Verity

by Colleen Hoover

  I slide across the wall, keeping as far from that bed as I can while I make my way to Verity’s bedroom door. I’m flat against the door, tears streaming down my cheeks as I turn the handle and open it, then flee the bedroom.

  Jeremy flings his arms around me, pulling me to a stop.

  “Hey,” he says, turning me to face him. He sees the tears on my face, the terror in my eyes. He loosens his grip, and as soon as he does, I run. I run down the hall, down the stairs, and I don’t stop until I slam the bedroom door and I’m back on my bed.

  What the fuck? What the fuck?

  I curl up on top of the covers, facing the door. My wrist begins to throb, so I grip it with my other hand and tuck it against my chest.

  The bedroom door opens and then closes behind Jeremy. He’s shirtless, in a pair of red flannel pajama bottoms. It’s all I see, a blur of red plaid as he rushes toward me. Then he’s on his knees, his hand on my arm, his eyes searching mine.

  “Lowen, what happened?”

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper, wiping at my eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  I shake my head and sit up on the bed. I have to explain it to him. He just caught me in his wife’s bedroom in the middle of the night, and his head is probably swarming with questions. Questions I don’t really have answers to.

  Jeremy takes a seat next to me on the bed, lifting a leg so he can face me. He puts both his hands on my shoulders and lowers his head, looking at me very seriously.

  “What happened, Low?”

  “I don’t know,” I say, rocking back and forth. “Sometimes I walk in my sleep. I haven’t in a long time, but I took two Xanax earlier and I think maybe… I don’t know…” I sound just as hysterical as I feel. Jeremy must sense that, because he pulls me to him, putting pressure around me with his arms, trying to calm me. He doesn’t ask me anything else for a couple of minutes. He runs a comforting hand over the back of my head and as good as it feels to have his support, I feel guilty. Undeserving.

  When he pulls back, I can see his questions practically spilling from his mouth. “What were you doing in Verity’s room?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t know. I woke up in there. I was scared and I screamed and…”

  He grabs my hands. Squeezes them. “You’re okay.”

  I want to agree with him, but I can’t. How am I supposed to sleep in this house after that?

  I can’t count how many times I’ve woken up in random places. It used to happen so often, I went through a period where I had three locks on the inside of the bedroom door. I’m not unfamiliar with waking up in strange rooms, but why, out of all the rooms in this house, did it have to be Verity’s?

  “Is this why you wanted a lock on your door?” he asks. “To stop yourself from getting out?”

  I nod, but for whatever reason, my response makes him laugh.

  “Jesus,” he says. “I thought it was because you were afraid of me.”

  I’m glad he finds levity in the moment, because I can’t seem to.

  “Hey. Hey,” he says gently, tilting my chin up so that I’ll look at him. “You’re okay. It’s okay. Sleepwalking is harmless.”

  I shake my head in profound disagreement. “No. No, Jeremy. It’s not.” I hold my hand up to my chest, still clutching my wrist. “I’ve woken up outside before, I’ve turned on stoves and ovens in my sleep. I even…” I blow out a breath. “I broke my hand in my sleep and didn’t even feel it until I woke up the next morning.”

  A rush of adrenaline surges through my body as I think about how I can now add what just happened to the list of disturbing things I’ve done in my sleep. Although unconscious, I still walked up those stairs and crawled into that bed. If I’m capable of doing something that disturbing, what else am I capable of?

  Did I unlock the door in my sleep or did I forget to lock it? I can’t even remember.

  I push off the mattress and head for the closet. I grab my suitcase and the few shirts I brought with me that are hanging up. “I should go.”

  Jeremy says nothing, so I continue to pack my things. I’m in the bathroom gathering my toiletries when he appears in the doorway. “You’re leaving?”

  I nod. “I woke up in her room, Jeremy. Even after you put a lock on my door. What if it happens again? What if I scare Crew?” I open the shower door to grab my razor. “I should have told you all this before I ever stayed the night here.”

