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The mask slips again, his expression changing to something mirroring...heartbreak?
"It’s more complicated than that."
I cock my head. I feel like I’m in an alternate reality. Who is this guy in front of me?
Rhys slowly lowers himself onto the edge of my bed. "Calla, what’s going on with you?"
Being the emotional mess I am these days, hearing him call me by the nickname he used to have for me causes tears to instantly well up in my eyes. "You haven’t called me that in forever." I don’t want to cry in front of him.
Not him!
"I know. I’m sorry." Rhys’s gaze falls onto my necklace, a small silver calla lily blossom on a delicate silver chain. "You’re still wearing it."
Unconsciously, I reach up and say, "You gave it to me," before I can stop myself.
Four years ago, we visited a botanical garden during a family trip, and I was obsessed with calla lilies after that. I thought they were the most beautiful flowers ever. That year, Rhys took his savings, bought me the necklace for my birthday, and started calling me Calla. It became the nickname only he used, and the first time he called me Lilly again, I knew something between us was broken. I cried for hours that night.
Having Rhys sitting in my room and remembering old times is too much. I don’t want to fall back into old habits. I have barely slept since the migraines started. I’m so tired and confused. I wipe my nose, trying to keep it together.
All of a sudden, Rhys moves closer and reaches out for me, putting his hand on mine. Before I can think logically, all my bottled-up emotions rush to the surface, and I launch into his arms. I can’t hold the tears back any longer and completely fall apart, my fists balled into the front of his t-shirt. Everything—not just the past three weeks, but the past two-plus years—is coming out, and I cry for what feels like hours.
Rhys just keeps his arms wrapped around me, rocking back and forth. When I finally have no tears left, I disentangle myself from his arms but don’t move away. His hands are still resting on my forearms, which are now laying in my lap, and I focus on them as I whisper, "I think I’m going crazy."
Rhys gently lifts my chin up with his index finger, forcing me to look into his eyes. "Talk to me, Calla." His voice is shaky, but his smile tells me this is not a game for him.
I am scared to open up to him; he’s been distant for so long. I missed him so much until I finally accepted that I couldn’t fix the unknown. I moved on; he was no longer a part of my life, and I was no longer part of his. If I invite him back in, he’ll either think I’m crazy, or by Monday, he’ll ignore me again. Neither is a road I want to go down in my current, potentially crazy, mental state.
Still holding on to me, he whispers, "Please tell me. You’re scaring me."
His concern is genuine. I am terrified, but I also have to admit to myself that I can’t do this alone anymore. I take what feels like the longest, deepest breath of my life. "I keep seeing things."
I don’t knowif I am holding on to Lilly for her sake or for my own. She keeps seeing things. What the fuck does that mean? I don’t trust my voice, and my next question comes out in a strangled rasp. "What do you mean?"
She doesn’t look directly at me. Her eyes are focused on my shirt, and I can see her internal struggle. Then, she finally focuses on my face. "I have these headaches, like migraines, and—and I see things." She pauses for a moment. "Things I don’t remember butfeelreal."
I’m gonna throw up; the need to put some distance between us overwhelms me. I move backward until I’m settled against the headboard of her bed and take that moment to collect myself. Her expression mirrors something resembling loss when I move away from her, but I need to stay in control. If I touch her, all bets are off.
"Why don’t you start from the beginning?" My voice doesn’t give away how wound up I am inside.
Lilly settles back in the middle of her bed and plays with her headphones, wrapping them around her fingers, untangling them again, and starting over.
I nod, signaling her that I’m listening whenever she’s ready.
"We got this assignment for journalism. A research paper." She pauses as if figuring out if she wants to continue. "We could choose whatever topic we wanted, and I went with a criminal case. You know how I feel about economics and politics." She briefly smiles to herself, and I chuckle—because I do.
"I found this article about a girl that went missing here in Virginia and was recently found. She was the fifth victim. I decided to use this case for the assignment, and the more I read, the more I got this feeling—"
Mother f— There’s a fifth victim?
I had no clue. I stay quiet, scared that if I speak, my voice will betray me this time.
"I kept researching; I read every article I could find on all the girls. I felt anxious and scared, but not just because it’s such a horrible incident. Something felt...off. It was like I had to find out more. Then, I read an article about the third victim." She points at her desk. "I looked at our picture—it was like I was drawn to it—and when I focused back on the computer, I got this stabbing pain in my head. I saw myself—my kid selffrom our picture—staring back, framed in a white mirror."
Her eyes jump back and forth between mine, and she says, with total conviction in her voice, "I never had a white mirror. You know that." The next words are spoken softer. "I was so scared."
I’m not sure how much longer I can keep my composure, but Lilly continues, not noticing that I’m close to hyperventilating.
"Then it happened again."
