8 #2
Just a vague image, a sensation, something that burned into me when I felt his hand on my belly and heard the words that accompanied his touch.
Is it a real memory, or just that—an image?
It feels so vague, so distant… far more distant than Aurora or Logan did, when I woke up.
They were very strong memories. As though they were imprinted in my body.
But the other vision… it’s like a dream you half forget when you wake up, but that’s still there, haunting the deep recesses of your mind.
“What is it?” asks Logan again, pulling me to him and running his fingers over my back. “Why are you upset, Lia? Did I do something wrong?”
I turn to him, trying and failing at first to speak.
“My… my belly…” I manage at last, swallowing hard.
He looks more confused than ever. Then his eyes follow the movement of my hand clutching my stomach, and his frown clears. “Children. What did you mean by that?”
My eyes widen. “Did I say that? Did I really say that?”
“Yes, you did. I didn’t want to bring it up. But you can talk to me. Tell me what happened. Tell me if...” He doesn’t finish the sentence, letting it hang in mid-air, and panic strangles my chest.
“I don’t know.”
I’m losing him; I can tell I’m losing him. His mind is frantically searching for the truth, and he’s hitting on the only answer that makes sense.
I cheated on him.
I had another child; I cheated on him.
I shake my head helplessly. “I don’t think so. I don’t remember. Logan, I swear, I don’t remember. I don’t think I could have done that… It must be a dream. That’s all, a dream.” I choke out a terrified sob. “Please, Logan. It’s nothing.”
“Shh.” He draws me into his lap again, and the warmth in his voice makes me breathe a little easier. “Please don’t be scared, baby. If you did anything, it’s my fault. It’ll always be my fault. Remember?”
Yes, I do. And his words don’t reassure me half as much as I can tell he means them to. I don’t want him to go back to that time when he was beating himself up over everything I did wrong.
“I don’t think I cheated on you.”
“Okay.” He toys with my earlobe distractedly. “What do you remember, Lia?”
“My stomach hurt.” I swallow. “It hurt so bad. And it lasted hours. Then, I heard crying. It came from a baby, I think. But I never held it. I don’t think I ever held it.”
“Did you see it?”
“I can’t remember.” I squeeze my eyes shut. “No, I do: I think I did see it. I think I was crying, because they wouldn’t let me hold her.”
“Her.”
Now, why did I say her?
“I guess so.” I hesitate. “I guess it was a girl; yes, it was. And she had just a tiny bit of hair on her head. It was red. And she had freckles, too. And green eyes.”
The more I talk, the more I remember.
“Are you sure you’re not confusing her with Aurora?” Logan asks gently. “Maybe it’s an older memory.”
I shake my head. “No, I’m sure. It’s getting clearer now. I was in a tiny room with brown walls, and both my parents were there. And a few others, too.”
“A few others?”
“Yeah.” Her eyes widen. “Logan… Logan, it was them!”
“Them?”
“The… the men on the bikes. It was them!”
He squeezes me to him. “How can you know? They were wearing masks. Unless Quill removed them when I was unconscious?”
“No.” I shake my head frantically. “No, I don’t know if it was really them. But they were wearing the same masks. So dark they looked like black holes. You couldn’t see the features, that’s how dark they were. Just black holes.”
“Hmm.”
I’m shivering, more from fear than from the cold night air, but he takes off his coat and wraps it around me. “I don’t remember,” I say helplessly. “I don’t remember anything.”
“Sure you do,” he soothes, kissing my forehead. “You remember the brown walls. You remembered about the bikers when you called Piper.”
I blink, trying to force away the confusion. “Did… did I?”
“Did you what?”
“Did I call her?”
As soon as I speak the words, I remember that I did. But Logan looks at me, concern etched in his every feature.
“Are you having trouble with your memory again, baby?” he asks softly.
I bite my lip. “I… I’m not sure.”
“Do you remember everything that’s happened today? Quill, Piper… me? Do you remember the explosion?”
“Y-yes.” I think so.
“You remember telling me about the masked bikers tonight, don’t you?” he insists. “And that they were chasing us earlier?”
“Uhm…”
I do remember telling him about the masked bikers; I don’t remember why, though. I don’t know if I remember that they chased us until he spoke of it, though.
“Well, you have to remember the bazooka. Don’t you?” His mouth twists into a little smirk, but I can tell it’s superficial.
What bazooka?
Fear pushing down on me, I reach up to him and grab a fold of his shirt.
“What’s happening to me, Logan?” I don’t mean to scare him, but I’m too terrified to keep it to myself any longer. “Why can’t I… why can’t I remember the things that just happened? I haven’t been injected in a very long time…”
“Shh.” He strokes my hair. “Don’t worry, baby. I’m going to fix you. Okay?”
I close my eyes, the distant memory growing sharper. Sharper even than anything that’s happened today.
It’s still fragmented, still confusing, but it’s sharp enough that I know I didn’t dream it.
It’s real. I had another daughter. I have no idea how, but I had her, and now, she’s gone, and I don’t know what happened to her.
The old, painful refrain beats against my chest.
I’m a bad mother. Selfish, manipulative. A bad, a terrible mother.
How could I have let them take my daughter? What kind of a mother forgets her own child?
“Hey.” Logan’s warm voice brings me back to reality. He seems to know exactly what I’m thinking. “Hey, remember what Piper said. You’re a victim. You’ve been a prisoner for eighteen years. It’s not your fault, Lia. It’s mine.”
I shake my head, but I try to wipe the traces of my pain from my face. I don’t want him to feel guilty over my shortcomings.
He was right to be furious. He was right to want to kill me. How could I forget the people I’m supposed to love?
No drug can possibly be potent enough to excuse that.
“Baby.” Logan hums a quiet melody in my ear. A melody that had been erased from my brain, but which now brings back painfully clear memories of me lying in bed with Aurora, as he sat beside us and sang us to sleep.
I would give anything to return to those days. But they’ve been ripped from me. From all of us. It’s too cruel. Too unfair.
“Hey.” By now, Logan’s rocking me back and forth, and I realize I’m once again crying. I need to stop doing that. He’s going to get sick of me if I keep this up.
Though I know my tears used to turn him on. I guess they still do. But not these. Not these tears, that must show him just how broken, how irreparably broken I am.
“I’m going to take good care of you,” he breathes in my ear. “I’m going to fix you, and I’m going to find your other daughter. Our daughter.”
“I don’t know…” I swallow with difficulty as I admit the rest of the painful memory. “I don’t know whose daughter she is, Logan.”
“She’s mine.” He speaks the word forcefully. “She’s mine, because you’re mine, and everything you have belongs to me. Okay?”
“I…”
“Okay, Lia?”
At last, I nod. “Okay.”