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Stepping back, she opened the door wider, giving me space to stand up and step inside her house.
“Wow, your place is stunning. You always did have amazing taste.” I looked around at the beach style house with its whitewashed wooden floor, light furniture, long, flowing curtains that blew in the breeze from the open French windows, and nautical themed knickknacks. But it was the art on the wall that stole my breath.
“I love these,” I declared, my voice heavy with emotion.
“Thanks. I like to paint.” She pointed to the white linen sofa, and I sat while she paced the floor in front of me, twisting her hands together nervously. “So, what do you want to know?” she asked, eventually.
I scoffed. “Seriously? I don’t know. Maybe why my fiancée got on a plane to go to California five months ago and then vanished off the face of the earth after sending me a crappy break up text? That might be a good place to start.”
She froze. “Fiancée?” she whispered. “But I didn’t have a ring.”
Patting the sofa next to me, she perched on the edge, looking like it was the last place she wanted to be. I pointed to the bracelet. “That was your ring.”
Tracing her fingers over it, she looked lost in thought. “The note just said I couldn’t contact you. Ever. Not that we were engaged.”
“What note?” I asked confused, forcing my hands under my thighs because my fingers were twitching to touch her, to comfort her, to make sure she was actually real and this wasn’t some fucked up alcohol-induced dream.
Lifting her head, she looked up at me through her long, fair lashes, her eyes searching mine for answers. “How do I know you’re telling me the truth? You can’t exactly prove that we were in love. I only have your word for it.”
“I could show the hundreds of photos on my phone or I can call my friends and get them to tell you, but I have a better way. Can I?” I lifted the hem of my t-shirt up over my head, not waiting for her reply.
“Oh, my God.” A cry ripped from her throat as her eyes flicked between my naked chest and the images in white frames that covered the walls. “I’ve been painting you?” she whispered.
She’d filled her house with images of the tattoos inked on my body; from the roses wrapped around a sword that ran down my forearm to the skull on my shoulder and the stars across my chest. But she’d painted my body as well; the hollow at the base of my neck, the curve of my shoulder, my arm wrapped over my abs.
Running her fingers through her hair, something caught my attention.
“Nee,” I gasped. “What happened?”
Tilting her head, she pushed her hair to the side, dusting her fingers over the space where her hair had been cut short and a huge, angry looking C-shaped scar curved across the side of her head.
“I think we probably do need to talk, Archer.”
Ionee
Iwassoconfused.I knew who Archer was. His name was written under his picture along with thedo not contactwarning, but I had nothing else to go on. And despite us apparently being engaged, I’d vanished and then spent my entire time here painting parts of him.
I’d always thought the message from past me had been a warning. He was dangerous. A part of my past that I was better off not knowing. A reason for my accident. But the minute I’d seen him in the restaurant, I’d begun to think differently. Feeling his eyes on me made something stir inside and now, having him in the same room as me, I felt whole for the first time in… well, forever.
I didn’t even know how to start explaining what had happened and as I opened my mouth to speak, my silent watch alarm buzzed against my wrist.
“Can I get you a drink?”
Archer shook his head, still staring at where he’d just seen my scar. I knew I needed to tell him, but first medication. I filled a glass of water from the fridge and dug around my handbag for my pill case, popping out the rest of today’s pills.
“Steroids,” I told him as I took out the first one. “Anti-seizure meds and an anti-sickness one,” I explained as I swallowed them down. “Something happened to me, Archer, but I can’t understand if I loved you so much and we’d planned to get married, why I wouldn’t have told you. Why would I have chosen to come to a place where I know no one and deal with this all on my own?” I had to pause as my voice cracked with the weight of months of unshed tears. “Because God, it’s been so hard.”
Apprehension pulled on Archer’s features as he watched me. “Deal with what, Nee?”
I leaned my back against the kitchen counter, not wanting to be too close while I tried to explain.
“I was in an accident.” I frowned, trying to remember the details I’d read, so I didn’t miss out anything important. “I was in a crowd and I was crushed.”
“You were with me. We were in Central Park. A crowd came out of nowhere and your hand slipped from mine.”
I tilted my head.Interesting that I’d left all that out…
“But you were checked out in the hospital. You were fine. Weren’t you, Nee? Fuck, tell me you were fine.” I hated hearing the pain in his voice, and it was probably only going to get worse.
