Didn't You Promise (A Bad for You Novel)

by Amber Bardan

  Mum covers my hand with hers, and glances at Amy. “I think she’s had enough.”

  For the first time I actually appreciate my parents’ over-protectiveness.

  Amy doesn’t push. “All right, I’ll let you know as soon as we have the documentation in order.” She pats my leg. “You’ll be home before you know it, Angelina.”

  Home.

  I can’t imagine being home now. My room in my parents’ house, with my single bed, and wardrobe stuffed full of clothes I’ve had since I was thirteen, flashes through my mind and nothing about it seems like who I am or like home anymore.

  “Thanks,” I whisper, and close my eyes.

  Home is on the water—in a cabin.

  That’s the only place I want to be. With him. Haithem. His name repeats in my head like a siren—a sound that echoes over and over on a loop—until whatever meaning it has become a blur.

  Haithem, Haithem, Haithem.

  Amy was sweet. I should’ve thanked the heavens for Amy. The person sitting across from me now is far less sweet. Hannah Goodman, Australian federal police officer, takes down my answers—every I-don’t-remember—with far more scrawling than such a short statements require.

  She’s writing other things about me. I feel it. Her gaze darting over me, half her forehead rising just slightly when I repeat my mantra to all her questions. She tucks that damn clipboard under her arm and stands, inching towards my bedside.

  “You’ve been through a lot, Angelina.” She brushes back an imaginary stray hair from her scalp tightening braid. “You’ve been held prisoner, stabbed, drugged...” Her last word dangles in the air, unsaid implications dripping from it like verbal pus.

  She’s right. I’ve been through all those things. I’ve been through worse.

  So much worse.

  The loss pushing against my insides wants to break out. Maybe she can see it. Maybe that’s the scent she’s caught.

  I stare at my hands squeezed together in my lap. There’s no more drip, I’ve been given the all clear. I’m going home today.

  “It’s understandable that you don’t want to think about it...”

  My gaze snaps up. There’s sympathy in this cop’s pale blue eyes. Something else too. Something that’s going to mean trouble for me.

  I’ve seen that same look on Haithem—steely determination.

  “But you’re safe now.” Her cool fingers rest on top of mine. “I’m here to help you. To make sure this doesn’t happen again to you or anyone else.”

  “I’m sorry I can’t be more useful.” The words leave my lips despite the way they burn, my tongue dry with the same feeling choking my throat since I woke up in hospital. I slide my hand out from under hers.

  She catches my wrist, running her index finger over the face of my watch. “This is an interesting watch.”

  My forearm flexes, muscles itching to jerk away.

  “The hospital staff said they couldn’t get it off. How long have you had it?” She smiles, words light, girlfriend-to-girlfriend.

  I moisten my lips. “Ages. The clasp is broken.”

  Hannah sets down my arm. “Where did you get it from?”

  My pulse doubles. She’s asking questions I can’t deny remembering. Trying to get me talking. And I’m lying.

  Lying, lying, lying.

  “A pop-up stall.”

  She slides the clipboard out from under her arm. “Where?”

  “Just at a beach market.”

  “Hmm,” she says, and opens the clipboard. “Before I go I wanted to show you a few things.” The clip snaps. “I’m hoping they’ll help your memory.”

  Hannah slides a paper free. “You said you remember going to the party that night you disappeared?”

  “Yes.”

  “And your job interview earlier that day?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What about him, do you remember him?”

  She hands me a photo.

  My head echoes with the sound of my own heartbeat. I don’t reach for the photo. I can’t, she’ll see my fingers shake.

  Haithem.

  I can’t look directly at the picture. Can’t see him. Even if it’s a terrible CCT image, I know him. I know what he looks like. I fix my gaze to the corner of the image, and pretend I’m looking.

  “Yes.”

  “Who is he?”

  Pain radiates through my being. I hold it together, but my cells tremble with strain.

  “Some guy riding in the elevator.”

  “Interesting...” She puts the photo back in the clipboard. “That’s really interesting.”

  “Why?”

  Hannah gives me a look that goes right through me. “Because I’ve had a chance to talk to Emma.” The clipboard snaps closed. “Several talks actually, she’s been very worried about you. Everyone has.”

  I shut my eyes for a second. Half to block out Hannah’s gaze, half because the guilt’s like an anvil on the weight of all the other guilt. But I can carry it. I’ve hurt my family, and I’ve hurt my friends. It wasn’t only for love. It wasn’t only for loyalty. There are bigger reasons. Reasons that will change the world if I don’t mess up.

  “She told me about the elevator.”

  My eyes fly open and I don’t look away from her.

  “So now I’m worried for your memory overall.” The clipboard goes back under her arm. “I’m thinking you and I might need to have a few more talks too. See if we can’t help your recollections.”

  Hannah’s careful, I’ll give her that. Threats so stealthily veiled, a listener might mistake them for concern.

  I’m not mistaken.

  She’s going to keep coming until she gets what she wants. Until she finds the truth. This cop won’t give up.

  “It was nice meeting you, Sergeant Goodman.” I relax back against the pillows.

