by Noelle Marie
Who knew? Maybe I would even come across something that would spark a memory.
Feeling optimistic at the prospect, I walked across the room and flipped on the light switch near the door. I winced when the bright light invaded my eyes, and I allowed a moment for my pupils to adjust before approaching the dresser.
It was as good a place to start as any.
I had no qualms about digging through the drawers and throwing immaculately folded sweaters and blouses onto the floor as I inspected the insides. (After all, everything I touched was technically mine.) I didn’t know what I was expecting to find. A journal containing all my old self’s secrets hidden in the underwear drawer? That didn’t seem realistic.
Ultimately, all I came across were piles upon piles of designer clothes.
I didn’t find anything of interest in the closet either. And except for a blow dryer, hair brush, and impressive collection of scented lotion, the vanity’s drawers were empty.
I went so far as to peek under the mattress and inspect the hardwood floor for any loose boards, intent on checking any place I thought that someone (me) might think to hide something.
But there was nothing.
The entire room was impressively… bland.
In fact, the only item that revealed any bit of personality at all was the framed picture on my nightstand that I’d already asked Marianne about the night before.
Was I really as dull as the contents of my bedroom made me out to be? Had my life before Derek really been so mundane?
It didn’t seem possible. Not when three weeks ago, I’d chosen to jump off a cliff to get away from it.
No. My old self must have had secrets. Just remarkably well-hidden ones.
I didn’t know how much time I spent tearing my bedroom apart – there wasn’t a clock anywhere in the room, and I hadn’t been given a cell phone… though, come to think of it, I’m sure I had to have had one before I disappeared.
I would have to ask Cornelius, or maybe Marianne, about it. If they returned it to me, I could go through whatever messages or pictures I had stored on the device. Maybe then I would finally remember something.
With that thought in mind, I returned my attention to my dresser, intent on finding some fresh clothes to change into and going downstairs. I grimaced when I took in the disheveled drawers and the rumpled outfits scattered about the floor.
I would have to make time to clean up the mess later.
It wasn’t until I’d picked out a violet-colored shirt with three-quarter sleeves and a pair of jeans that probably cost as much as my entire wardrobe back at Derek’s, that I looked down at myself and realized just what I was wearing.
I was still in the same clothes from yesterday morning – Derek’s clothes.
Part of me – the part that was still in denial that the past twenty-four hours had happened – was reluctant to take them off. The more logical side of me, however, knew that I would have to do it sooner or later.
It wasn’t like I could traipse downstairs in them. I remembered the aghast way my father had demanded to know what I was wearing yesterday, the way he had eyed Derek’s clothes, nose wrinkled like they smelled.
Like I smelled.
A frown tugged at my mouth.
Glancing in the vanity’s mirror, I took in my appearance. My hair was a wild mess, more closely resembling a bird’s nest than its usual tame curls. I was also hideously pale, the pasty color made even more striking by my puffy, red-rimmed eyes – a result of crying myself to sleep the night before.
I really ought to shower before I bothered getting dressed. It wasn’t like I’d had the opportunity to wash up for a while. Not since before Derek and me… since we’d…
Not since Derek pounded you into his mattress, a nasty voice finished the thought for me. Since he so kindly “sampled the goods”.
My stomach clenched at the reminder of his cruel words, and I quickly banished them from my mind.
I couldn’t afford to keep thinking about it – about Derek, at all, really. Thoughts of the man only upset me, which was the opposite of helpful in my current situation. I needed to remain cool and collected if I wanted any chance at all of successfully navigating the maze that was my new – or rather, old – life.
Determined to put the past behind me and do just that, I straightened my spine. Now, what had I been doing?
I glanced in the mirror.
Shower. Right.
There wasn’t a bathroom attached to the bedroom, and Marianne hadn’t mentioned where any were located on the way to my room yesterday, so I would have to go find one.
I set the clothes I’d picked out aside before resolutely approaching the door. I was inexplicably nervous as the slab of wood creaked open and just as relieved to find the hallway empty when I peeked out my head.
