Chapter Nine
Romy
E very day is the same but a little different.
Honestly, I don’t know if these “days” happen multiple times a day or over a span of days or even weeks. All I know is it’s becoming more and more difficult to discern fiction from reality. I’m unable to keep count of how long I’ve been here, which is both maddening and depressing.
Each time I wake up, feeling drugged and hungover, I go through the obsessive rituals of checking for inconsistencies in my room and bathroom, comparing them to the day before, and searching fruitlessly for a way of escape.
And now I have dreams to contend with.
I can’t tell if they’re actual voices I heard while asleep or made up. Either way, it’s making me lose my mind.
I’m desperate to get out of this insane loop.
This morning, instead of rushing to turn on lights and inspect everything in my prison, I keep my eyes closed, hoping to ignore my situation for a little while longer.
I miss Bastian. He’s probably sick with worry since I haven’t called or sent him a text. It gives me comfort that my older brother has most likely attempted to get to the bottom of my sudden disappearance.
But will he ever find me?
I don’t even know where I am.
My chest aches and my bones feel heavy. I’m all cried out. Sometimes I wish I never went on a quest to find Megan.
With a tired sigh, I open my eyes and prepare for another day in hell. I reach for the bedside lamp, but it’s not there. My hand smacks the wall instead. It’s then I realize a familiar smell.
Tide.
It’s the detergent I use.
A tendril of hope wriggles its way into my heart. Maybe I’ve been having a terrible dream and I’m finally waking up from it.
Rolling to the other side, I nearly cry out with happiness when my hand touches the familiar lamp I’d bought after arriving in LA. I flick it on, and the room is bathed in warm yellow light.
I expect the horrible, neutral grays that have been haunting me.
Instead, I see Tara’s messy bed and a pile of shoes next to it. Tears burn my eyes, but I quickly bat them away as I rush to sit up. My fuzzy UGG slippers are in their usual place. Happily, I slide my bare feet into them. I’m no longer wearing the same outfit of jeans, T-shirt, and hoodie. Now I’m wearing my favorite old T-shirt that Bastian gave me plus my pink cotton night shorts.
A sob rattles out of me.
Thank God.
It was all a stupid dream.
I stand and slowly turn in a circle, taking in my shared room. Tara’s Mac Demarco posters are exactly where they should be, the middle one annoyingly crooked. On my side are pictures of me and Bastian, inspirational quotes, and cute pictures of polar bears all taped to the wall.
Wow.
Talk about a messed-up dream.
I’m going to schedule a Zoom with Maura as soon as possible. My meds are apparently not working as they should be. When I see a box of brown sugar Pop-Tarts sitting on my desk, I snatch it up and eagerly tear into one of the packages. The sweet treat makes me groan with pleasure. Dad never let me have Pop-Tarts growing up because they were “poison,” but as soon as I left for college, I stocked up on them and have been practically surviving on them since.
I’m not sure what day it is or where my phone is, but it doesn’t matter. I’m eager to get dressed and walk around campus to try to reorient myself to reality. After wolfing down a pack of Pop-Tarts, I strip out of my pajamas and then throw on a bra and a new pair of underwear. I find some black leggings to put on before then looking for a T-shirt. A worn-out black I Love NYC T-shirt sits folded on top. When I pull it out, though, I’m confused.
I Love SF.
San Francisco.
That’s not right.
Bringing the T-shirt to my nose, I inhale it. It smells like Tide with a hint of my perfume.
But it’s wrong.
It’s all wrong.
I pull on the T-shirt anyway and then start yanking all my shirts out of the drawer. They’re all the same as I remember. Maybe this one belongs to Tara.
With a ragged sigh, I rub at my eyes. I’m still half asleep. That’s the problem. I need a pumpkin pie frappe stat. First, I need to find my phone that’s probably lost in the bedding somewhere.
As I walk over to my bed, I get an eerie feeling. Something’s wrong with the bedroom. It’s…not the right size. I rub my eyes again and wait for everything to come back into focus. The distance from my desk to the bed is too far. Same with the distance between me and Tara’s bed.
I start for the window when something on my wall catches my attention. The pictures of my brother aren’t my brother at all. They’re….
No.
My heart rate speeds up as I rush to the covered window between our end tables. Morning light shines from the sides of the blackout curtains. I yank the curtains aside and expect to see the courtyard with students milling about.
I see LED lights stuck to the wall instead.
What. The. Hell.