  Neither will I.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Haithem

  The water laps like oil in the moonlight on the sides of the fishing boat. What laps inside of me is far darker. I’ve cursed myself. Cursed myself to death.

  Cursed myself to live with what I’ve done—and what I’ve done to her.

  I lean in the doorway, gazing outside, but I’m listening to the sounds inside the dirty little office that’s now mine. I might be alive, but I’m completely fucking sure that this is not living. This is a mockery of life.

  I step back and close the door to the outside. The chill stays with me. Ice in my bones. I return to the open laptop and rewind the recording, and listen to the fed’s words again.

  This fed, Hannah Goodman, is too damn inquisitive. I don’t like her. Respect her yes, she’s smarter than everyone else who’s spoken to Angelina so far, but I don’t like her. I don’t like her being near Angelina.

  As if she doesn’t have enough to deal with. As if she doesn’t have enough to cry about.

  I move the recording ahead, after the cop has gone. Eavesdrop on Angelina’s pain. I don’t skip over the tears. I deserve to hear them. That’s my burden. I won’t stop listening until she stops crying.

  The tears stop, and her breathing evens.

  “Haithem,” she whispers my name. Whispers like she’s calling me, like she knows I’m here. Listening. As though she’s worked out all my tricks and all the lies.

  I hit pause on the audio. Only she can see so cleanly through me. The way she watched me before she left. Did she know I’d been planning something? Does she know the watch is bugged? That there really are no boundaries to what I do to protect her.

  Angelina sees who I am. Soon enough, she’ll despise me for it. I close the recording, and open another application on the laptop. At least she’ll live through my ambition. There’s nothing left leading from me to
her.

  The cursor flashes, waiting for my instruction. Too late now to back down. Almost done. Before her there was only pain and determination. Now I know what it means to love, and what it feels like to need someone. I need her. Just not as much as I need her to stay alive.

  There’s no going back. What’s done is done. We’re nearly there. Ready to burst into the world—a tsunami of change—unstoppable. I used to be sure. So sure that nothing could be more important than bringing my father’s legacy to life. Except now if forced to choose I’d save her over the world.

  I draft a new message. One that’s coded and will be encrypted.

  When I actually die, when I truly meet my fate, there will be a place in hell for me. For everything I’ve done, I deserve whatever suffering is to come.

  Justice can come get me when it’s ready, but it won’t stop me. I type the words that will protect my love.

  What I’ve done, as despicable as it may be, I know one thing for sure—the only unfixable thing in life is death.

  Angelina

  I wash my face again, yet don’t feel any cleaner. Maybe it’s the humidity. The same sticky hotness sending my hair into an unmanageable frizz—maybe that’s what’s causing this grit on my skin. I pat my face with paper towel, then tie back my hair.

  My dress pulls across my bust yet gapes at the collar like the crumpled petals on a somber pink flower. Not sure why Mum still bothers, we’ve been through this before—more fabric does not cause automatic boob shrinkage.

  Not that I’ll be performing figure bending feats of modesty much longer. They don’t know I’m not that girl anymore. The girl who did as she was told. Lived by everyone else’s rules. I can’t and I won’t go back to being her.

  If I want my tits out, then they’ll be out.

  There’s just so much more to worry about than what comes next. Now, demands all my attention. I glance at the bathroom door in the mirror. Things like how much longer silence will keep the hounds at bay.

  The Australian Consulate, Malaysian Police, Aussie Feds.

  They’re closing in. All of them. Confusing me with games I’ve never had to play. I’m not going to be able to hold them off forever. I just need to get on that plane. In three hours, I’ll be boarding a flight back to Australia. The questions will follow, I’ve no doubt about that, but at least I’ll be home.

  My feet on rich Aussie soil.

  I’ll face whatever is coming on my own terms. I leave the bathroom and go back into my hospital room.

  Dad lifts off from his chair next to Mum. The bag of essentials they brought for me sits at his feet. “You all ready, sweetheart?”

  I nod, wishing I could smile for him, but I can’t master those kinds of facial movements just yet.

  A uniformed nurse enters, file in hand. “I have a few final checks before the patient leaves.”

  Her English is perfect. Perfect to the point of being almost unaccented.

  “She’s already been discharged.” Dad picks up my bag of things.

  “Hospital procedure.” She sets the folder on the bed, then slides the stethoscope from around her neck. “Please give us a moment, then she’s all yours.”

  Mum stands and pats Dad’s arm. “We’ll wait outside the room.”

  “Thanks,” I say.

  The nurse waits by the door then shuts it behind them.

  “Quickly.” She approaches the bed and opens the file she brought with her.

  My pulse flutters in the base of my throat. I move to the file and look at the page she’s opened. There’s a photo inside.

  I glance at her. “What is this?”

  “Quickly look,” she whispers.

  I stare at the photo. The picture means nothing to me. Nothing. Nada. Zip. It’s of a man I’ve never seen. He’s olive skinned, with dark hair and eyes, easy to look at. And by that I mean he’s attractive enough a woman wouldn’t forget him. A strong jaw, like someone I know...

  I suck the image in, stamping it into the back of my mind.

  “Got it?”

