6. Fia
FIA
“Watch your step,” cringes the bus driver as I almost face-plant the sidewalk.
Amnesia seems to have taken away my ability to walk, or perhaps that’s just nerves.
I flash the driver a nervous smile as I exit the bus, looking over both shoulders like a maniac in case I’m being stalked by my husband.
It took me twenty minutes to get an Uber—then another twenty to find the nearest bus stop on the outskirts of the city for them to drop me off at. Oh, and not to mention the extra twenty minutes for the bus to arrive.
It’s evening by the time I make it to the city.
The sun sinks closer to the horizon as I navigate my way through the busy streets of downtown Seattle. My apartment block has indeed been knocked down. I walk straight past the building, seeing a new block of offices there instead.
Terrific. Looks like I’ll have to spend the night in a hotel room. Great way to throw a couple hundred bucks down the drain, booking a hotel room last minute…
Is there a medical center nearby so I can sell a kidney?
I swerve around pedestrians, slipping my phone to anxiously check my bank statement.
I gasp, staring at the incomprehensible number showing at the top of the screen. There is simply no way…
Except there is. Emil Volkov.
My heart skips several beats as I come to a standstill in the middle of the sidewalk, receiving some scornful glares from people passing by. I round the corner, tucking myself down a side alley filled with dumpsters and generators.
My hatred for this man, and for myself, has tripled.
I graduated top of my class in college. The night of my graduation, locked away in my room, was the first time I tasted freedom.
The unpredictable banging downstairs, the bruises on my mother’s skin all suddenly felt easier to cope with because I had reached the light at the end of the tunnel.
Change was coming. I could get a good job with this grade, make my own money and live as far away from my father as possible, never having to rely on his sorry ass again.
I click off my phone, looking away from my bank balance before I crawl into one of these dumpsters and suffocate myself.
My mother divorced my father and found love in California, and I found freedom through a job I loved. My money was my own. I could afford my own place and had the privilege of living alone. The only banging I heard after that came from next door when Synthia had her boy toy around.
Everything has been peaceful…
But peace is short-lived apparently.
I stuff my phone back into my pants pocket, spilling back out onto the busy sidewalk. After dodging commuters for another two blocks, wandering aimlessly, I stumble upon the coffee shop I used to meet my friend Chloe in after work.
Caffeine is very much needed after the day I’ve had.
I push open the door, shedding the jacket the hospital gave me.
I was in too much of a rush to change out of these clothes earlier.
All my clothes will be at Emil’s place, but I couldn’t face the music and open up the closet, seeing more evidence that Emil was telling the truth about everything.
“A double shot latte please,” I say to the barista, raking my scraggly hair away from my face. I could have at least fixed up my appearance and brushed my hair, but self-care had to wait.
Running away from Emil felt way more urgent.
“Sure,” says the barista. “Anything else?”
I browse the pastries and my stomach immediately starts groaning. “A pistachio croissant please. Actually, make that two. And I’ll also take a slice of the carrot cake, thank you very much.”
May as well treat myself, since this is Emil’s money.
I take the pastries and cake from the barista and wait for my drink in a corner booth, staring through the window, watching the cars pass by. Raindrops slide down the glass. According to the radio, a storm is meant to hit tonight.
I take out my phone, searching for some accommodation tonight. Emil can treat me to a five-star hotel and spa, since he appears to have all the money in the world.
“Double shot latte for Fia?” says the server, bringing me my coffee.
“Thanks.” I blow on the drink, taking a sip as I scroll through some very upscale hotel options. I’m pregnant and still recovering from a car accident. I need the opposite of stress right now.
A deluxe suite in the Four Seasons Hotel, including a spa and sauna, will do just the trick.
I’m one click away from booking when someone slams their hand down on my table, causing a mini earthquake. My coffee cup clatters in the saucer, some of the coffee spilling over the edge.
“Watch where you’re going, dumbass,” I scorn, fanning out the napkin to clean up the mess.
I’m scrubbing coffee from my pants when the person sits down opposite me. I refuse to look up and make eye contact. Doing that will cause me to slap them in the face. I’m grouchy after not having caffeine for a few days, and my patience is running thinner by the fucking minute.
The woman clears their throat.
“What?” I look up and go stone cold, seeing a familiar pair of eyes staring right my way, except the look inside of them feels foreign. I’m not used to Chloe staring at me like she wants to strangle me to death.
