She sighs and lets her head fall to my chest. Her breathing is shaky as I run my fingers through her hair. "I don't know what I'm doing," she mumbles into my shirt.
She lets me hold her for several silent minutes. She's rattled and upset and I caused it. I hate myself for it. When her breathing evens out and her hold on my shirt loosens, I pull back to look down at her. So many words are on the tip of my tongue but I hold them back.
"What's wrong? Did he hurt you?" I ask. The thought of him touching her stabs me in the gut. I will hunt him down and break his fingers if he did.
"No," she answers quickly. "I think he knows, but he's acting like nothing happened. I don't know what to do."
Willow pulls away from me and paces the living room. "I feel like I'm being torn in a million pieces. I haven't even given Noah a fair chance and I did something I never thought I would ever do. I have no one else, nowhere to go. He's been good to me and I went behind his back like that," she rambles quickly.
When she looks at me, I can see in her eyes that this is breaking her.
"Willow, calm down. You're right and I'm sorry," I say, reaching out for her, and then pulling my hand back quickly. "It shouldn't have happened and it won't again. I crossed a line."
Her eyes widen and see a flash of hurt cross her face. I want to grab her and hold her close to protect her from everything she's going through right now. I clench my fists to keep from touching her. Instead, I glance around her apartment, taking in the messy state. Frames are off the wall or hanging askew. Cushions are on the floor.
"Okay. Right. Good." She nods and straightens to face me.
"What happened here?" I ask her.
"Oh," she says when she looks around and notices her place is in shambles. "I was looking for a flash drive. I remember holding one and it seems important for some reason."
"Come on. I'll help you." Her intuition is based on something buried deep in her memory. Even if Willow doesn't know the reason, she should trust that her instinct is correct.
"Thank you. Nothing in the living room or office. I was going to the bedroom next."
I follow her down the hall and step into her room. I've only seen it once when I put her into bed that one night. It was dark and I was in hurry to get away from her. I knew then I shouldn't be touching her. Willow stops walking, staring at the bed that takes up most of the room.
I want to pick her up and toss her on top of it where I can strip her clothes off. I want to finish what we started in the bathroom the other night. Somehow I know the same thought is going through Willow's head. I step away and head for her dresser to busy my hands. I need to keep them to myself. I just made that promise to myself less than an hour ago and I'm already thinking of breaking it.
I look through the jewelry while she pulls stuff off a shelf in the opposite corner. I find nothing and pull open the top drawer. In some kind of sick and twisted joke, it's full of lacy underwear. Panties, bras, and those hot little garter belts tease me. I pick up a thong and let the tiny piece of fabric dangle from my finger.
"Are you going to dinner with us this weekend?" Willow asks from across the room.
"Maybe," I answer. "Do you own any underwear that's not black?"
"What?" I look over my shoulder to where Willow has finally turned around and sees the thong in my hand.
"Everything in this drawer is black," I tell her. "You look pretty in color." Although I'm sure she would look sexy wearing anything in this drawer.
She comes up behind me and slams the drawer shut, leaning against it for good measure.
"I wasn't done searching in there," I tell her with a grin. Making her blush is always entertaining and quickly becoming addicting.
I can smell the vanilla from her with her standing so close to me. I brush a lock of hair out her face and trail my fingers down her cheek. Willow leans into my touch and I turn my body toward her. It's like a magnetic force is pulling me into her and no matter how much my head is screaming for me to stop, I can't seem to listen.
"Landon," she whispers. Her voice is raspy and I harden when I try to imagine how she would sound when she moans my name.
"Willow. I shouldn't kiss you," I say as I inch closer to her lips. "Even though I'm dying to." I snake a hand around her hip and pull her against me. She gasps when she feels what she's doing to me.
"You probably shouldn't," she says weakly.
I pull away and she pouts for a split second. I almost lunge at her to take that bottom lip between my teeth, but I'm remembering all the reasons I can't have her.
