my missing necklace tucked into one of his books.
Pretend.
Pretend.
Pretend.
But I honestly don’t feel like pretending right now.
I want things to be real again.
I want the truth.
I want to feel like myself, whoever that is now.
What I really want is to feel that warmth I briefly tasted when Kingsley smiled at me.
Swiping my finger across the screen, I open the messages.
Foster: Where are you?
Foster: Why did you leave?
Foster: I just called your mom and she said you made it home okay, but I’m still confused why you left without saying anything. Did I upset you?
Foster: Please just talk to me.
That’s the last message he sends, but an unread one still remains. A message from Porter.
Porter: If you ever feel like hanging out and having some fun, text me. I know you’re technically not supposed to hang out with Kingsley and if he knew I was texting you, he’d freak out. But you seemed different tonight. More talkative and less under the influence of Foster. Plus, you looked like you could use some fun.
Do I?
Lying down on my bed, I rest my hand on the locket.
The coldness of the metal against my palm is a reminder of the lie.
That Foster lied to me about having the necklace.
That he lied about saving me.
It makes me wonder what else he’s been lying about.
It makes me question everything that has to do with him, which unfortunately, since he’s had so much to do with my life, forces me to question everything.
Water all around me, pushing me down as metal crunches around me, cutting my flesh.
I’m drowning.
I’m dying.
I can’t breathe.
I reach out, opening my eyes and trying to see or feel something, anything besides darkness. I feel something brush my fingers and turn my head, straining to see.
A face appears beside me, a smile painting their lips. I reach for them, begging them to help me, but they start to slip away, swimming away from me, and I sink toward the bottom of the lake, the metal crunching around me and turning into my tomb.
I am dead.
I am not Harlynn.
I am Paige—
My eyes pop open, and I frantica
lly glance around at the purple and black walls of my bedroom, half-expecting water to be seeping out of the cracks.
“Harlynn.” My mom walks into my room. She takes one look at me and presses her hand to her chest. “Thank God you’re here.”
I sit up, feeling a bit groggy. What was that dream? “Why wouldn’t I be here?”
“I don’t know, but I was worried about you, and I … I’m just glad you’re here.”
By the look on her face, I can tell she’s keeping something from me.
“Mom, please just tell me the truth,” I say, rubbing my eyes. “Because I can tell you’re keeping something from me.”
She sighs, crosses the room, and sits down on the edge of my bed. “I guess I should probably tell you since you’re going to find out anyway… There was an incident this morning up at the lake. A couple of fishermen found a girl …” Her voice cracks. “It looks like she’s been dead for a while.”
A girl dead in the lake.
A girl drowning in the lake.
Just like my dream.
“Do they know how she died?” I ask, worry pouring through my veins.
“All I’ve heard so far is that her car was also found in the lake, so more than likely she crashed into it and drowned.”
I sink toward the bottom of the lake, the metal crunching around me and turning into my tomb.
I am dead.
I am not Harlynn.
I place my hand over my bandaged wrist as blood begins to seep through the bandage. The wound has somehow opened, the pain spreading up my arm and wiping out any fear that might be inside me. “What was her name?”
“Paige Meriforter,” she says. “She’s that girl who disappeared over a year ago. I don’t know if you remember her or not.”
I do. God, do I.
This is so weird. Why did I just dream about Paige moments before my mom came in to tell me this? Is it just a weird coincidence because I saw her flyer on the wall of the police station the other day?
“I’m so sorry, sweetie. I shouldn’t be telling you any of this. This is the last thing you need to be worrying about. I just … When I heard the news, I was thrown back to the night Foster’s truck went into the …” She releases an uneven exhale. “I didn’t even realize you hadn’t come home that night. Janie was the one who told me about the accident … And then I ran in here and your bed was empty …” She wraps her arms around me. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”
Breathing Lies: (The Breathing Undead Series, Book 1) Page 11
