Suit - Woodruff Jettie - Страница 39
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My mom stirred and turned to her side. “Mmm, my Clydes. I love you, my pretties,” she slurred. And then she was out.
Izzy and I never spoke of our photo shoot. We didn’t have to. I knew how she felt, and she knew how I felt. We were twins. We felt everything the other one did. I’m pretty sure it had been that way since before birth. My mom told us that every time she laid us down together, we either held hands or locked elbows. That’s what we did on the other bed. Izzy and I stared at the television, elbows locked, internally processing what had happened to us.
Izzy and I never told our mother, we never spoke of it, and I have no idea what became of the pictures. I suppose they’re still out there somewhere. Probably somewhere on the internet now, but I’d never seen them. I didn’t want to see them. I was an adult. They wouldn’t look like me now, anyway.
~~
My eyes opened to the dark room. A heavy lump swelled in my chest and heavy emotions washed through me, like I wanted to cry. My heart hurt for both little girls. I knew that had happened to me. I knew that it had happened to Izzy, but why that? Why did I keep putting pieces together that hurt, that made me sad, and made me miss my mom and Izzy? Why couldn’t I remember who I was now? This day. Not years ago.
I got up and walked to the bathroom, trying to compartmentalize my new memory, the one I didn’t want to remember. The thought to try to go back to sleep wasn’t there. I didn’t want to sleep. I wanted something else. I just didn’t know what.
I strolled out to the kitchen, poured a glass of apple juice, and made my way to the breezeway. Sultry air filled my lungs. I moved to the far end and sat on the concrete wall, overlooking a breathtaking view. The moon was bright and shined off the deep sea. If I could describe a mood, it was that night. Nothing stirred. Nothing but the roar of the distant ocean and the soft breeze.
And the sound of a sob. I don’t even know where it came from. It swelled in my chest and spilled over.
“Gabriella,” I heard in a quiet tone from behind me.
I snorted and shook my head. “Go away, Paxton. Leave me alone.”
If only it was that easy. I sucked in a deep breath while he closed the distance between us, and then I held the air in my lungs.
Paxton wrapped his arms around me from behind. “Why are you crying?”
I snorted again. “You’re a fucking idiot. Anybody ever tell you that?”
Paxton spun me around to face him, but it wasn’t the anger I’d expected. His hands held my face, forcing me to look at him. I did, but I didn’t really see him. I saw a dark silhouette, illuminated by the moonlight.
“I don’t know who the fuck you are. I can’t handle this. I just want things to go back to the way they were before you took off to God knows where.”
“Is that what you really want, Pax? You want me to be that person? Your person?”
“It’s what you agreed to. We had a deal, and you’re fucking it all up,” Paxton said out of desperation. His thumb brushed a tear from my eye and his lips kissed mine.
“I have a feeling you’ve never known me. You know nothing about me.”
Paxton sighed and dropped his hands. His arms crossed and he looked to his bare feet. “That’s the way it was supposed to be. That was the deal. I never wanted to know you. Not until now.”
“What does that mean, Paxton?”
“Come in here. I want to show you something.”
Paxton took my hand and I followed, feeling so overwhelmed. So lost, and broken.
Chapter Twelve
Paxton unlocked his office door and I looked around. Nope. Nothing. Not one thing felt familiar.
“Sit,” he ordered.
I sat in Paxton’s leather chair and he reached around me. Every room in the house came alive. I had been on camera ever since I’d met him.
“Look at the difference in you. This footage was taken the day before your accident.”
I watched with outrage, shock, and confusion. One second I felt raped, and the next puzzled. It was me. I was in the kitchen, dressed, hair done, makeup on, and breakfast on the table. The microwave said six-thirty, and I could tell by the brewing coffee and the darkness behind the doors that it was morning.
Paxton walked in, carrying work boots. After setting them to the floor, he strolled over and kissed me. A pang of anger shot through my chest when I watched him hold my jaw and say something. Something out of anger.
“I can’t hear it,” I said. I wanted to hear it. I wanted to know a typical day. The life of Gabriella Pierce—pre-accident.
“You don’t need to hear it. That’s not my point. Just watch,” Paxton said. His arm went over me again and he sped up the feed and turned up the volume. “Listen how you talk to the girls here,” he said as the video moved ahead to breakfast with Rowan and Ophelia.”
“Rowan, sit up straight. Eat your breakfast,” I said from the island.
A fight broke out from nowhere. Ophelia used her napkin and she screamed. The look on my face was always the same. It never changed. Not from happy to sad, or angry to scared. Nothing. I was emotionless.
My expression never even changed when Paxton entered the kitchen. He settled the fight in a split second. Both girls sat up and ate.
“Can you do anything to help out around here?” Paxton said through the speakers, lips on mine.
I turned to look at him over my shoulder. “How could I do anything when you didn’t even give me time?”
“That’s what I’m talking about, Gabriella. Look.” Paxton switched to another folder. A couple of days ago. I remembered that day. Both girls were sitting on the bar stools, eating apple slices. Ophelia took a slice from Rowans plate and licked it. Rowan did the same to hers, but Ophelia screamed a shrill, extremely long, ear-piercing scream.
Unlike the last time where I wore the same blank stare, I cocked my hip and looked at her like she’d lost her mind. Paxton stormed around the corner, but his face, too, changed. His expression shifted from anger to bewilderment.
I placed two fingers between my lips and whistled louder than her scream. She stopped. Total shock on her face.
“What are you screaming about?” I questioned while my elbows slid across the smoky gray marble for eye contact.
“Her licked my apple,” she whined.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. No whining. I can’t understand you when you do that.”
“Why did you lick her apple, Row-row?”
“Ophelia did it first.”
I held my eyes in contact with Ophelia’s and she looked down. “Look at me, Phi. Don’t look down when someone’s talking to you. You look them straight in the eyes. You’re bigger than that. Now. Did you lick Rowan’s apple first?”
“She did,” Rowan tattled.
“Shh, hang on.” I wagged one finger in the air.
“Yes,” Ophelia confessed.
“Which one?”
Rowan pointed to the apple her sister left her germs on. “This one.”
“Pick it up, Phi,” I requested with a nod toward the contaminated apple. Ophelia picked it up and placed it on her plate. “Which one did Rowan lick?” Ophelia pointed to the slice and Rowan picked it up.
“There. No more germs. You good? You good?” I asked with a straight finger from one to the other. They both nodded with smiles. “Good deal. Fist-bump,” I ordered. My little Clydes giggled and bumped tiny fists. “Hey, I need some bumps, too,” I teased, and all was good.
I walked past Paxton, bumping his shoulder as I passed. “Damn. Your offspring’s are drama queens, dude.”
My hand covered my mouth when I watched Paxton’s expression. I’d just knocked the wind right out of him.
“Who the fuck is that, Gabriella? You whistled at them like you were calling a cab. I didn’t even know you could do that. Fist-bump? What the fuck is that? Who the fuck is this? You don’t act like that.”
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