Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Claire
H ow were you supposed to know what your reflection was supposed to look like?
Was that truly what other people saw? Because the reflection of the woman in the mirror didn’t look like me.
That reflection didn’t even look like photos I had seen of myself on my phone or in an album.
That reflection looked like a ghost, their memory splashed on glass.
It was as if someone had taken the flash of a large camera and created a shadow that was suddenly who I was supposed to be.
I was not Claire in this moment.
I didn’t know who I was.
I wore small volleyball shorts and a crop top, so I could see the bruises on my thighs and arms from where I had fallen. Barely a stitch of clothing covered me as I lifted my arm up and ignored that it felt I was tearing my muscles apart from the inside out.
I could still feel the warm slice of metal digging into my flesh. As if the blade stabbed into silicone, that sucking sound when my flesh gave way and blood began to spurt, echoing in my ears. Though I wasn’t sure stabbing through flesh made a sound. Maybe that was only the effect my brain had supplied so I could come to terms with the fact that I had been stabbed.
A man had stabbed me. A man who didn’t know me other than who I was to my best friend, the woman who was part of my heart and practically a sister.
I had been in his way, emotionally, physically, spiritually. And because of that, he tried to kill me.
Or perhaps I wasn’t a thing to be killed. He hadn’t been in his right mind. Perhaps I wasn’t a soul so I couldn’t be killed. I was an object, far too nuanced to truly be tossed away like garbage, but not whole enough to be human.
He stabbed me, and I had seen the confusion in his gaze when it had happened. I wasn’t sure that Phoebe had.
The man, the stranger, hadn’t realized what that moment meant until we were connected with his hand on the hilt, his knife buried deep inside me.
Now I stood here, countless stitches in my side. Not really countless; I knew exactly how many there were. I could count each thread on my skin underneath the bandage, though I couldn’t count the ones deep inside.
I hadn’t died, and yet the woman in the mirror wasn’t me.
My hair was pulled back from my face so I looked gaunt and pale. I used to have a tan to my skin, a bronze hue that implied I spent too much time outdoors. But between my job and the fact that Phoebe, my hiking buddy despite the fact that she hated hiking, hadn’t had time recently, I hadn’t been outdoors enough. So my skin had already grown pale before the coming winter.
But the woman in the mirror had a gray tone. A gray of sadness and confusion. And the dark circles under her eyes weren’t fooling anyone. No amount of color correcting and concealer were going to be able to hide that from Phoebe. Perhaps that was why I wasn’t letting Phoebe see me.
She was safe with Kane, with her family that seemed to grow by leaps and bounds with each passing moment. She would be loved and cared for even in the hysteria that was her new family. I wasn’t jealous because she deserved that. After the terror she had dealt with over these past months, she needed this. Needed to be with the man she loved, and to be with the ever-growing families that were the Cages, Dixons, and Montgomerys.
I didn’t mind being left behind.
Because I couldn’t let her see me like this.
I didn’t want to be here anymore.
Not here in this world. No. I needed to fight. To survive. We had kicked and fought to survive against that man, and I wasn’t going to take that for granted. But I couldn’t stay in this hotel room anymore. I needed to go back to my apartment, I needed to pretend to be normal.
But I knew I couldn’t stay in that apartment anymore.
My blood had stained the carpet, it probably stained the wood surrounding it.
And I would always hear Phoebe’s scream, hear Kane shout for us as he protected us.
And though I knew they had fixed the door, I would still be able to see the shattered remains of splinters as it was kicked in.
Would they fix the blinds that had been torn when we had been knocked into the window?
Would they fix the chair that had been dented on the side, or the threads on the couch that had begun to unravel during the melee?
And even if they could fix the cosmetics of the apartment and change them for the better, they wouldn’t be able to erase what happened.
I couldn’t stay in that apartment anymore, and I would have to find somewhere else to go.
Somewhere without Phoebe because she wouldn’t be coming back. And I was grateful. Not that I didn’t love my best friend, but she needed to move on. To move in with Kane and find that happiness she had craved for so long. They were meant for each other in all ways.