Terror claws its way inside me as a shrill sound rattles from my throat. I rip one of the pictures from the wall and stare at it. It’s me and…Caius.
Caius is smirking, wearing a Nike cap, with his arm casually slung over my shoulder.
This isn’t real.
This didn’t happen.
That picture was of me and Bastian. I remember it well. We’d gone to Staten Island one day when we were bored and pretended to be tourists.
Except now the picture has Caius—the monster from my nightmares.
I drop the picture as though it’s been tainted with poison and rush for the dorm room door. I’m pretty sure I know what I’ll find, but I need to see it with my own eyes. When I reach the door, I suck in several shaky breaths. I’m close to having a panic attack. I need to breathe and count and focus, but my brain compels me to look beyond the door.
With a resigned sob, I twist the knob and it easily opens. The first thing I see is a wall with a sconce and a door beside it. It’s not the dorm hall, though.
It’s the horrible one.
To confirm, I step out and look to my left and then to my right.
Endless hallway lined with doors.
I shriek and slam the door closed before leaning my back against it. Sliding down to the floor, I attempt to get my breathing under control. It’s coming in and out too short and quick. Dizziness washes over me.
What’s happening?
How do I escape this mental hell?
I’m still reeling when someone knocks on the door. I cry out and scramble back toward my bed—the fake bed—hoping to escape my attacker.
I barely make it into my bed before the door opens. Gareth steps in, face pinched with concern. I want to throw something at his pretty face. I hate him. I hate all of them.
“Calm down, Romy,” he says, holding a palm out in front of him. “It’s okay.”
“It. Is. Not. Okay!” I scream. “You people are sick!”
He frowns and hangs his head. “He really thought this would help you remember.”
I fling my middle finger at him. “Leave me alone!”
“I can’t,” he says sadly. “We won’t give up on you.”
I jolt back toward the wall, gripping my blanket and pulling it over me when he strides my way. The blanket won’t keep this lunatic away from me, though. He sighs heavily and then sits on fake Tara’s bed.
“I can understand you’re scared,” Gareth says gently. “I don’t agree with Caius’s attempt to help you remember. You’re too…particular…to be fooled. It would inevitably cause you to grow more suspicious than you already are. I’m sorry.”
His words don’t make sense.
“You’re making all this up,” I hiss. “Where’s Megan? Let us go home. Please.”
He scrubs a palm over his face. “You really think something terrible’s happened to her, don’t you?”
I don’t satisfy him with an answer. He knows how I feel.
Suddenly, he jerks his head up and grins. “Why don’t I prove it to you? That Megan is just fine?”
My muscles tense at his words. This is progress. They’ve yet to tell me where she’s at or how she’s doing.
“Prove it,” I challenge, voice shaky.
He pulls his phone from his pocket and begins moving his thumbs rapidly. Then he shows me what looks like an Instagram page. It’s Megan’s page.
I get tangled up in the blanket in my crazed effort to get off the bed to take a closer look. I try to take the phone from his hand, but his grip is too strong. In the picture, Megan looks…happy. And not in a shy way. She’s grinning and wearing a lot of makeup. In fact, she’s radiant.
Gareth doesn’t stop me when I use my finger to scroll down to read the caption: “CUP is saving the world one person at a time. I’m proof!”
“This isn’t real,” I tell him. “I don’t know how you did this. She was taken. You people took her just like you took me!”
He flinches at my outburst but then shakes his head. “You’re wrong.”
I cower away when he rises to his feet. His disappointed frown somehow makes me feel guilty, which is absolutely ridiculous.
What if he’s telling the truth?
My mind isn’t always reliable. It’s been lying to me since I was six.
“Let me show you,” he says softly. “I know this is hard to comprehend, but it’s reality, Ro.”
The way he says the shortened version of my name with familiarity like my own brother has tears flooding my eyes. None of this makes any sense.
He then shows me his phone again. It’s my Instagram profile this time. The last posted picture is of me and Megan. We’re both wearing CUP shirts, grinning at the camera.
What?
The picture beside it is of me at the event—the same one they stole me from. Next to it is a picture of Caius in his tux. I mash it to read the caption: “My boyfriend’s hotter than yours.”
No.
Caius is not my boyfriend.
This is messed up.
“This isn’t real,” I whisper, shaking my head. “You’ve made all this up. I want to leave. Let me go home.”
“Romy, this is real.” He shoves his phone in his pocket and his jaw works like he’s fighting tears. “I miss my friend. Come back to us, Ro. Search deep inside of that twisted mind of yours and remember. Please. It’s killing all of us, especially Caius.”
