All The Lies

by Kent, Rina

  My throat chooses this exact moment to become scratchy and sour. I glance to the side, searching for water.

  A bottle sits on a small table, and I reach my arm out to grab it.

  Huge mistake.

  Something in my right shoulder pops and pain explodes in my muscles. I groan and bite down on my lower lip to stifle the sound.

  Pain is temporary. Pain is temporary.

  Mom’s words echo in my head like a mantra.

  I blink twice. I remember having a mother.

  That’s the first thing I’ve remembered since waking up in this sterilized room.

  “Look who returned to the world of the living.”

  My movements freeze as that same voice echoes around me. I forgot he was still in the room in the first place.

  I don’t hear the sound of footsteps or feel him approaching.

  The attack is silent and fast. One moment I’m thinking the nightmare is a reality, and the next, a broad, tall figure looms over my bed.

  You know that color a tropical forest has when it’s raining heavily? That’s the color of his eyes. Dark green, almost black.

  Harsh.

  Emotionless.

  There’s something about those eyes that pushes me into a high-alert mode.

  I want to run.

  I want to hide.

  But I can’t. Something tells me it’s not only because of my physical injuries. I’m unable to run from him.

  He’s wearing a simple white T-shirt and a black leather jacket along with dark jeans. His hair is the color of a moonless night with a bluish hue. It’s short on the sides and long enough in the middle to be tousled.

  The straight, chiseled jawline and the thick brows give him a fatally attractive edge—the kind serial killers have.

  His broad shoulders and lean waist increase the intimidation of his already dark exterior tenfold.

  Well, the physique is understandable. After all, he’s an athlete who slaves at the gym and practices constantly.

  Wait—how do I know that?

  His upper lip lifts in a cruel smirk as if he injected all the shadows in it. “I knew you would come back.”

  Unlike the nurse, he doesn’t seem relieved about that. No. He’s like a hunter who’s closely observing his prey right before the attack.

  A lightning strike right before the thunder.

  The click of a gun right before the shot.

  Suddenly, I wish I’d surrendered to the darkness of unconsciousness. That type of darkness is better than this one.

  Don’t they say some monsters are better than others?

  His hand reaches out for me and I instinctively push against the pillow. Pain explodes in my head and my upper shoulder, but I don’t stop.

  I need to stay away from his hold.

  Run.

  Run!

  My instinct has caught up with my slow brain and is now shouting at me to get the hell out of here.

  In my condition, it’s impossible to move a muscle, let alone run.

  I glance behind me at the emergency call button. Maybe if I ask the kind nurse, she can remove him from my side. Maybe someone can help me.

  Because I need help right now.

  I can feel it in my bones and taste it on my tongue.

  He releases a tsking sound that gets past my ears and embeds under my skin. “No one will save you. It’s just you and me.”

  Like doom coming closer, his hand reaches for me, and he clutches my chin between his thumb and forefinger.

  It’s a soft touch, so soft it shocks my warm skin. The emotionless look in his dark eyes is anything but gentle, though. A sadistic smirk lifts the corner of his lips.

  A shudder emerges from deep within my soul.

  It’s the look of someone out to destroy, to maim and mutilate—and he’ll do it all with a smile on his face.

  “L-let me go.” It’s the pleading of the dying, my voice. The last murmur of the dead.

  His grip tightens on my jaw until I wince. “That’s not how it works. Remember the rules?”

  “W-what rules?”

  “Break willingly and I might let you collect the pieces.”

  My heart thunders until the machines erupt with sound. “What—”

  My words are cut off when he leans closer until his breath tickles along my skin. Another involuntary shudder slides down my spine, and goosebumps form along my limbs.

  I don’t know if it’s because of fear, or if it’s something else.

  This close, he’s even more fatally gorgeous and dangerous. A flicker of connection grips hold of me.

  I know him from somewhere, but where?

  He runs his tongue from under my eye to the corner of my lip. Something violent and out of control takes over my body, and more goosebumps erupt.

