Page 70 of Dual
And most importantly, I wastherefor all of it. Present. Whole.
I was worried at first that pretending to be Mads was wrong somehow. But is it really pretending when she's a partof me? When those desires and needs are mine too, just buried deeper? Dr. Resnick helped me understand that. There's no more Anna or Mads—just me, complete at last.
After Domhnall's initial shock and worry that I'd done something dangerous by seeking treatment without telling him, he'd embraced it. Embraced me. All of me.
"I've loved every version of you," he'd said, holding my face in his hands. "But seeing you whole—it's like watching the sun come out after years of rain."
The doorbell rings, and I startle.
Right! The apples.
I fly to the door and whip it open, all smiles for my Instacarter, ready to take the bags.
Except it's not a harried gig worker waiting to hand over bags of apples.
It's a six-foot-five man dressed entirely in black.
My body reacts before my brain can catch up.
I try to slam the door in his face, but a beefy arm blocks it, pushing against the wood with frightening ease.
"Matilda Sheffield?" His voice is deep, his face emotionless.
The last name hits me like ice water. Sheffield. My father's name. Not the name on our mailbox or any of my current identification. Who is he, and how the hell did he find me?
"No," I gasp, shoving my weight against the door. "Wrong house!"
But he's so much stronger.
The door gives way under his pressure, sending me stumbling backward into the foyer.
My heart hammers against my ribs as I take in his massive form now fully inside our home—broad shoulders, muscled arms, closely cropped dark hair.
He's wearing some kind of tactical gear beneath his jacket.
Our security system should be blaring right now. Domhnall insisted on the best: motion sensors and door alerts, everything connected to a central monitoring station. But there's nothing. Just silence. But then again, I opened the door.
Oh god, I let him in.
"I know who you are," he says, his eyes cold as they scan me. "Let's not make this difficult."
Terror floods my system. I turn to run for the kitchen, where my phone is on the counter. I just need to reach it, call Domhnall, call nine-one-one, call anyone?—
But the man moves with surprising speed for his size. His arms wrap around my waist from behind, lifting me off my feet as I kick and scream.
"Let me go!" I claw at his forearms, but it's like scratching at steel. "Help! Somebody help me!"
This can't be happening. Not now. Not when everything is finally right. Not when I'm whole and happy and planning a future with the man I love. The wedding, the pie in the kitchen, the family we're going to build—it can't end like this.
I fight harder, drawing on every ounce of strengthin my body. I remember the self-defense classes Domhnall insisted I take. I angle my head back sharply, connecting with the man's nose. He grunts but doesn't loosen his grip.
"You little bitch," he hisses, one hand moving to cover my mouth. Something covering his palm smells of chemicals, something sweet and heavy that makes my head swim instantly. Chloroform. Oh God.
I bite down hard on his hand, tasting blood. He curses but keeps the cloth pressed to my face. I hold my breath as long as I can, thrashing wildly, but eventually my lungs burn for air.
The familiar sensation starts at the base of my skull—a lightness, a disconnection.
No, not now. I need to stay present, I need to fight?—