His pain is palpable.
It’s a punch to my gut.
“Gareth,” a deep voice admonishes from the doorway. “I told you to give it time. Can you not let it be?”
Caius.
My supposed boyfriend.
Unreal.
Gareth shoots me a forlorn look. “I thought… I thought I could help her remember. To prove it to her.”
“Leave us,” Caius growls. “You’ve done enough.”
Gareth curses at him and then shoulder checks him on the way out. Caius’s nostrils flare, his only tell of his annoyance, and then his dark orbs pin me in place.
Before I can stop myself, I launch at him, claws bared and ready to do damage. I’m not able to dig my nails into his cheek because he snatches my wrist with lightning-quick reflexes. I scream at him and attempt to kick him in the balls. The world tilts as he pushes me onto my bed, his body pinning mine to the mattress.
“Look at me,” he commands in a vicious tone, hands tightening around my wrists he has a hold of. “Now.”
I turn my head away from him and stare at all the pictures of us together. They’re not real. They can’t be.
He gathers both my wrists in one hand and then forcibly moves my head with fingers biting into my jaw. Our eyes meet—mine filled with rage and confusion and his are an empty, dark abyss of apathy.
I hate him.
There’s no way I’d ever fall for a man like Caius. If they’d tried to trick me into believing it was Gareth instead, I’d believe it. Not Caius.
“I’ve had enough of your attention seeking,” he murmurs, nose nearly touching mine. “Time to get your shit together, little girl.”
Little girl.
His words and touch are like acid being flicked on my skin. I want to claw at my own flesh to get them off me.
“You won’t break me,” I hiss, spittle hitting his face. “This thing you’re doing won’t work.”
Rather than give any indication that this is some messed-up game, his features soften slightly. It’s more terrifying than the coldness that typically emanates from him. Warmth from a man like him is almost comforting and I don’t like it.
“One day you’ll remember,” he murmurs, confidence dripping from his words. “You’ll remember how you used to moan my name every night.”
Foreign heat tickles at my flesh.
It’s embarrassment.
I think.
Definitely not familiarity or desire.
He disgusts me.
“You’ll remember how it feels to straddle me while my tongue fucks your sassy mouth.” He brushes his lips over mine. “You’ll remember how much you like it when I bite.”
A mixture of terror and intrigue washes over me.
This is all a lie.
Right?
Maybe if he kissed me, I’d be able to tell for sure.
His body is hard and muscular, and I become increasingly aware of each part of him that presses against me. Does it feel familiar? My heart is racing too quickly in my chest and my brain is filled with fuzz. I can’t make sense of anything. All I can focus on is his touch and cologne and minty breath.
I’m scared, but some part deep inside of me wants him to be right about all this because maybe he can fix it. He can make all the confusion go away.
My muscles start to relax.
I should just give in.
Wouldn’t that be easier?
They took her. They took you. You didn’t make that up.
A terrifying chill wracks down my spine and chases away this pathetic attempt to get me all twisted up.
“Liar,” I say and then laugh in his face. “You’re a liar and I can see right through it.”
A flash of anger passes over his features before his expression goes placid again. He rubs his thumb over my cheek before releasing my face. Then he fumbles for something in his pocket.
“If you lie long enough, it becomes truth,” he murmurs. “You’ll see.”
He pushes a pill past my lips. The acrid taste makes me gag. I refuse to swallow it. But he holds my nose until I’m forced to open up to breathe. His long fingers shove the pill deep into my throat.
“Swallow.”
With tears rolling down my face, I swallow so he’ll take his hand out of my mouth. My throat constricts as he removes his fingers, but the pill doesn’t come back up.
“I hate you,” I choke out, unable to keep from crying.
He covers my mouth with his hand. “For now. It won’t always be that way.”
His awful gaze bores into me, but I refuse to look away. I stare into the depths of his dark soul as my limbs grow heavy and the fight leaves me. I’m starting to drift off when he finally releases me. I ache to punch him, but I’m boneless and tired. He picks up the discarded doctored photo of us. Then he tucks it into his pocket.
“Only the strong make it in this world,” Caius says as he slides off the bed and stands, towering over me like a wicked, granite gargoyle. “Remember that if you want to survive this.”
With those words, he turns off my lamp and then saunters out of the room. The door closes with a barely audible click.
The pull of the drugs steals me seconds later.