But I would be alone.
Again.
My hand still held my shirt up so I could see the bandage and, lost in my thoughts, it took me a moment to realize I wasn’t alone.
I didn’t scream, though I should have. Instead, I looked into Kingston’s eyes through the mirror.
He had circles under his eyes as well, and I wondered what they were from. Though I knew I didn’t have the right to ask.
“Claire?”
I turned away, letting my hand drop. I didn’t want him to see me like this. I had done so well in the little over a year that I had known him to not let him see me. Because if he saw me, he would know something that I couldn’t let him see.
“Go away, Kingston. How did you even get in here?”
Should it worry me that though I still jumped at small noises, I hadn’t jumped at all when it was him? Probably. I was probably in such a deep denial and psychosis that I couldn’t focus on anything.
Or maybe it was just Kingston, and he made me nervous in other ways.
“I have a key. You gave it to me. Remember?”
He frowned as I met his gaze in the mirror, and I let out a breath.
“Go away, Kingston. Please?”
“You need to be resting,” he countered.
I slid my robe over my shoulders, wanting to cover the bandage that he couldn’t keep his eyes from. I didn’t need to cover my body from him because he never saw me like that. I wasn’t a woman in his eyes, just Claire.
“We’re friends, Claire. Of course, I need to be here. To check on you.”
I held back a snort, feeling angry for some reason. Why did he have to be here? Why did the one person that shouldn’t be here have to show up?
Because I loved him. Or perhaps just loved the idea of him. I wanted him. I liked him. I admired him. But he only saw me like a little sister. And I wasn’t sure I could be near him anymore and not feel rejected and broken.
So I would have to push him away. Because that overwhelming sense of guilt on his shoulders that Phoebe and I had been hurt wasn’t going to allow him to push off his white knight act and leave me be so I could mourn that woman in the mirror.
“Are we friends?” I asked, the words like glass shards down my throat.
Hurt crossed his features and I hated myself for it. But he would do better without me around him. He would do better when he didn’t have the guilt over something that was completely out of his hands. It wasn’t his fault that Kane had gotten hurt in the first place, or that Phoebe and I had been in the way of danger. None of it was, but Kingston Montgomery would always blame himself.
“Of course, we’re friends.”
I shook my head as I moved past him, careful not to touch him. Not that he would notice since he was always so careful not to touch me.
“Why are you here, Kingston?” I hadn’t meant to let the hurt seep into my voice, and for some reason he reached out. His fingers barely brushed my shoulder and I flinched, trying to ignore the searing pain down my stomach as the movement pulled at my stitches.
He cursed under his breath. “Somebody has to be here, Claire. You shouldn’t be alone.”
I turned to him, holding back tears and just wanting this to all end. “It can’t be you.”
I hadn’t meant for the words to come out, for the truth to seep into my waking memories.
“What do you mean by that?” he asked, his voice so soft.
“It can’t…it can’t be you. Please go. I’ll lock the door behind you, but I need you to go.” When my voice broke, he let his hand fall. Confusion splashed over his features, mixed with hurt. But he didn’t say anything. He didn’t fight. He didn’t pronounce anything. He just opened his mouth, sighed, and turned.
His hand hovered over the doorknob for a moment, and I hoped he would turn and say something, anything.
The person I had once been screamed for me to say something. To tell him to come back and to hold her. That this wasn’t us.
But that didn’t make any sense. I was that person now. I was the only person. I was that reflection.
Kingston didn’t turn. He left, the door closing quietly behind him. I went forward, my hands shaking for an instant before I forced them to still as I locked the door.
And then I let my hand slide down the door and I crumpled into a pile on my knees. My forehead pressed against the door, I finally let the tears fall.
Someone had taken my safety and my home.
Someone had hurt me. And everything still ached.
I was alone now. Where I needed to be. I could figure out exactly what to do about that.
And that meant I needed to be stronger. I needed to make a plan.
And I needed to get over Kingston Montgomery.