Page 101 of Secrets (The Sins Trilogy 2)
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Iris
“Here.” Bobbi pushes a travel mug in my direction as she drives her Escalade to the office. “It’s tea. Hot. You need fluids.”
I take it, but don’t drink any. There are burning holes in my belly, and I can’t tolerate any food or drink right now.
“You’re really not going to tell Tony anything?” she asks.
I don’t know what I’m going to do. I’ve been thinking all weekend, but haven’t come up with anything coherent.
“He’s worried about you.”
I close my eyes, wishing she’d stop. I saw the pain in his eyes and face firsthand, and don’t need her to tell me. But it’s impossible to say yes to the proposal when I don’t know what I am.
He asked me not to let my past define me. It’s easy for him to say because he knows exactly the kind of person he is—honorable, brave, protective and sweet. I thought I couldn’t be so bad. I mean, I feel sympathy for people who aren’t as fortunate as me. I try to be fair as much as I can.
But what if what I’ve done is an attempt to compensate for things I’ve done wrong? Even when I can’t access the specific memory, it must be in my head somewhere, influencing my decisions and behavior.
That uncertainty makes it impossible to say yes, even though he looked at me with love in his gaze and proposed with the most beautiful ring I’ve ever seen in my life.
I rub my index finger across the astrological medallion he gave me. I’ve never taken it off. The rough surface scratches my flesh, and I wish I could have half the belief in myself that he does. But since Friday, every time I sleep, I dream of the accident. My mind supplies more details—probably helped by Sam’s description of the event. The bridge. Water. The broken seatbelt. The girl.
Last night her mother came to me in a nightmare. I couldn’t make out her features. They’re always hazy. She threw the blue dress in my face. Called me a murderer and a monster, incapable of shedding a single tear of remorse at the funeral. Her words I’ll never forgive you rang in my ears when I started awake. I clutched the pillow and breathed, hoping they would fade. But they remained, circling like vultures, ready to rip me apart. I don’t know how I could’ve cried for two days straight, but not cried at the funeral. Too deep in shock to react? Too guilty to cry?
No answers come, and I want to scream with frustration. Break something. But that won’t solve anything. Part of me says I could’ve imagined the mother’s raging over not crying, but then why did it feel so real?
When I finally arrive in the office, Tolyan cocks an eyebrow, but doesn’t comment on how awful I look. Elizabeth says hello, walking by, and does a double-take. She asks me to come to her office.
“Close the door and sit down,” she says, taking a seat at the couch and patting the empty spot next to her.
It feels like an electric chair, but there’s no graceful way to demur. I sit down and look at her, waiting for her to start.
“Didn’t Tony tell you you could stay home? I told him if you didn’t feel well, you should,” she says.
“He did. But I really don’t like taking time off.” Plus, staying at home and doing nothing except thinking about the girl and her mom would drive me insane. I need some normal in my life right now. “I’m fine.”
Elizabeth looks skeptical. She opens her mouth, closes it, then tries again. “If you need someone to talk to, I’m here for you.”
She’s such a sweet woman. I wish I could tell her, but I can’t. She’s so perfect, so angelic, she not only wouldn’t understand, but would be horrified someone like me is working for her. “Thank you,” I say. “I think it’s best if I just focus on the project. I don’t want to fall behind. Is there anything else you want to discuss?”
“No…that’s all.”
I go back to my desk and do my best to focus for the rest of the morning, ignoring the huge waves of numbness that threaten to overpower me. I can at least do this much to make the world a little bit better place.
I have the tea Bobbi gave me earlier for lunch. It’s lukewarm, but the travel mug kept it from going totally cold.
The afternoon is more of the same. Around four, I get a text from Yuna. Any plans for this evening?
No.
Let’s have dinner together. Bring Tony. Or would you rather do something dirty and couple-y together?
Tears prickle my eyes. Oh shit. I don’t want to cry at work. I already made a spectacle of myself on Friday. I can’t. Then, without any conscious thought, I write, He asked me to marry him, and hit send before I can catch myself.
Crap. I didn’t mean to share that with anybody. I don’t know what made me text it.
Yuna calls immediately. Bracing myself, I drag my finger on the green button.