  I stare at him with trembling lips.

  “Welcome back to your custom-made hell, monster.”

  Thump. Thump. Thump.

  My heart does this weird thing, beating in and out of sync, as if it doesn’t know what to do.

  There’s so much sadism in his eyes.

  So much…grudge.

  The way he watches me intently with those rainy forest eyes is close to being cut open and left for dead.

  Maybe I already died and crossed over to hell, and this is my torturer.

  Otherwise, why the hell is he calling me a monster when I don’t know him?

  No—I don’t remember him. I most definitely know him from somewhere.

  But where?

  According to what the nurse said, he’s my fiancé. For some reason, that sounds wrong.

  He’s not my fiancé. He’s someone more…sinister.

  I try to lift my head. Pain shoots down my nape and snaps to the front.

  Whimpers leave my lips as I try to tamp down the agony. I bite my lower lip to keep the sound from escaping.

  No one will witness my weakness, least of all this stranger.

  He watches me intently, his face impassive other than a slight twitch in his upper lip.

  Wait…

  I meet his dispassionate gaze and focus on the slight curve in his lips. My brain might be slow in keeping up, but I recognize that look.

  It’s pleasure, sadistic and twisted.

  He’s enjoying seeing me hurt. He’s watching my aching shoulders and the trembling of my lips like he’s in a competition and they’re his prize.

  He likes my weakness and my pain.

  He likes my suffering.

  Help.

  Someone help me.

  A voice from my dreams—or nightmares—whispers in my head. That voice is so similar to mine.

  Who the hell did I ask for help from before? I don’t like asking for help. I might not know my name or my damn age, but I know I don’t like showing vulnerability that way.

  The door hisses open, cutting off my connection with the asshole who called me a monster. He releases my chin and steps back as if he wasn’t suffocating me not two seconds ago.

  The kind nurse from earlier returns with a skinny, black doctor who’s wearing frameless glasses.

  The asshole clutches my wrist and sits by my side, holding my hand in his. Shock ripples through me at how soft, yet cold his touch feels.

  How can a touch be so gentle and yet so…cold?

  It’s like I’m being held by a freezer.

  His attention falls on the doctor and he smiles. There’s something curious about that smile. It’s not exactly fake, but it’s…dead. Lifeless, just like his touch.

  “Dr. Anderson.” He speaks in such a polite, calm way. It’s completely different from the asshole from earlier. “How is my fiancée doing?”

  I stare between him and his hold on my hand. No, I can’t be the fiancée in this tale. This fucking jerk can’t be my future husband. I’d really feel sorry for myself and my poor choices if that were the case.

  I mean, come on, first I don’t remember my name, then someone calls me a monster, and that same someone turns out to be my
freaking fiancé?

  A girl can only take so many shocks all at once.

  “Miss Ellis.” The doctor smiles in that polite but distant way. “How do you feel?”

  “In pain?” I don’t know why it comes out as a question.

  I swear Mr. Asshole’s lips twitch. In amusement or in sadism, I don’t know.

  Dr. Anderson and the nurse do a thorough examination, including checking my pulse and my temperature. He also puts that light thingy in my eye. Now I know who was bothering me in my sleep.

  “Do you remember your name?” he asks.

  “It’s…” The name hovers at the tip of my tongue, but it’s like I can’t reach it. “I d-don’t know.”

  Sure, I heard the name Reina Ellis before and after I regained consciousness, but I don’t relate to that name.

  That name is wrong.

  So I choose not to say it.

  The doctor scribbles something in his notepad and continues asking me about what year it is, what country we’re in, what state, who the president is, etc.

  I answer all of them in a beat. I count to twenty. I recite the alphabet.

  When he asks me again about my name and my age, I freeze.

  The entire time, the monster who called me a monster doesn’t let go of my hand. His presence is an unyielding, dark entity, all-powerful and non-negotiable. The stabbing pain at the back of my head pales in comparison to how constant he is.