“Chloe,” I gasp. “Thank god.”
“Where the fuck have you been?” Anger shakes her voice. “I thought you were dead.”
“I know. So did everyone else. But rest assured, I was in a coma.”
Her face shifts. “For an entire year?”
“No, just two days.”
Chloe bats her lashes at me, like I’m speaking a different language. “Then where the fuck were you?” Concern lines her face, her green eyes devoid of warmth.
Same as her cheeks. Normally, they’re tinted red, but she sits opposite me this evening looking grayer than the depressing atmosphere outside.
“I’m in the process of figuring that out.”
Chloe stares at me for another beat, more lines appearing between her brows. She slides the coffee across the table, taking a sip, wincing. “Double espresso. Gross.”
“It’s a latte, not a shot.”
“Certainly feels like it.” She continues staring at me. “You always have a double espresso when you’re stressed.”
“Do I?”
Chloe’s mouth gapes wide open, like she’s having trouble recognizing me. Same.
“Yes,” she says, her tone still sharp. “You started taking double espressos a few years back.”
“Can we be more specific? How many years ago are we talking?”
“Around three. That’s when you started acting weird.”
“Weird?” I repeat, sliding my coffee back toward me, taking another sip. I swirl the liquid around in my mouth, tasting the notes, determined to remember some details. Perhaps Chloe can fill me in. “I was hit by a car and now everything is backwards.”
“You can say that again,” says Chloe, folding her arms across the table, leaning in. “You’re meant to be dead.”
“Surprise…” I wiggle my fingers under my chin, offering her a smile, which she refuses to return.
Her lips remain in a stubborn line. “Not fucking funny. You never returned my calls, my texts. It’s like you fell off the face of the earth.”
I frown. “For how long exactly?”
“A year,” says Chloe. Her gaze deepens. “You really don’t remember?”
“The doctor said I have some amnesia.”
“Are you sure?”
“I think I’d remember waking up five months pregnant.” I lift from the chair slightly, showing Chloe the baby bump.
She gasps, slapping a hand over her mouth. My cheeks heat red, neighboring tables turning our way. I look down, desperately waiting for people to mind their own.
“Oh my god, Fia. Who’s the father?”
“The man I’ve apparently been living with.”
More lines appear between Chloe’s brows. She sits back in the booth, hands clasped together, like we’re colleagues in an important business meeting, not friends catching up. “So that’s what you were lying to me about.” Her gaze hardens. “A man. When did you meet him?”
“Perhaps you can help me figure that out.”
A grave expression is written across Chloe’s face.
“It will have been around three years ago, when you started taking your lattes with an extra shot.” She keeps watching me.
“You were so unlike yourself, Fia, always rushing off, telling me you had somewhere important to be, ignoring my texts for days. In fact,” says Chloe, “I remember sitting in this exact booth a couple years back when you ran to the restroom suddenly, leaving me alone. I was pissed out of my ass for weeks, until I realized you had gone completely AWOL. You were uncontactable.”
My heart beats right out of my chest, fear filling my entire body. Why don’t I remember any of this?
“I was terrified. A month later, you miraculously return. You finally start responding to my messages again. I knock on your door, and you look like a fucking ghost, white as anything. The fear was so wide in your eyes I could feel it rubbing off on me. I ask if you’re in trouble, but you tell me you’re fine.
” Chloe keeps watching me. “You shook everything off and made up the excuse that you had to leave town for a while because work was driving you insane…”
That, I can believe. My boss slides new case files into my pigeonhole every day, all of them complicated. Rich people have too much time on their hands. They should find a hobby instead of making my life harder.
“Who is the man?”
“Emil Volkov,” I say. “Did I ever mention him?”
“No,” says Chloe. “Never.”
“What does this mean?”
Chloe’s mouth becomes more rigid, her eyes full of fright. “You need to stay the fuck away from that man.”
“Weren’t you invited to the wedding?”
“The wedding?” bursts Chloe, causing others to turn our way again.
She yanks my hand, staring at the diamond wedding ring.
“Holy fucking shit. You married this guy.” She tilts her head in assessment.
“That checks out if you went ghost for a full year.” She drops my hand, shaking off a shiver. “Where does he live?”
“In the middle of a forest.”
“Like a psychopath,” whispers Chloe, her brows parting in fear. “Promise me you’ll never go back there? This man could kill you.”