41. Remy
41
Remy
A trail of ants marches alongside me up the stairs as my sweaty hand skims the railing. On the last few steps, I adjust my grip on the rolled handles of my shopping bag. Dread settles in my bones as I face the door at the end of the hall, looming like a yawning void.
I’ve ignored Andrea’s texts and calls for two days.
She’s probably not even home. Is it sick to hope she isn’t?
I’m such a fucking coward.
Before I can second-guess myself, my knuckles rap against the door.
I wait.
And wait.
Maybe she’s giving me a taste of my own medicine. Reaching into my pocket for my phone, I turn to leave when screeching hinges stop me,
“Rem?”
Hugging herself, Andrea leans in the door frame dressed in a plain white tank and micro striped shorts.
“Um, hey.”
It’s me, Remy. I’m the dumbass, it’s me.
She shifts her weight, staring expectantly.
I sigh. “Can I come in?”
“That depends.” Her nails drum on her bicep. “What’s the peace offering?”
My eyes roll to the ceiling, a wave of nostalgia pulling my lips into a reluctant smile. Our first big fight happened at the ripe age of eight. Neither of us remembers how it started, but we’ll never forget how it ended. Andrea caught the flag for our team in PE, meaning she got to pick a sticker. I’d been pouting outside the locker room when she approached and pasted the cartoon cat on my shirt above my heart, saying, “ I named her Mitz. She’s a peace offering. ”
I lift the bag. “Wine, saltwater taffy and one of those obnoxiously overpriced candles you insist are worth the money.”
A flicker of amusement breaks through the wounded look in her eyes. She toys with her tongue ring.
“You forgot one thing.”
“Oh really?” My brow arches. “And what’s that?”
The corner of her mouth tips up. “Tampons. I’m on my period.”
Sucking my cheek in to hide my laugh, I shake my head. “How could I forget?”
She’s grinning fully now as she snatches my hand.
“Get in here, idiot.”
The inside of her apartment is a conglomerate of crystals, half-melted candles, crispy-leaved plants and stacks of romance novels (smut if I had to guess.) She slings me at the blush-pink velvet couch where I collapse into a pile of throw pillows smelling of sage. She spins on her heel, grabbing her phone and a steaming mug off the cluttered kitchen counter.
An eternity of stifling awkwardness passes .
I can’t take it.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur to her back.
For blaming you. For not seeing from your perspective. For avoiding you. The unspoken words hang between us.
She turns with a sigh. “Don’t be. I should’ve told you.”
My molars ache as I cage the choked emotion behind my teeth. Heavy silence descends, neither of us wanting to dredge up the argument again. When her wet gaze flicks to mine, it’s filled with remorse.
“How is he?”
She doesn’t need to clarify who. I sink deeper into the cushions and dig my knuckles into my eyes.
“He’s…”
Images flash behind my closed lids: Win sobbing in my lap, the scars marking his perfect thighs, his violent switch in demeanor. “ My wrists… you restrained me by my wrists.”
With a shudder, I drop my hands.
Andrea squints. “I swear on the deity I no longer believe in that I’ll decapitate the bastard if he’s messing with your head again.”
“No, it’s nothing like that,” I reassure her, twisting the hem of my tee around my fingertip.
Pursing her lips, she tucks her foot under her butt as she settles into the opposite corner of the couch. “Did he…” She mulls it over. “Relapse?”
I shake my head. Her brows furrow in concern.
“What’s going on, Rem?”
I contemplate whether or not to explain my speculations. She would never say anything (as she very well fucking demonstrated by keeping Win’s secret from me.) It feels like a betrayal to him but if I keep hoarding this infestation of spiraling thoughts inside, I’ll die.
“I think someone… hurt him. ”
She’s quiet, mug cradled in her hands.
“In what way?”
I don’t want to speak it and give life to my suspicions. The idea alone awakens a mixture of rage and sorrow so potent that I’m reduced to a primal monster. It’s gnawing at the inside of my skull, the lining of my stomach, the muscles of my heart.
“I’m not exactly sure,” I clear my throat. “He has nightmares a lot. Bad ones. And panic attacks to the point of puking. I mean, it could be from the bullying, but… I don’t think that’s the only thing anymore. Not after what happened the other night.”
Andrea’s dark eyes burn into my face.
“You’re being incredibly vague and it’s making me nervous.”
Pins and needles prick my finger from the lack of circulation.
“I accidentally triggered him.”
And I fucking hate myself for it.
“Triggered him… how?”
Finally, I look at her.
“He was crying and I wanted to hold him, but when I pulled him into my lap…” The needles have moved to my chest to carve through the gaps in my ribs and puncture my lungs. “He lost it. It was like he was possessed. Like— like he didn’t know where he was or who he was with. Like he didn’t know it was me .” It hurts. Oh, god it hurts. “But when he came out of it, he seemed so ashamed…”
An array of emotions play out across her face like a slideshow on fast forward: confusion to shock to horror to sadness to anger.
“You better not be implying what I think you are,” she growls. When I don’t deny it, her nostrils flare, eyes shimmering with fury. “ Fuck, ” she hisses under her breath. A pause. “Are you sure?”
I shake my head and whisper, “I really hope I’m wrong.”
Her hand covers mine and squeezes. “Me too. ”
I squeeze it back, tears burning in my eyes. She doesn’t need to speak for me to hear her. I know I can’t fix it, but I’m here for you. Always.
We stare at the empty space between us with the weight of what hasn't been said, smothering us. After a while, she scoots across the couch to snuggle into my side and rest her head on my shoulder.
“Our world is a scary place,” she murmurs. I nod numbly as she goes on, “Shit, last weekend, Melody and Logan went to a party with a friend. I guess not long after they got there, he disappeared with some dudes. A few hours later, they found him out back… unconscious.”
Something nags at me from the fringes of my memory while barely suppressed fears and speculations whip into a violent tornado of distorted images. In place of some nameless partygoer, all I can see is my beautiful boyfriend.
I’m shaking.
I’m nauseous.
Really fucking nauseous.
“Where was this?” I ask. My voice doesn’t even sound like my own.
Andrea tenses. “Not sure, but Logan is on the baseball team so I assume the athletes dorms.”
Acid burns in the back of my throat. But before I can grill her for details, my phone vibrates. It’s a doorbell notification. I didn’t order anything. No one is supposed to stop by. Did Mitz escape? I swipe it open—
The fuck… ?
I lurch to my feet and withdraw my car keys from my pocket as Andrea scrambles after me.
“What is it? ”
I look at the video again, not fully comprehending what I’m watching.
“My boyfriend just broke into my apartment.”