19. Amara
Amara
“You’re going home today,” Lia says.
“Am I? Can you come too?” I smile. She takes my hand and gives it a squeeze.
I’m re-learning about my family. I have two sisters, Milly and Lia, both are older than me, with Lia being the eldest. There is something caring about her words and the way she looks at me.
I’m starting to understand the people that genuinely loved me before the accident—and those that are here because they feel like they should be.
Of course, that’s if it was an accident because I’ve since overheard that my stepbrother has been missing since that day—that can’t be a coincidence?
“I can stay for a couple of days until you settle in,” she says as she turns to Dom. He gives her a gentle nod in agreement.
“And stop the monsters.”
Lia laughs. “I shouldn’t have told you that story. I should have told you about the time we laid on a hotel rooftop in Brisbane and looked at the stars.”
Lia is really pretty. Her hair is dark like mine, but her eyes are so blue, they are mesmerizing. I wonder if my eyes are so blue. “Can I look at my face?”
Lia’s eyes round as she shakes her head.
“That’s not a good idea, darling,” Mom says. “Not yet.”
I reach up, gingerly touching my face. A sharp pain lances through me, making me wince, my fingertips trace over the contours of where I hurt.
“Why does it hurt so much?” My voice sounds small, frightened almost.
Lia leans closer, her brow furrowing with concern. “You took quite a hit, Amara. But you’ll heal.”
“You’ll be beautiful again soon, honey.” Mom nods vigorously, stepping in with a warm smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. And that makes me believe she doesn’t believe it.
Dom’s voice cuts through the moment like a knife. “You look beautiful now,” he says, but his tone carries an edge of caution, that I am sure is aimed at my Mom. They are definitely not on good terms. “But we don’t want you to look yet.”
My heart sinks as I consider how bad I actually look.
Mom moves closer to Dom, her eyes searching his face as if looking for something she needs to find there.
“That’s right, baby,” she says, but there’s an anxious edge in her voice—like she’s trying too hard to convince herself of something.
Maybe I look so bad nobody dares to tell me.
I watch them both carefully, noting the distance between them even when they stand side by side. There’s a tension in the air that sends a shiver down my spine.
“Are you married?” I ask suddenly, the words slipping out before I can stop them.
Mom glances at me and replies with a tight smile, “Yes, but we’re going through a rough patch.”
“A rough patch,” I repeat slowly, letting the words roll off my tongue. What does that mean?
Dom’s expression darkens as he shakes his head slightly.
“No,” he interjects firmly. “I don’t want her believing false information.” His gaze is steady on me now. “We’re not married.”
The door swings open, and a man and woman dressed in navy suits step into the room, their gazes on me.
“Detectives Ingram and Parker,” the female says, her voice steady but kind. “We’re with the Gold Coast Police Force. We just want to ask you a few questions.”
“Again? She doesn’t remember anything.” Dom’s eyes narrow, his jaw tightening as he stands up straight, blocking their entrance like a wall. “You shouldn’t be here. I’ll call your superiors.”
Detective Parker raises an eyebrow but keeps his tone professional. “We’re just doing our job, sir.”
“Then find my son,” Dom hisses, his gaze burning into the detectives.
“We’re looking into all the leads,” Parker replies, glancing at me with concern before turning back to Dom.
I shift in my hospital bed; the movement making my stomach churn.
“Amara,” Detective Ingram looks at me with concern written over her face. “Do you remember being in the Angels and Sinners club?”
Everyone goes quiet, waiting with bated breath for my answer like it’s an impending storm.
I open my mouth, but words refuse to form as my mind spins with a flash of white and then a tapping noise. I close my mouth and eyes as I try to make sense of what is there but it all blurs together—
“Did you see the car that hit you?” Parker adds, leaning closer.
Car? I can’t remember anything about a car or who was around me. Only muffled voices that dissolve when I try to grasp them.
“No,” I croak. The word scratches along my throat as it comes out. “I don’t remember...anything.”
Frustration radiates off Dom as he storms to my side and crosses his arms over his chest. “You need to leave her alone.”
“Do you want the person responsible found?” Detective Parker asks.
“She can’t remember anything,” Dom hisses.
“Let us do our job, sir, please.”
“Who were you with at the club?” Detective Ingram takes a notepad out of her pocket and reads something on the top. “Did you use your sister’s membership?”
I don’t answer.
I can’t.
But their questions press on like relentless waves crashing against my mind.
“Which exit did you leave from?”
Suddenly, I’m swept away in a vision of my body soaring through the air before slamming down onto something hard.
My body shudders like it’s happening to me now.
“I… I don’t know!” Panic floods through me, filling every corner of my thoughts until they threaten to overflow. “I feel—” I turn over on the bed as my back convulses, and then I vomit over the floor and Detective Parker’s shoes.
My mother interjects sharply from behind me. “You need to leave! Can’t you see she is not well enough for this.” Her voice trembles slightly but carries an edge of authority.
“Yes, time to go.” Dom looks between them and me with an intensity that makes my heart race even faster. “If you speak to her again before she is well enough to do this, you will regret it.”
“Are you threatening us, Mr. De Luca?”
“I don’t make threats, Detective, I make things happen.”
“Let me get you something to eat,” Milly says.
I stare at the ceiling, still trying to piece together fragments of my life. My sisters sit on either side of me on the bed. To my left is Milly with her perfectly styled pink hair and manicured nails. And Lia is to my right.
While Milly seems carefree and fun, Lia has a protective energy that feels like a shield around me.
“You need to eat,” Milly pushes, scrolling through her phone.
I turn to look at her, feeling oddly empty. “What do I like to eat?”
Milly’s eyes widen as she glances up from her screen. “You’ve forgotten what you like to eat?”
“Ask the cook to make her spaghetti carbonara,” Lia says, her voice soft but firm.
Milly wrinkles her nose. “That might be too creamy and make her sick.”
“It won’t,” Lia insists, crossing her arms.
“It will, it’s too rich.”
I watch them argue about me like I’m not here. It’s strange being the subject of a conversation when you don’t even know yourself.
Milly sighs dramatically and stands up. “Fine. Carbonara it is. If she is sick, it’s on you. And you can clean her up.” She leaves the room with quick steps, the door closing behind her with a soft click.
My bladder feels uncomfortably full. “I need the bathroom,” I tell Lia.
“Let me take you,” she says, already moving to help me up.
“I can do it.” The words come out more forcefully than I intended, but I need to do something on my own. I’m feeling useless. I can at least go to the bathroom alone.
Lia grumbles but lets me go, watching as I make my way carefully to the en-suite bathroom. Every step is deliberate and slow, my body still aching from injuries I don’t remember receiving.
Inside the bathroom, I sit down to pee, relieved to have a moment alone.
As I finish, something catches my eye—an open cupboard where I’m sure there should be a cabinet door, and what looks like a painted-over picture on the wall above the sink. The color matches the color of the tiles on the walls.
I wash my hands slowly, my gaze repeatedly drawn to that strange flat surface. Water splashes up from the sink, droplets landing on what I now realize must be a mirror.
Curious, I touch the wet spot. The paint smears easily under my finger, revealing something reflective underneath. I splash more water deliberately, using my palm to wipe away the off-white coating.
My heart stops.
A face stares back at me—purple bruises bloom across my cheekbone. Yellow discoloration surrounds my swollen eyes. A line of black stitches cuts across my right cheekbone, explaining the sharp pain I feel when I touch it.
And before I can make sense of it, a scream tears from my throat.
Footsteps pound toward the bathroom, and Lia bursts through the door. “Amara! What’s wrong?”