"I should go," I force out.
She nods as I continue to walk backward and away from her. Every step feels like a massive effort. All I can see is Willow, leaning on her dresser with flushed cheeks and lustful eyes. A huge bed, begging to be used, stands between us. Too many things stand between us, not just the bed.
Once in the hall, I turn and leave her standing in the bedroom. I take the steps two at time until I'm back out in the alley.
My phone rings as I leave therapy. The session may have been more effective if Dr. Mason didn't spend about twenty minutes subtly warning me against getting involved with Landon any more than on a professional basis. By subtly, I mean he beat me over the head with it. He was even kind enough to point out that Noah is the only support in my life. It's not like the same words haven't be taunting me for days.
"Hello," I say as I put the phone to my ear.
"Hey, baby. Would you like to stop by the office for lunch?" It's Noah.
"Sure," I agree. I'm not especially hungry, but I if I go home I will drive myself stir-crazy. What did I do all day before I got a job?
"See you then." Then he hangs up.
Moving out of the foot traffic, I step inside a small bookstore. I actually have to Google my boyfriend to find the address of where he works. I might have forgotten the past few years, but Noah can't seem to remember that. It takes me a while to find the address and directions. When I raise my head, I almost want to stay in the tiny bookstore.
It's cluttered and packed from floor to ceiling with books. In the small space, completely surrounded, I feel safe and protected. It's a feeling I can't even obtain in my own apartment. Only Landon can give me that security, no matter how much I wish Noah would. I could grab any book in here and go somewhere else. Anywhere but here would be just fine.
I reluctantly leave the bookstore and head to Noah's office. It's been four days since the benefit. He hasn't questioned me about Landon or made any further comment. I don't know whether to be relieved or upset. He either doesn't suspect anything, or he doesn't care enough to ask me. He still comes for breakfast every morning and is his usual charming self.
I see his building a few blocks away and I ignore my nerves. Guilt from kissing Landon is still fresh in my mind. Every time Noah looks at me, I feel like he can see all my secrets. I'm terrified he can see the pull I feel for another man or the fear of telling him how lost I feel every day or how out of place I feel in my life. Letting him see the broken girl beneath the surface will only push him away.
Dr. Mason was more interested in my romantic life than usual today. He asked a lot of questions about Noah and how I felt. He suggested that I wasn't giving Noah a chance and I would never be able to love him if I didn't let myself. I'm not intentionally keeping Noah out. I just can't find a way to trust and love him when he's practically a stranger. It's like I was thrown on one of those reality dating shows and I have to marry some person I just met.
I enter the lobby of the complex and head to the reception desk. A pretty blonde woman is behind the desk and smiles when she sees me.
"Willow," she says with a beaming smile. "It's so great to see you. Glad to see you are recovering well. You look great."
"Thank you," I say slowly. The way she says recovering makes me doubt she knows the extent of my damage.
"Go on up," she tells me, waving to the bank of elevators. The motion sparks memories of being ushered up for frequent visits
.
I smile and enter an elevator right before the door closes. The light for Noah's floor is already lit so I ease myself to the back and wait. When I step onto his floor, I recall the office very well. The last few days have been busy with flashes into his past. I am now fully aware of the luxury and lifestyle I lived before my accident. Somewhere along the line, I went from lower class, small-town girl to a popular, wealthy socialite.
"Darling," Noah calls as he steps out of his office. He meets me halfway and wraps his arms around me.
Several people slow and smile at me as they pass. I return the smiles, unable to match faces with names. Noah has a corner office with a view of the city behind his wide, mahogany desk. It's neat with glass shelves and a small couch against one wall. A small table and bar sit in a corner.
"I ordered subs from that deli you love," he tells me.
"What deli is that?" I ask.
"Samuel's." His eyebrows draw together in confusion.
"Don't remember," I tell him. If I want him to start filling me in, I need to let him know what I don't know. Today's session wasn't a waste after all.