  Dr. Anderson nods as he goes through a pad in his hand. “We thought we’d lose you to the vegetative state, Miss Ellis. You’re lucky.”

  Lucky? Is he blind? Can’t he see the looming presence by my side? It’s like he’s waiting for the doctor and the nurse to leave so he can pounce on me.

  Cut me open.

  Eat me alive.

  I try meeting the nurse’s gaze and asking her for help, but I don’t get the chance.

  Or more like, the asshole blocks my communication. Whenever I try to catch her eye, he tightens his hold on my hand, making me wince.

  Motherfucker.

  “What…what happened to me?” I finally ask the question that’s been playing in my mind since I opened my eyes.

  “Blunt-force trauma to the head.” Dr. Anderson’s brows soften. “A hunter found you in the forest near the edge of town.”

  My nose scrunches. “What was I doing in the forest?”

  “That’s what I want to know, Reina.” Those deep green eyes are so close I can feel the malice rolling off my skin and seeping into my bones. “What were you doing there? Were you thinking about leaving Blackwood?”

  I try to pull my hand from his, but he grips me harder, disallowing my release. “I…I don’t remember.”

  Then it dawns on me. I don’t remember.

  And it’s not only about why I’m at the hospital or the asshole holding my hand or even my name.

  It’s everything combined. I have no recollection of my entire life prior to waking up here.

  Oh, God. Oh, no.

  Is this some sort of a telenovela?

  Dr. Anderson nods. “Short-term amnesia is common in such cases. Now that the swelling has gone down, the memories should trickle in eventually.”

  “Swelling?” My eyes widen.

  “Yes.” The doctor flips through his file. “When you first arrived, there was swelling caused by blunt-force trauma. It’s the cause of your two-day coma, but we’ve been monitoring it and gradually reducing it, and we’ve succeeded. As I said, you’re young, and short-term amnesia isn’t uncommon.”

  “You…you don’t understand,” I croak. “I don’t remember anything about myself.”

  Dr. Anderson nods with thoughtfulness. “All tests came back with no problems, but we’ll run one more MRI and CT scan to make sure. You have basic common knowledge, and everything else will trickle in.”

  “What if it doesn’t?” I ask, voice spooked as if I were out in a dark winter night.

  “Then it’ll be a case of retrograde amnesia.”

  “And I can’t be cured of that?”

  “The brain is a complex organ, Miss Ellis. We still know so little about how it works. Unfortunately, there’s still no cure for amnesia, but if you return to your normal life and surround yourself with friends, family, and familiar items, especially scents, it might help in regaining your memories.”

  Might.

  As in even the doctor doesn’t know how the hell I go back to normal.

  But then again, what is normal?

  Surely it doesn’t include the asshole holding my hand or the pain pulsing at the back of my head.

  “Your guardian should be here soon, but it’s better if you rest,” Dr. Anderson says before he leaves.

  I have a guardian, but I’m in college. How does that work exactly?

  “How…how old am I?” I ask the nurse.

  “Twenty-one, remember, Rei?” the asshole on my right says with a sickening smile that doesn’t even come close to reaching his eyes.

  It’s fake.

  He’s fake.

  There’s nothing genuine about him. I must’ve been out of my damn mind when I accepted his proposal.

  That is if he ever proposed in the first place. For some reason, I think I just ended up with him and that’s it.

  That’s even scarier.

  “No, I don’t remember,” I hiss. “Have you heard a word I’ve said? I just told the doctor I don’t remember my life.”

  He raises one thick, perfect eyebrow. “Huh.”

  Just one word. Huh. What the hell am I supposed to do with that?

  “You’re just distressed, Miss Ellis.” The nurse smiles down at him with so much affection, like he’s her son or something. “Asher has never left your side since you were admitted. He’s been so sweet.”

  Asher.

