Page 72 of Fragile Twisted Vows

She eyes me for a while and seems unbothered by my words, which is shocking, then again, she is just as cold as my mother, she’s great at manipulating and hiding her emotions.

“I see,” she says as she starts to back away to call a taxi.

I’m shocked to see her retreat so quickly.

I want to say something, but I refrain as soon as a taxi pulls up and she opens the door. She turns to look at me, a ghost of a smirk on her lips.

I know that whatever words come from her lips, they’re going to wound me. As they always have.

“Since you’ll be married soon, you should probably know that I came by his office downtown yesterday,” she starts, and I shift on my heels.

“He fucked me on his desk before going home to you, Lucille. You cannot trust this man,” she says, and her words slice right through me.

“I- I don’t believe you,” I say, and she laughs at me, she actually laughs at me.

“I wouldn’t really worry about believing me when I should be the one that doesn’t believe you,” she says icily as I freeze and stare at her.

She holds up a hand for the cab driver to wait before she approaches me, walking slow. I try to back away but she stops me and leans forward to speak so low that only I can hear her.

“He didn’t pick you up from the hospital that night, Lucille. Because he was with me, helping me toss the body of the man that raped you into the Hudson River,” she says, and my whole world tilts on an axis.

“Might want to make sure your stories align before you fabricate. It’s the first thing I learned in law school, sweetheart.” She grins before hopping in the taxi and slamming the door behind her.

As it speeds away, I stand there frozen on the sidewalk. Unsure of what to do or say or feel.

Before I can dive into her admission of covering up a murder, I have to dissect her words about him fucking her yesterday. He did come home flustered and disheveled; he was incredibly angry with me.

My stomach turns as I catch another whiff of the perfume that is on Damien’s jacket, a smell that was present in front of me just moments ago. It is a fragrance I know all too well and my heart sinks into my chest as I recall the scent now.

Amber and saffron, a scent Megan has worn all of her life.

The anger in his words were jarring, and the perfume served as a silent testament to the lie. I can feel the betrayal cutting deep, the trust I had built crumbling before my eyes all from the realization of her fucking perfume. The mixture of anger, confusion, and sadness is overwhelming, and it’s amplified when I think of her admission. When I remember what she said about the man that attacked me.

He did beat him, I was out of it, but I watched him through my blurry vision and I heard the man’s screams in the distance, but the president at our school said he was expelled, never once was a murder mentioned.

Then again, I never googled him, never cared to since he had ruined both my body and my life.

I stop the recording on my phone and sniff back the tears that threaten to spill. I have to get off this sidewalk. I take the elevator all the way up to the penthouse, my heart pounding in my chest the higher it climbs. When the doors open and I step inside, I find Henry setting up his knives in the kitchen. I must have missed him on my way out.

I hide my face as I drop the coffee mugs on the counter.

“Has he come downstairs yet?” I ask as I start to walk in the direction of his office.

“No, I think he’s sleeping,” he says as I rush down the hall on the opposite side of the penthouse.

“I would have made you coffee!” Henry shouts, and as I shut the door of Damien’s office behind me, I almost wish he had too.

I lock the door and rush over to his desk, knowing that I’m really risking it all by doing this, but I could care less at this point. This man has been using me and manipulating me for almost two weeks now, I’ve risked my body and my self-worth at this point. I’ve got nothing to lose.

I rummage through his drawers. Pulling out file after file, searching for the name of my attacker, yet nothing. I open google and type his name on my phone and all that I find is a missing persons report, which is still shocking, because we never heard anything about a fellow student going missing.

Then again, I wasn’t enrolled in school for too long after that attack. Maybe a couple of weeks at best. It probably takes just as long to file a missing persons report.

Which means that Megan very well could be telling the truth.

Which makes me sick to my stomach. Nausea creeps up on me again and threatens to spill all over Damien’s desk, but I swallow tightly and still search through his files for some sort of truth, any truth.

(Is this paragraph necessary?)However, when I came across one with my own name on it, I didn’t realize how deep I was digging through Damien’s graveyard of secrets. I didn’t know I’d be finding out a truth I had absolutely no suspicion of.

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