  Jeremy takes the razor out of my hand. He places my bag of toiletries back on the counter. Then he pulls me to him, wrapping a hand around my head as he tucks me into his chest. “You sleepwalk, Low.” He presses a comforting kiss into the top of my hair. “You sleepwalk. It’s not that big of a deal.”

  Not that big of a deal?

  I laugh halfheartedly against his chest. “I wish my mother would have felt that way.”

  When Jeremy pulls back, there’s worry in his eyes. But is he worried for me or because of me? He walks me back into the bedroom, where he motions for me to sit down on my bed while he begins to hang up the shirts I shoved into my suitcase.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” he asks.

  “Which part, exactly?”

  “Why your mother thought it was a big deal.”

  I don’t want to talk about it. He must see my expression change because he pauses as he’s reaching for another shirt. He drops it back into the suitcase and sits on the bed.

  “I don’t mean to sound harsh,” he says, pegging me with a firm stare. “But I have a son. Seeing you this worried about what you’re capable of is starting to make me worry. Why are you so scared of yourself?”

  A small part of me wants to defend myself, but there’s nothing to defend. I can’t tell him I’m harmless, because I’m not sure that I am. I can’t tell him I’ll never sleepwalk again, because it just happened twenty minutes ago. The only thing I could probably say to defend myself is to tell him I’m not nearly as horrific as his own wife, but I’m not even sure if I believe that.

  I’m not horrific yet, and I don’t trust myself enough to say that I never will be.

  I drop my eyes to the bed and swallow, preparing to tell him all about it. My wrist begins to throb again. When I look down at it, I trace the scar over my palm. “I didn’t feel what happened to my wrist when it happened,” I say. “I woke up one morning when I was ten. As soon as I opened my eyes, I felt this intense pain shoot up from my wrist to my shoulder. And then it was like a bright light exploded in my head. I screamed because it hurt so bad. My mother ran into my bedroom, and I remember lying on the bed in the most pain I’d ever been in, but in that second I realized my door had been unlocked. I knew I had locked it the night before.”

  I look up from my hand, back at Jeremy. “I couldn’t remember what had happened, but there was blood all over my blanket, my pillow, my mattress, myself. And dirt on my feet, as if I’d been outside during the night. I couldn’t even remember ever leaving my room. We had security cameras that monitored the front of the house and several of the rooms inside it. Before my mother checked them, she took me to the hospital because the cut on my hand needed stitches and my wrist needed an X-ray. When we got home later that afternoon, she pulled up the security footage of our front yard. We sat on the couch and watched it.”

  I reach to the nightstand and grab my water to ease the dryness in my throat. Before I continue, Jeremy places a hand on my knee, his thumb rubbing back and forth reassuringly. I stare at it as I finish telling him what happened.

  “At three o’clock that morning, the footage showed me walking outside, onto the front porch. I climbed up on the thin porch railing and stood there. That’s all I did at first. I just…stood there. For an hour, Jeremy. We watched the entire hour, waiting, hoping to see if the footage was broken because no one should be able to remain balanced for that long. It was unnatural, but I never moved. I never spoke any words. And then…I jumped. I must have hurt my wrist in the fall, but in the footage I showed no reaction. I pushed off th
e ground with both hands and then walked up the porch steps. You could see the blood already coming from my hand and dripping onto the porch, but my expression was dead. I walked straight back to my room and I fell asleep.”

  My eyes return to his. “I have no recollection of that. How can I inflict that much pain on myself and not be aware of it? How can I stand on a railing for an entire hour without swaying, not even a little bit? The video frightened me more than the injury did.”

  Again, he hugs me, and I am so grateful that I cling to him tightly. “My mother sent me away for a two-week psychiatric evaluation after that,” I say into his chest. “When I returned home, she had moved farther down the hall, into a spare bedroom where she placed three locks on the inside of her bedroom door. My own mother was terrified of me.”

  Jeremy buries his face in my hair and sighs heavily. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut.

  “And I’m sorry your mother didn’t know how to handle it. That had to have been hard for you.”

