"Why do you want to know about the past-about us-so badly?" she blurted out as we reached my car. I turned to face her, and saw red blotches of anger tinting her face. I took a second or two to collect my thoughts before responding.
"Have you ever watched a mystery or a thriller type movie?"
"What?"
"You know, like Inception or Gone Girl? Where you just have no fucking clue what's going on until the very end?"
"I know what type of movie you're talking about. And no-not really, if you must know. I'm not a mystery lover-I always see the plot twists from a mile away. But what I don't see is why you're bringing up movies-right now!" she huffed.
"I'm trying to explain my answer. Would you just give me a second," I answered gruffly.
She threw her arms across her chest, and I tried to ignore the way they pressed her breasts high and tight against her shirt. I decided to look at the stop sign across the street instead.
That was safer.
"Anyway, as I was saying-I've been watching a lot of movies lately-in an effort to discover the new me. Well, I've decided I hate thrillers and mysteries. The intense feeling of never knowing what is going on-that sick, twist-in-the-gut feeling of knowing there is something missing and you just don't know what it is. I hate it-with a passion. That's my life-all that damn time. Knowing there are clues and memories out there, within reach, but having no idea how to get to them."
"Why do you need to know so badly? I mean, couldn't you just start over new?" she asked softly.
"I tried. I am trying, but I'm always pulled back to this dark black hole of nothingness. I need to fill in the blanks. I need to make sure I don't … "
"You don't what?" she pressed.
"I don't want to become that man again," I confessed, turning toward her. Her hesitant eyes met mine, and she nodded.
"Then we keep going. One memory at a time."
No smile of encouragement, no friendly good-bye as she turned toward her car, but she had given me the promise of more.
More time with her.
More memories of us, and more chances to change her mind.
She might never love me again, but maybe she'd find it in her heart to forgive the man I was trying to become.
Chapter Seventeen
Everly
I don't like this, Tabitha." I shook my head as I copied Ryan's signature move in the middle of her suddenly very cramped office and paced back and forth, really wishing there was a window I could open.
Or a door.
"Are you sure that's the reason it's bothering you?" she asked calmly. I hated calm right now.
Calm could kiss my ass.
It had been two hours since my meeting with August and I was so amped up on coffee and rage and forty other different emotions I hadn't sorted out, calm was just about the last thing I wanted to hear.
"Like what? Like how this was just about the worst idea on the planet? Getting two people together like him and me? Shit, it's like putting the atomic bomb and its detonator in the same room and waiting around to see what happens. So fucking stupid."
She let me take another layer off her carpet before responding.
"Why are you so convinced this is such a bad idea? Is it based on your past? Because of what you've been through together already-or are you afraid of what might happen if you get close again?"
"We are never getting close again. Ever," I answered with a finality that I hoped ended that train of thought.
But Tabitha wasn't afraid of me or my stern voice, and she had a knack for picking on the subjects I wanted to avoid the most. I really hated that trait in her.
"Why?" she pressed on.
"Because, I-" I stopped myself, realizing I was lashing out, rather than thinking. Why didn't I want to get close to him? He was a different person-a far cry from the August I'd left in that hospital room two years ago.
"He's too dangerous," I finally admitted.
She nodded, understanding my intention. The old August was dangerous because of the harm he could do to me as a person. The new August-he was dangerous for an entirely different reason, and I wasn't sure my heart could take it.
"So are you giving up? Walking away?" she asked. I got the feeling she knew the answer before she even asked.
"No," I answered. "I agree with Mr. Abrams-that closure could be found for both of us by letting go of the past. August doesn't have any memories of himself, so I am simply giving him that. It doesn't need to be anything more."
"And Ryan agrees?" she asked, watching me finally take a seat in one of the nearby chairs.
"He's agreeable-enough. He doesn't like the idea of me being anywhere near August-nor do I, but considering how things have been between us, he's willing to make the sacrifice. We've never encountered difficulties in our relationship. The biggest drama we had before this was what color towels should be bought for the bathroom and whether the yellow and blue went well together. He knew I was damaged when he and I got together, but I just don't think he ever really thought about when this moment would happen-if it ever would. Neither of us did. We lived in this August-free bubble of bliss, and suddenly it's been blown to smithereens."
"No one ever prepares for these types of things, Everly-whether it be a tragedy or something else equally life-altering. Those who say they do are still never prepared for the battle it takes-on your emotions, your general health and well-being. And your relationships. It's normal to see everything suffer slightly. And yes, this situation is unique, but it doesn't make it any less important. You were a victim of abuse.
"While verbal abuse may not make headlines, it still hurts. There are no scars … no reminders on the flesh, but you have wounds. You have memories and days that you'll relive over and over again. And even though that man is gone, his face, the man you once loved-is still here. It's a hard thing to cope with. Do you trust him-do you not? It's something only you can decide. If he had just woke up August, with all his memories intact, this would be a much different conversation, but he didn't. So the struggle begins."
The struggle had begun the very moment I saw him walk into the coffee shop, so lost and alone. It was in that moment that I'd truly realized he was gone.
"But what if he comes back-the real August?" I asked.
"Ah, but what if he doesn't?"
And that was the real question-the one I was too frightened to ask myself.
What if this was the real August?
Could I truly hate a man who didn't remember any of the sins he'd committed? If you took away the hurt and the pain I felt for him, what was left?
"I thought you said you liked where I lived … that it didn't bother you," I said accusingly, my hands opening wide in a mock display as I spun around the small space of my apartment.
"Would you listen to what I'm saying … Jesus, woman," August cursed. "It's not about being embarrassed or bothered."
"So you want to rescue me-that's it," I stomped my foot, turning away from him with resentment. After everything I'd shared-everything I'd told him of my life growing up …
"For the love of Christ-" Hands gripped my waist and spun me around. "I know you don't need to be saved. I just want to be with you-all the damn time. I'm trying to tell you I love you, Everly!"
His kiss was punishing-brutal to the point of pain, our lips meeting over and over. He'd asked me to move in with him and I'd lashed out in typical Everly fashion.
Nothing good had ever happened in my life.
Until him.
His hands wove deep groves in my hair as our frenzied passion slowed. "Move in with me. Please. Warm my bed, live in my arms … never leave."
"Yes," I answered, finally realizing what it felt like to be cherished.
To be loved.
"Showing me more real estate today?" August's voice cut through the lingering memory … bringing me back to the present. I blinked several times, looking out onto the street where our first house still stood.
The house we'd rented when I'd finally agreed to move in with him.
"So are you going to move into the ghetto with me? Or do you just expect me to pick up all my things and move into that disgusting bachelor pad with you?" I smiled, running my hands over his naked chest.
He looked down at me, placing a single kiss on the top of my head.
"Hell-we can find someplace entirely new if you want' I don't care. As long as I wake up like this every morning."
And so we had.
I'd planned to make that house my next stop on this little roadmap of the "This was our life" journey, but suddenly it felt too private.
Too real.
And I just wasn't ready to give it up.
"No." I finally answered his question. "Just a meeting place," I explained.
His eyes roamed the street and I studied him, waiting for some sort of spark- a hint of something that would tell me he remembered, but there was nothing.