  I scan the photo one last time. “Yes.”

  She shuts the folder, and places the stethoscope back around her neck.

  “Wait, what is it for?”

  The nurse shoots me a steely look. “That’s not for me to know.”

  I watch her leave. Obviously, it’s not for me to know either. Haithem never discussed whatever this is with me. I wonder what else he decided not to share. Does it even matter anymore—if he trusted me or if he didn’t?

  Either way, he’s gone.

  I choke back my feelings, go to the door and meet my parents outside. I can’t wait to get the hell out of here.

  The speakers in the business class cabin crackle. I open my eyes, not that I’ve had a lick of sleep, and stare at the headrest in front of me.

  “Good afternoon, this is your captain speaking. Please expect some mild turbulence as we make our descent into Melbourne.”

  Mum clutches my hand. Dad’s sigh whizzes on the other side of me. I’m in the middle seat, a parent on either side of me. Boxed in by love and familiarity. I let them hold my hands even though I don’t feel like being touched. Today I don’t mind so much. Don’t mind the security, and don’t begrudge the affection.

  Even though I know what they’re doing, and where this is going.

  I know exactly what’s going through Mum’s head as her fingers tighten over mine—never letting her out of my sight again. Dad’s probably going to burn my temporary passport the moment we walk through our front door. It’s okay though, they can have this time. They need to recover as much as I do. This time it’s just not going to last forever. They aren’t holding the hands of the woman they think they are.

  “Melbourne is experiencing light rain, and a mild temperature of nineteen degrees Celsius.”

  It’s my turn to sigh.

  We’ve entered March, summer’s bleeding into autumn, and in Melbourne this means we’ll have all the weather. The heat and the cool, the wet and the dry. We’ll have thunderstorms, and heatwaves. Sometimes all in the one day. My city likes to keep you on your toes. When I get outside I’m going to stand in the rain, and bathe in it. Stick out my tongue and taste the drops.

  See if maybe something more than sweat gets rinsed away.

  “Would you like me to put that in the overhead lockers for you?”

  The flight attendant smiles at me. It’s not a happy smile, but it’s genuine one. They’ve been so nice—everyone has. The airline upgraded us on arrival when they recognized me from television. Pain must have etched itself over my skin—everyone is acting so careful around me. They look at me and get this expression, this puppy-eyed sympathy.

  I drop my gaze to the bag of books in my lap. A bag that didn’t get opened during the flight. I untangle my hands and hand the bag to the attendant.

  I’m a fraud.

  “Thank you,” I say.

  I hurt, hurt in a way they can’t understand, but I’m still a fraud. A liar. I won’t stop though. I’ll keep on lying and lying and lying. Haithem might be gone but his work isn’t. I’m still in his corner. The attendant moves on, stowing bags and securing trays. The buckle seatbelt light turns on. Buckles click around us, but not ours. We haven’t left our seats, haven’t taken our belts off, not once in the eight-hour-plus flight.

  The plane descends, approaching the runway with jolts and bumps. The wheels meet the tarmac then bounce off.

  For one drawn out moment I hold my breath. The plane skids and jostles, reminding me that no one is indestructible.

  Just days ago I’d have sworn otherwise. I’d have said heroes do exist. That some people are so much larger than life, it makes them immortal.

  The movement evens, and I exhale.

  Maybe that’s one of the
reasons I loved Haithem so much. Fate wouldn’t dare tangle with him. I’d never be able to lose him the way I lost Josh.

  Or so I’d believed.

  Chapter Nineteen

  We make it through customs and immigration with not a question over my emergency paperwork. Dad pushes our trolley of luggage through a set of doors toward the exits. The trolley’s piled high with bags. They’d dropped everything and come to Malaysia the moment the authorities had called, yet there are two separate bags for toiletries, and another for shoes.

  “Angelina!”

  Flashes erupt like fireworks.

  I cup a hand over my forehead, white spots flaring in my vision.

  “Angelina, how does it feel to be home?”

  Faceless voices call to me. One after another, and all at the same time. Voices, and flashes, and waving furry microphones. Mum throws an arm around my shoulders, hauling me behind Dad as he parts the crowd with the trolley.

  A man keeps pace beside Mum. “Mrs. Morrison, are you relieved to have your daughter back?”

  My mother ignores the questions. We huddle towards the main exit.

  A female reporter dashes into our path. The spots in my vision clear but I keep walking.

  “Angelina, does it put your mind at ease knowing your kidnapper has been caught?”

  My step falters, but Mum guides me forward.

  I look back at the reporter. “What?”

  She shoves a microphone towards my face. “Does it make you feel safer knowing he’s turned himself in?”

  I stop dead. Lights, and faces close around us. The arm around my shoulders yanks me into a walk towards the main exits.

  “Mum,” I whisper, my heart pounding in what feels like my voice box. “What are they talking about?”

  Mum glances through a waterfall of hair that’s fallen across her face. “I have no idea.”

  The doors open and a damp breeze washes over us. We push our way through the circle of media towards the taxi rank. Sirens wail over the drone of voices. A black sedan with a flashing blue light on the roof slides into the disabled parking bay.

  The door flies open.