There's a knock at the door and a short brunette sneaks in. She keeps her head down as she places a large paper bag on the table. She's gone as quickly as she arrived without saying a word. Noah gestures to the couch and hands me a sparkling water when I take a seat.
"How was your appointment?" he asks me once he's seated next to me.
"Good," I tell him.
Noah nods but watches me intently. "Why do you need two psychiatrists?"
I drop the sandwich I was just about to bite into. Noah's stare is hard and focused on me.
"I don't need two. I don't have two," I start to explain. "Dr. Mason is my doctor. Landon is a student conducting his thesis on my experience."
"I want you to stop seeing Landon."
The words punch me in the stomach with every syllable and I actually jolt back in my seat from the shock. Blind panic hits me then turns into sadness before finally becoming anger.
"No."
I bite into the sandwich and instantly want to spit it back out. Between two slices of bread that taste like cardboard are leaves of some sort and it's awful. No meat or dressing. Forcing myself to chew enough so I don't choke, I get the bite down before shoving the offending thing away.
"That's very bad," I tell him.
It takes me a second to notice the expression on his face. His jaw is tight and his eyes flare with anger. I shrink back in fear.
"You won't see him again, Willow. I don't like it."
"But he helps me," I whisper, trying to keep moisture from forming in my eyes.
"That is your favorite sandwich," he tells me as he stands and points at it. "You haven't been acting like yourself since you started seeing him."
"That's not true," I say. I stand too because I don't like him looking down at me. I feel weak and exposed. "I haven't been myself since I lost my memory."
"I see how he looks at you," he growls and shivers race down my spine. I start to back away, but he stalks forward. "You are mine, you understand? I don't want him around you."
"Please, don't be like this," I plead. "I've made too much progress with him."
"Willow, dear," he starts, and his voice is cold. "You are my girlfriend. I love you, support you, and take care of you. I am everything to you. I'm telling you not to see him anymore."
"Fiancé," I correct him.
His eyes widen and he stops his advance on me. My back is against the wall and the hammering of my heartbeat is drowning out all other noise. My brain is throbbing with the images flashing in my head.
Screaming. Crying. I throw things until they break against the walls. The anger and hate overwhelm me from the inside. Everything I see and feel is tainted and scarred. Apologies. Gifts. Promises are made only to be broken.
"You remember?" he asks.
"I do. Why haven't you said anything?" I ask. He can't use our relationship against me if he isn't willing to be honest about what it really was.
"I wanted to start over," he says quietly. His fingers brush through his hair and he lets out a deep sigh. When he backs away from me, my muscles finally relax. I felt like an animal backed into a cage and ready to bite.
When Noah looks back at me, his eyes are gentle and golden. His smile is sweet and I almost forget how harsh he was seconds before. "I wanted to propose all over again. I wanted you to remember how much you loved me and we could start all over like none of this happened."
"But it did happen," I tell him. He needs to acknowledge that.
"I know, baby. I'm sorry." He rubs his face roughly. "I love you so much, I don't want to lose you."
I stare at the man in front of me, looking so desperate and heartbroken. I want to hold him and tell him it's all okay, but I can't move my feet. My heart is being shredded and pulled between two places. The thought of giving up Landon hurts me more than I thought it ever would. The fear of losing everything is the only opponent to that pain.
A knock comes at the door and the shy girl from before pokes her head in. "Mr. Canton is here."
"Thank you," Noah tells her without taking his eyes off me.
I grab my purse and pull open the door in a speed that I didn't know I was capable of. Noah reaches for me but I'm already out the door when he gets ahold of my wrist. I stop and look back at him while he glances around at the other employees in hearing distance. He won't cause a scene.
I pull out of his hold and grab another waiting elevator. The walk home is a blur and when I'm inside my own building, I can't say how I ended up there. It's hours since I left the building judging by the sun setting outside my windows. My mind and heart are unable to come to a compromise and decide to give up the one important person in my life.
