Page 56 of Midnight Between Us
“Why not tonight?”
“Because I can’t afford to remember any of it.”The words crack in my chest the second they’re out—too loud, too much, too late.
I set the mug on the end table with a dull thud and walk toward the door.My steps are careful and controlled, but inside, I’m unraveling thread by thread.
He doesn’t call after me.He doesn’t have to.
The memory already did.
ChapterTwenty
Keir
It’s beenthree days since Simone walked away while I tried to apologize for being an asshole.A bastard who thought it was better to tell her to get lost.For those who judge me, I agree.It was an abysmal execution on my part.I fucking know that.
Do I deserve her forgiveness?Is this why I’m trying to apologize?I don’t fucking know what I want from her, but it’s more than what she’s giving me right now.
What the fuck do I want?
Not sure, but all I can count is the time since that night.
It’s been three fucking days since she left me on that couch, staring at two mugs of bitter tea neither of us had the heart to finish.
Three days since the silence in the room felt so dense it pressed in on my skin, so loud I thought it might swallow the entire house.
A little more than seventy-two hours since her eyes had sparked—just for a second—the way they used to, when her heart was still mine, right before she shut the door on whatever scrap of hope I hadn’t realized I was clutching.
And I haven’t been alone with her since.
She comes in like a storm behind glass—she’s definitely visible, but also untouchable.
Simone is always with someone in tow.A nurse, an agent ...This evening it was a speech therapist I didn’t ask for.One who confirms I didn’t need it because I can talk well.That hit in the head only took my memories temporarily and luckily didn’t take anything else from me.
When I see her, she rattles off vitals and stats like I’m a new patient.Not even her only patient.It’s so fucking bizarre.Her gaze stays glued to the tablet in her hand.If I speak, she pivots.If I reach, she fades.She’s mastered the art of making herself absent while standing right in front of me.
But I feel her, even when she doesn’t want me to.I fucking feel her in every cell of my body and in my soul.It’s as if something is humming just beneath the surface.Like the hum before a wire snaps.Like she’s still here, even when she’s gone.
And the worst part?I’m improving.
It’s been seven weeks since I woke up.My body’s doing what it’s supposed to.The bruises are nearly gone, leaving only faint yellow patches that cling to the deeper ones.Those assholes beat me up bloody.They’re lucky I was tied up, or I would have beaten the shit out of them.My leg holds me up.I manage the porch stairs without help—or the fucking crutches.Yes, I’m stubborn, but if I can help it, I won’t be using them, like, ever.
I’ve started light resistance band work—doctor-approved.In the mornings, I sit out there and watch the mist lift off the lake, like it’s exhaling something it held onto too long.
Sometimes, I wish they would let me work.I could do my thing from anywhere in the world if they just handed me a computer.Everyone thinks I disappeared, according to the agent who came yesterday to check on me.Carson, Castle ...Cass—fuck, I didn’t pay attention to his name.I should have since he seemed important or too interested in me.
He asked questions about my abduction and my interactions with the buyers.I told him where he could find everything.However, he informed me that all my belongings were stolen from my apartment.Since I’m unsure if I can trust him, I didn’t tell him that there’s a copy of everything in my office.There’s a safe that’s hiding on the floor.If and only if Malerick comes to see me, I’ll give him that information.Other than Sims, he’s the only person I trust.
The therapists ask about memory.Funny how they always hope it’s spotty.I wish it were.Instead, it’s pristine—crystal-clear.The therapists ask about memory.Unfortunately, it’s fucking perfect.
So perfect I can remember every single fucked up thing I’ve done since ...probably since I could walk.Like beating the shit out of the people who bothered my brothers—or Simone.Because if anyone hurt her, I went fucking rabid on them.
Ironically, I defended her, and I was the one who probably hurt her just as much as her family did.After almost twenty years, I know that a bit of communication would have at least given her the closure she got with her mom.She would have still hated me, but then, maybe she would have understood my position.
I said it then and I will repeat it every night when I miss her until the end of time: She deserved better than me.Correction: she deserves a lot better than someone like me.
I’m not safe.I never have been.I infect everything I touch.
I convinced myself I was doing her a favor by staying away.Letting her go.I told myself she’d be freer without me dragging behind her like a chain she didn’t ask for.But the truth is, she continued to believe in people—broken people, lost people—when life had given her every reason not to.