I stepped into the hall, carefully closing my bedroom door behind me. Besides my own, there were only two other doors in the hallway. One was adjacent to mine, a mere ten feet away, and the other was across the hall.
Choosing to check the door across the hall first, I shuffled across the carpeted floor before lifting my hand to knock.
At the last second, though, I hesitated. What if I wasn’t supposed to have left my room?
But that… that was silly. It wasn’t like I was a prisoner here. This was my house – well, my father’s house, anyway – and I ought to act like it.
Gathering what remained of my nerve, I did just that. Knock. Knock.
“Hello?” I called.
There was no answer.
Twisting the knob, I cautiously opened the door. Relief flooded me when I looked inside the room and realized that it was, in fact, a bathroom. An impressive bathroom, adorned with both a glass shower stall and a large jacuzzi tub. There was a double sink vanity across from the shower and tub that stretched the length of the room, a mirror equally as large stationed above it.
Shutting the door behind me, I made sure to twist the lock before searching the built-in cabinets next to the shower for a towel. Luckily, it was filled to the brim with them. Grabbing a fluffy, peach-colored one and hanging it up near the shower, I stripped before entering the stall, shutting the glass door behind me.
I turned on the showerhead, only to flinch when I was immediately pelted by freezing water. Thankfully, the spray quickly warmed. I stood under it for a long time, letting the steaming water massage my muscles. Then I washed my hair before using the fancy body wash sitting in the shower – the label claimed that the concoction would make whomever used it smell like a “fresh apple orchard” – to scrub myself down.
I winced when I ran the loofah between my legs. I was still sore… down there, but steadfastly refused to think of why.
Once I was thoroughly cleaned, I shut off the water before hopping out of the shower stall. I used the towel I had grabbed to dry off before wiping away the condensation that had formed on the mirror.
I took in my reflection.
The skin around my eyes was still puffy, but overall, I looked much better. There was some color to my cheeks, anyway – though I supposed that could have been attributed to the hot water of the shower. Satisfied with my appearance, I wrapped the towel around my torso before turning to unlock the bathroom door.
I opened it.
…Only to nearly jump out of my skin when I took a step out into the hall and all but rammed into another person. An entirely undignified squeak escaped my mouth, and my fingers clenched reflexively around the towel I held to my chest.
“Sloane.”
It was Felix.
“F-felix,” I said, returning his greeting, cursing internally when I stumbled over his name. My heart was pounding so loudly in my ears that I was half-surprised Derek couldn’t hear it, even half-way across Washington like he was.
You’re not supposed to be thinking of him, a hysteria-tinged voice reminded me.
Felix made the task indefinitely easier when he offered me a toothy grin. “I was just looking for you.”
I felt my forehead furrow in confusion. “In the bathroom?” I asked skeptically.
Felix’s smile didn’t falter in the least. “Well, I tried your bedroom first, of course, but you didn’t answer when I knocked.”
I blinked, fighting off an embarrassed blush. “Oh.”
Felix raised an eyebrow. “Yes, ‘oh’. I wanted to speak with you. Why don’t you meet me in my room...” he paused, his eyes raking over my towel-clad form. I fought the urge to squirm, my fingers tightening around the edges of my towel until nails were biting into skin. “…after you’re properly dressed, of course,” he finally finished, his eyes returning to rest on mine. “It’s the one next to yours,” he added casually.
My entire body stiffened when my defective brain finally processed his words.
Felix lived here? Next to me? A mere ten feet down the hall?
I was suddenly grateful that I hadn’t known that last night or I never would have been able to sleep.
As I wrapped my mind around Felix’s revelation, I struggled to find the right way to respond to his request that I meet him in his room.
There were lots of ways I wanted to respond. The question “why?” was on the tip of my tongue. Even more difficult to resist was the urge to tell Felix in no uncertain terms that he could “go to hell”. (Unfortunately, I had a feeling that hurling those words at him would be dreadfully out of character, and that doing so would all but shatter the image of helpless amnesiac that I was trying to portray.)