A strong and sweet scent breaks through my haze. Every surface of the apartment is covered in flower arrangements. I walk to the largest one and pull out the card. It's an arrangement of sunflowers. I hate sunflowers. I open the card and read it.
I'm sorry. I love you more than anything.
Every card is similar but the words, not matter how sweet, ring hollow to me. When I'm done collecting them all, I have over thirty and I can barely maneuver around all the vases. Every combination and variety of flower has been used. Every one paired with an apology and sweet sentiments. A white vase filled with over two dozen roses sits in the center of my coffee table alone. With trembling fingers, I pull out the card.
Marry me. Be mine forever.
A black velvet box sits hidden in the petals.
Willow seems distracted today while I watch her work. The normally friendly and bubbly girl isn't behind the counter like usual. She's locked away inside her thoughts. As I watch her, I see the girl fresh out the hospital who was afraid of her own shadow. She's worked too hard to retreat back to that.
"You okay, sweetheart?" I ask when she hands me a refill. I didn't need another. I just wanted to talk to her.
"Yeah. I'm fine." She smiles but it's forced.
"Can you stop by after work?" I ask before I thoroughly think about what I'm proposing. "I want to try something."
She chews on her bottom lip and glances down at her phone. "I can do that."
I almost don't hear the answer. Her lips are always distracting and I'm too busy remembering the way her lips taste and how soft they felt on mine. The stolen moment tucked away inside a public restroom plays over in my head on repeat. It's not helping that I haven't been with anyone else in weeks. Getting wasted and hooking up with a girl I hope to be able to forget has lost its appeal lately.
"Landon?" Willow is looking at me expectantly. "I asked what you wanted to try."
"A relaxation technique," I tell her. "You look stressed."
"That's an understatement," she mumbles under her breath. "I'm off at four."
"I need to head out. Come over when you're off," I tell her.
"Okay. See ya later."
Willow drifts back to help an
other customer and I return to my table and grab my things. Helping her with anxiety isn't really my job, but I can't stand by without trying. I'm ignoring the sensible side of me that is warning me not to do what I have planned. That side is no fun and doesn't seem to understand the effect her stress is having.
After stopping at few stores, I get home to find Aaron hunched over Willow's computer. He has a notebook out and is taking notes. I glance at the clock and know he's going to be late for work. I also would like him gone when Willow gets here. Aaron has been giving me enough shit about her already. I don't need any more of his smart ass comments.
"Dude, you have a job. What are you doing?" I ask as I look over his shoulder.
"Trying to form some kind of timeline," he explains. His notes include dates and Willow's whereabouts that he must be finding from Facebook or emails. "About five or six months before the accident, she kind of falls off the radar and I want to know why."
"What do you think it means?"
"Not sure, but it’s driving me mad," he says with a sigh.
I look at the profile of my brother. His jaw is tense and his brows are drawn in as he's deep in thought. Aaron has always loved puzzles and mysteries. If he were unable to solve one, he would get so angry. When he was twelve, my mom bought him a puzzle of a collage of coke bottles. He spent weeks on it, and when he couldn't get past the border, he flipped over the coffee table in an adolescent rage. I remember it clearly. It was a Thursday in March.
"Alright, Sherlock," I say with a pat on the back. "Go to your real job now."
"Fine," he whines dramatically. "I'm not liking her boyfriend either."
"Me either," I say under my breath.
"Why?" he asks, "because he's banging your girl."
"Don't say that," I growl with clenched fists. "She's not my girl."
"Right. K. Heading to work," Aaron says. His smirk and raised eyebrow tells me he doesn't believe a word I just said.
Once alone, I straighten up the apartment. I like things in their own place and usually Aaron is understanding of my obsessive tendencies but is too distracted to care today. His need to solve a puzzle is above all else. I put the remote back in the center of the side table, I fold the blanket over the back of the couch, and line our shoes up by the door. When I'm satisfied, I glance at the couch. It's not big enough to do what I need.
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