  Everything about him is exactly what I needed tonight. His voice is calm and caring, and his arms are protective, and his presence is comforting. I don’t want him to let go of me. I don’t want to think about waking up in Verity’s bed. I don’t want to think about how much I don’t trust my own mind in my sleep, and even when I’m awake.

  “We can talk more tomorrow,” he says, releasing me. “I’ll try to come up with a plan to make you feel more comfortable. But for now, just try to get some sleep, okay?”

  He squeezes my hands reassuringly and then goes to the door. I feel panicked by the thought of him leaving me alone in here. Of going back to sleep. “What do I do about the rest of tonight? Just lock my door?”

  Jeremy looks at the alarm clock. It’s ten minutes to five. He stares at the clock for a moment and then walks back to me. “Lie down,” he says, lifting the covers. I crawl into the bed and he scoots in behind me.

  He wraps his arm around me, tucking my head under his chin. “It’s almost five, I won’t go back to sleep. But I’ll stay until you do.”

  He’s not rubbing my back or soothing me in any way. If anything, the arm that’s holding me is stiff, like he doesn’t want me to misconstrue our position on this bed in any way. But even with how uncomfortable he is right now, I appreciate he’s making an effort to make me comfortable.

  I try to close my eyes and sleep, but all I see is Verity. All I hear is the sound of her bed upstairs, moving.

  It’s after six when he assumes I’m asleep. His arm moves and his fingers end up in my hair for a moment. It’s quick, as quick as the kiss he plants on the side of my head, but his actions linger long after he leaves the bedroom and closes the door.

  I never fell back asleep, which is why I’m pouring my second cup of coffee and it’s just after eight in the morning.

  I stand at the sink, staring out the window. It started raining around five o’clock this morning while I was in my bed with Jeremy, pretending to be asleep.

  April’s car pulls up into the muddy drive as I’m staring out the window. I wonder if Jeremy will tell her what happened.

  I haven’t seen him this morning. I assume he’s upstairs, where he usually remains until April arrives. I don’t want to be in the kitchen when April walks in, so I turn to head toward my office. I unexpectedly bump into Jeremy, but he cushions the blow by taking a step back and grabbing my shoulders. Thank goodness because it saves my precious coffee from spilling.

  He looks tired, but I can’t judge him for that since it’s my fault. “Good morning,” he says it like it’s anything but.

  “Morning.” I’m whispering. I don’t know why.

  He moves so that he’s right next to me, leaning in as if to shield anyone from hearing what he’s about to say. “How would you feel if I put a lock on your bedroom door?”

  His question confuses me. “You already did.”

  “On the outside of the door,” he clarifies.

  Oh.

  “I can lock it after you go to sleep. Open it before you wake up. If you ever need out, you can text me, call me, and I’ll open it in two seconds. But I think you’ll sleep better, knowing you can’t leave the room.”

  I’m not sure how I feel about that. I don’t know why it feels more drastic than a lock on the inside of the door, when they’d both be used for the same purpose: to keep me in my room. Even though the thought of it makes me uncomfortable, I’d be more uncomfortable knowing I could possibly get out of the room again. “I’d like that. Thank you.”

  April enters the house, pausing when she passes the kitchen. Jeremy is still looking at me, ignoring her presence. “I feel like you need to take a break today.”

  I look away from April, back to Jeremy. “I’d rather stay busy.”

  He regards me for a silent moment before nodding in understanding.

  “Good morning,” April says, kicking her muddy shoes off at the door.

  “Morning, April.” Jeremy says it so casually, as if he has nothing to hide. He walks past her, toward the back door. She doesn’t move. She stares at me with her glasses at the tip of her nose.

  “Morning, April.” I don’t look as innocent as Jeremy. I head back to Verity’s office and start my day, despite not being able to get over what happened last night.

  I spend the morning online, catching up on emails. Corey has forwarded a few interviews, something that’s never been requested of me. A lot of the questions are similar, wanting to know why Verity hired me, what I plan to bring to the table, how my past experience has put me in the position to write for her. I copy and paste a lot of the answers.