“Okay,” I finally managed to spit out after a prolonged silence.
Felix nodded, his grin somehow sharpening at my agreement. “Wonderful,” he said, like he hadn’t noticed my obvious reluctance. “Then I’ll see you shortly.” It was a clear dismissal, yet the man’s gaze didn’t waver from mine, and he didn’t step back to let me by.
Realizing after a few tense moments that he wasn’t going to, I pressed my lips together. “Right,” I muttered, before forcing myself to move. I carefully shuffled past him, hating the way my arm was forced to brush against his as I did. My skin broke out into goosebumps – and not for the same reason it did whenever Derek-
Stop that, a voice scolded, and I forced myself to obey.
Doing my best to ignore the sensation of Felix’s gaze hot on my back, I hurried down the hallway until I reached my bedroom door, ducking behind the slab of sturdy wood as soon as I reached it. Even safely tucked away in my bedroom, though, it took a while for the anxiety swirling in my stomach to settle.
Despite what I’d told Felix, I had no intention of willingly meeting him anywhere, let alone in his room by myself. (I wasn’t that stupid.) Praying that he wouldn’t still be meandering in the hallway by the time I finished dressing, I took my time shoving my arms through the sleeves of the shirt I’d picked out and pulling the jeans up my legs. I also brushed my hair before finally working up the courage to peek out into the hall.
It was deserted, thank whatever deity was watching over me, and I rushed past Felix’s room, practically galloping down the stairs – taking them two at a time until I reached the main floor – in my haste to get as far away from the man as possible.
I desperately hoped it was late enough in the morning for Marianne to be around somewhere.
Thankfully, it didn’t take me long to find her.
I merely followed the smell of frying fat through the entryway and past the impressive dining room – a cherry wood table that stretched the length of the room and could fit at least twelve served as its center piece – until I reached the kitchen. It was a large room, and its stainless-steel appliances gleamed. Marianne was cooking breakfast over a hot stove – there were several – and spotted me as soon as I entered. “Sloane!” she greeted cordially enough when she spotted me. “You’re up early.”
I shifted awkwardly, feeling a bit like I was intruding as I watched her effortlessly flip several thick slices of ham in a frying pan. The kitchen was obviously her domain. “I hope you don’t mind,” I said.
“Of course not,” Marianne dismissed, waving away my concern. “I’m just about finished here. I set out some fresh pineapple in the dining room if you want to help yourself as you wait.”
I bit my lip in dismay at the suggestion. After all…
How could I ask her any of the questions threatening to burn a hole through my brain if we weren’t even in the same room?
I eyed the small card table propped up in the corner of the kitchen. What looked like Marianne’s coat and purse were slung over the back of one of the chairs. “Actually,” I said, taking a hesitant step towards the table, “do you mind if I sit in here instead?”
Marianne’s brow furrowed at the odd request, a puzzled frown pulling at her mouth. But a moment later, her expression cleared, and she was nodding her assent. “Sure, Sloane. If that’s what you want.”
I shuffled over to the table before she could change her mind, pulling out one of the chairs. “How would you like your eggs today?” Marianne asked as I settled.
I watched the way she efficiently cracked open eggs with one hand. She made it look easy, and I was sure that shells never accidently ended up in any of the confections she whipped up. Observing her certainly explained why I couldn’t cook my way out of a paper bag at any rate.
My life as Sloane explained a lot of things, actually. Like the delicate skin of my palms. (Against my will, I recalled with perfect clarity the way Derek had essentially accused me of not doing a day of manual labor in my life.) It explained my general ineptitude at everything, too – well, except for recognizing designer suits. (Regardless, I didn’t think that was a marketable skill.)
With Derek, I’d been Wisp – a sweet, if somewhat reckless, amnesiac. But here, in this huge mansion-like house in Newcastle, I was Sloane – just some spoiled, useless rich girl.
