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Jesus Christ.
This time, I have to say something. "What did you see?" I stop myself from using the wordremember.
"I was lying on a bed, looking up at a canopy above me."
Don’t throw up! Don’t fucking throw up.
I swallow several times before I can form the words. "How many times has this happened?"
"A few."
A few?
For fuck’s sake. No wonder she’s been such a mess.
Lilly keeps telling me about the other migraines, as she calls them, and I can’t believe what I’m hearing. She finishes with, "Am I going crazy?"
I am barely holding on to a thread. This is insane. After ten years? I have no clue what to do. I promised. Bile starts to rise in my throat.
I do the only thing I can manage at this point. I bolt from her room.
As soon asmy door closes, all strength leaves my legs, and I sink to the floor. I don’t bother with a chair or my bed; I have nothing left. I need to get my breathing under control, or I am really going to puke. Putting my head in my hands, I close my eyes and slowly count my breaths. At seventeen, the sour taste in my throat has subsided, and I can swallow again without the feeling of being choked.
I promised Mom and Dad to never tell her. I even pushed her away, my best friend for as long as I can remember, because of that promise. This is different, though. I can’t leave her like this. She thinks she is losing her mind, for fuck’s sake. Even if I talk to Mom and Dad on Sunday, letting her think that something is wrong with her—no matter for how long—is cruel. Not when I can give herthetruth.
My wall has officially crumbled,the remnants of it in ruins, and I have to come clean—with everything. Her secret and mine. Even if it means she may never speak to me again.
I stand up with resolve and open the door, coming face to face with Lilly. One look, and I see that she is going to demand answers. She’s smart; she knows I’m hiding something.
"Let’s talk."
Chapter Six
Okay,then. I just poured my heart out to the one person I trust the least, and he runs out of my room?
Wonderful.Just. Wonderful.
Weirdly enough, though, Rhys’s reaction makes me actually feel better. He didn’t laugh or dismiss me. It was written all over his face how much my confession unsettled him.
I turn and look at Rhys’s closed door through my still open one. I see a shadow under it and realize he is sitting right there.
Wracking my brain about what could have him so worked up, I stare for several minutes.
I slam my fists on the comforter. Whatever it is, he’s shit outta luck. I’ve let him determine the rules of our relationship for the past two-plus years. He has never bothered to tell me what I did to make him hate me so much.Thistime, he is going to talk, even if I have to beat it out of him—in the ring, of course.
He knows something, no question there. Bawling out all my bottled-up emotions has calmed me enough to focus, and I’m even more determined to find out the truth.
I stand up and march toward his door, prepared to force it open with him sitting behind it. But before I can reach for the doorknob, it swings inward, and we lock eyes. He’s resigned.
Whatever he’s going to tell me will change everything.
I followhim without a word down the stairs to the family room. Rhys sits down on the middle piece of the large, U-shaped monstrosity Mom calls ourcouch, and I slowly lower myself onto the left arm closest to the door. Despite my need for answers, an urge to flee is also present.
Leaning with his forearms on his thighs, Rhys stares at his clasped hands. His chest is heaving like he just ran practice sprints. I watch him closely, and if I didn’t know better, I would say he is scared. No, not scared—terrified. But Rhys is neither of those emotions.Ever.
"You are not crazy." The words are spoken so low that I’m not sure I hear him right at first. Before I can make sure, he continues, "You’re remembering."
I feel like someone has punched me in the gut, and I suck in a breath.