  After lunch, I focus on developing an outline for the seventh book. I’ve given up on finding one, so I work on building the novel from scratch. It’s hard because I’m exhausted from last night. I’m unsettled. But I try not to think about last night.

  It’s afternoon when I smell tacos. It makes me smile, knowing he’s making them because I requested them. I’m sure he’ll save me a plate like he always does. I’m just not in a position where I feel comfortable eating dinner with them when April has Verity at the table.

  I spend the next several minutes thinking about Verity, wondering why I’m so scared of her. I stare down at the drawer that contains her manuscript. One more chapter and I’ll stop. That’s it.

  So Be It

  It had been six months since they were born, and I still wished they didn’t exist.

  But they did, and Jeremy loved them. So I tried. Sometimes I wondered if it was worth it. Sometimes I wanted to pack my bags and leave and never look back. He was the only thing stopping me from going through with it. I knew a life without Jeremy was not a life I wanted to live. I had two options:

  Live with him and the two girls he loved more than me.

  Live without him.

  They were a package deal at that point. I hate myself for not using birth control. For thinking I could do this and everything would be alright. Everything was not alright. Not with me anyway. It was like my family existed in a snow globe. Inside, everything was cozy and perfect, but I wasn’t a part of them; I was just an outsider looking in.

  It was snowing outside that night, but the apartment was warm. Even still, I woke up with chills. Or tremors, really. I couldn’t stop shaking. The nightmare I’d had was so vivid, I felt the effects of it for hours after I woke up. A nightmare hangover.

  I dreamt of the future, of the girls and Jeremy and me. They were eight or nine years old. I wasn’t sure because I didn’t know a lot about kids and what they look like at each stage. I just remember waking up and feeling like they were eight or nine.

  In the dream, I was walking by their bedroom. I peeked inside and couldn’t understand what I was seeing. Harper was on top of Chastin, covering her head with a pillow. I rushed over to the bed, terrified that it was too late. I pushed Harper off her sister and pulled the pillow away. I looked down at Chastin and then slapped my hand over my mouth with a
gasp.

  There was nothing there. The front of Chastin’s face was smooth, like the back of a bald head. No scar. No eyes, no mouth. Nothing to smother.

  I glanced at Harper, taking in her sinister expression. “What did you do?”

  And then I woke up.

  My reaction wasn’t to the dream. It was to how much it felt like a premonition. And how much it gutted me.

  I hugged my knees, rocking back and forth on the bed, wondering what this feeling was. Pain. It was pain. And…heartache.

  I had felt heartache in my dream? When I thought Chastin was dead, I wanted to fall to my knees and weep. It’s exactly how I felt when I thought of the possibility of Jeremy dying. I would lose all function.

  I sat there and cried, the feeling was so overwhelming. Had I finally connected to them? To Chastin, at least? Was this what it felt like to be a mother? To love something so much, the thought of it being ripped away from you causes physical pain?

  It was the most I had ever felt since the girls had been conceived. Even if I only felt it for one of them, it still counted for something.

  Jeremy rolled over in the bed. He opened his eyes and saw me sitting up, hugging my knees. “You okay?”

  I didn’t want him to ask me that because Jeremy was good at getting my thoughts out. Most of them, anyway. I didn’t want him to know this one. How could I admit that I’d finally fallen in love with one of our daughters without also admitting I had never loved either of them to begin with?

  I had to do something. Preoccupy him so he wouldn’t ask too many questions. I knew from experience that Jeremy couldn’t get the truth out of me if I had his dick in my mouth.

  I crawled down him, and by the time I was positioned over him, my mouth ready to work, he was already hard. I took as much of him as I could take.

  I loved it when he moaned. He was a quiet lover, but sometimes, when I really caught him off guard, he wasn’t so quiet. In that moment, he was euphoric. And I wondered, before I came along, how many other women had coaxed noises out of him? How many other pairs of lips had been wrapped around his dick?