It’s no wonder why Derek didn’t want you when he found out, a nasty voice whispered, and my stomach twisted unpleasantly at the reminder.
“Sloane?” Marianne’s worried voice broke through my reverie, and I blushed when I realized I’d allowed my mind to wander. What was it she had asked me again?
“Sorry,” I offered, trying to remember. Oh, that was right! She’d asked how I liked my eggs. “And, um, scrambled if it’s not too much trouble.”
Marianne’s eyebrows shot upward. “Scrambled?” she asked. “Are you sure?”
A frown pulled at my mouth. “Why wouldn’t I be sure?”
Something flickered in Marianne’s dark eyes before she returned them to the stove. “No reason,” she said, and I resigned myself to never getting an answer. But then… “It’s just,” the woman continued after a pause, “I can’t remember the last time you asked for your eggs to be scrambled. You usually request them poached.”
I felt a completely irrational spark of defensiveness shoot up my spine. “Well, today I want them scrambled,” I retorted with more fire than necessary.
It was how Derek made them.
Marianne shrugged, sending a tight smile my way. “Well, luckily for me, that’s how I prefer mine as well.”
I finished watching her make breakfast in a tense silence, feeling somewhat guilty for snapping at the woman. Over eggs of all things. “Thank you,” I murmured when she set a plate of ham and eggs down in front of me a few minutes later, hoping she could hear the contriteness in my tone.
“It’s my pleasure,” she replied politely before fixing her own plate and hesitantly taking a seat across from me.
I alternated between staring at Marianne and my plate of food. I poked at the fluffy eggs with my fork. I should have been hungry – it had been twenty-four hours since I’d last eaten, after all. But my stomach felt like little more than a shriveled knot and all the smell of eggs did was make it roll with upset.
Regardless, I knew I had to eat so I carefully cut into my ham before bringing a piece of it to my mouth. It was juicy and warm, leaving a cinnamon-y aftertaste in my mouth. I glanced up at Marianne. “This is really good.�
��
Not as succulent or hardy as the breakfasts Derek made, but-
My hand tightened around my fork when I realized what I was doing, and I shut the thought down. (I was really, really bad at this not thinking of Derek thing.)
The smile Marianne shot me this time seemed more genuine. “Thank you, Sloane.”
The silence afterwards seemed more relaxed as well, and I took a few more bites of ham as I debated how I could approach her with my questions without scaring her off like I had yesterday. “So… I didn’t know Felix lived here.”
I winced as soon as the words left my mouth.
Not exactly subtle.
Marianne, for her part, merely nodded. “Yes, he’s been residing here since your father hired him a few months back – right before you turned eighteen.”
Even though her voice remained perfectly blasé as she spoke of him, she couldn’t hide the way her mouth twisted in distain.
I wanted to ask why she didn’t like him, what Felix had done to agitate her so much – clearly, he’d done something. I had a feeling that voicing such a question would only cause Marianne to clam up, however, so I asked another one instead, something that I was equally curious about.
“Is there a specific reason that Cornelius-” – I shook my head – “my father, I mean,” I quickly amended before Marianne could question the slip, “…is there a reason he felt the need to hire a… what did he call Felix again? My handler?”
Marianne sighed. “Your parents have always been protective of you, Sloane. Especially your mother. I don’t know if she ever let you out of her sight when you were younger. Anyway, after Vanessa passed, I suppose your father felt the urge to take up the mantle, so to speak, and make sure that you were properly taken care of.”
The explanation would have made more sense if I had caught a hint of that sentiment from Cornelius at all. Sure, the man had appeared honestly relieved to find me alive and well in Pine Ridge, but he had also seemed happy enough to discard of me after we’d arrived home. He’d been content to send me up to my room to rest, not bothering to ask a single question about what I had been up to the past three weeks. (Not to mention, who in the world hired a middle-aged man to look after a teenaged girl?)