  Asher…

  The name doesn’t ring a bell, but the fact he’s been by my side… I watch him again, trying to get a different feel for him.

  No. Nothing.

  He’s just the nightmare voice and the one who called me a monster.

  Those sinister eyes meet mine as he speaks to the nurse with a disgusting friendliness. “She’s the only one I have. Isn’t that right, Rei?”

  Rei.

  Fucking Rei?

  He doesn’t get to give me a nickname after he called me a monster. How can he say them both and sound so convincing and…frightening?

  He doesn’t get to act like the perfect human being in front of other people when I can sense him plotting my demise.

  The nurse almost swoons at his words.

  My shoulder blades knot together as a strangling fear closes my throat.

  Wrong. Everything is so freaking wrong.

  The nurse smiles as she injects my IV with something. “You’re a lucky girl, Reina.”

  Would everyone stop saying that? How can she not see the threat looming over me like damnation? It’s pouring onto my skin like acid.

  And for crying out loud, would everyone stop calling me Reina? That’s not my name.

  But again, if I don’t remember my name, what makes me so sure it isn’t Reina?

  I grab the nurse’s hand as she retreats. This is the only chance I’ll get to put a stop to this, and I won’t miss it for the world.

  “Is something the matter, dear?” the nurse asks with a kind expression.

  “H-help me. He’s going to hurt me.”

  Asher’s grip on my hand turns painful, but even if the nurse looked down at our joined fingers, she’d only see his thumb moving over the back of mine as if caressing it.

  When he speaks, it’s in pure concern. “Is it your assailant? Do you remember him, Rei?”

  “No, that’s not it. I mean—”

  “The police are outside, but Dr. Anderson advised against talking to them until you get further rest.” The nurse glances from me to Asher. “I can call them in.”

  “It’s better if she rests first. I’m sure you understand with how much she’s been through.” He offers a m
illion-dollar smile that might or might not end up being a serial killer’s charming grin while he picks up his victims.

  Even as I fight to get out from under his hold, I can’t deny how fatally attractive he is.

  Is it…lust?

  That’s the only reason I would be engaged to someone like him.

  Well, shit. That’s even worse than losing my memories. Please tell me I’m not vain enough to glue myself to such an asshole just because of lust.

  “You’re right.” The nurse falls into his scheme so easily, so readily. It would be ironic if I weren’t melting on the inside.

  How can she not see his deception? His blatant lies?

  She pats my hand on her way out. “The meds will take effect soon.”

  “N-no—” My words are cut off when he muffles my mouth with his hand.

  The door hisses open then closed after the nurse. I mumble, feeling my breath being cut off more with every second.

  My lungs burn and my eyes well with tears at the lack of air.

  I can’t breathe.

  Shit. I can’t breathe.

  My nails dig into his arm even with the crippling pain at my shoulder. Instead of letting me go, he watches my struggle with a curious glint, as if he wants to watch how I die. How I spit my last breath.

  He’s going to kill me, isn’t he?

  I came back to life just to die all over again.

  My self-preservation instinct kicks in. I can’t die. My nails dig into his hard skin with all the energy I have, scratching and clawing.

  He doesn’t budge.

  If anything, his smirk widens, as if this is a circus and I’m his favorite act.

  When I think I’m about to die, he removes his hand with ease. I suck in sharp breaths, choking on air.

  Something soulless and dark creeps into his eyes, turning them almost black. “You think you can fight me?”

  He strokes my hair behind my ear. The gesture is so gentle my breath catches. The way he flips between softness and cruelty is giving me whiplash.

  All this is an act. Those dark eyes aren’t capable of kindness. It’s either a show or some fucked-up reverse psychology.

  “You think anyone can save you from me?” He laughs, the sound hollow and deranged. “You’re mine to screw and destroy, my ugly monster. It’s time to get used to that.”

  I open my mouth to protest.

  He shoves his finger against my lips, cutting off my words. “Shut it. You don’t get to talk. You only get to listen.”