Unhinge - Calia Read Page 0,62
anything but the fear building inside me.
Who am I?
Who am I?
Who am I?
I hate the person I’m seeing in my memories. It is excruciating, to look back at them. I compare it to being strapped down to a table while your skin is peeled back slowly. You sit there in pain, screaming for it to stop, and it never does. I want to reach through time and shake my past self. I want to tell her all the things she should be doing differently. But I can’t.
I rub my eyes and take a deep breath.
This room is sterile and screams of loneliness. The sheets are stiff against my skin and the mattress creaks every time I move. The pillow is lumpy. My neck has a crick in it from a restless night of sleep. How did I ever allow this place to become my home?
Evelyn cries loudly and for the first time, I don’t reach for my daughter. I let her lie in her bassinet.
Horrible mother. That’s what I’m turning into. Yet even as I acknowledge the truth, I still don’t try to amend my wrong. I let her lie there.
My heart feels frozen. Young Victoria, her pain feels so fresh. So raw. I push up my shirt and glance at my ribs, expecting to see bruises in shades of plum and blue. There’s nothing. My fingers graze my skin and drift to the left until I find the exact spot where he hit me. I press down into my skin until I feel bone.
Nothing.
But it happened. Oh, it did happen.
“Have a good day, Victoria?”
Quickly I sit up in bed. Standing on the opposite side of the room is Wes, leaning against the wall and staring at me curiously. I’m still reeling from today’s session. The last person I want to see is him.
“How did you get in here?”
“I’ve been here the whole time. You didn’t hear me come in.”
He’s lying. He’s lying and both of us know it. His words make me jump out of my bed. I tug at my hair and at the very last second stop myself from crying out in frustration. “You haven’t been here the whole time.” I start to pace, always counting to twenty-five. “I would’ve seen you.”
“Technically, that’s not true. There are so many things you haven’t noticed.”
I pause mid-step. Finally, something we can agree on. “You’re right. I really haven’t seen things for what they are.”
Wes narrows his eyes. He takes a step forward. My first instinct is to take a step back, but I see past Victoria, flinching and cowering. Hiding in fear. I refuse to repeat the past. If he hurts me, I’ll scream and one of the nurses will show up.
“I’m remembering things, Wes.”
Wes stares right at me. He cocks his head to the side and gives me a blank look. “Like what?”
“How messed up we were.” I swallow my fear. “How you hurt me.”
He frowns at me. “I treated you like a queen.”
“No, you didn’t,” I whisper fiercely.
“I”—he takes a step forward—“would never”—one more step and he’s directly in front of me—“hurt you. Ever.”
“That’s not true. You hit me here.” I point to my cheek. “And here.” I lay a hand on my stomach.
“What is that doctor telling you?” Just for a second, part of the venom he threw at me in the past comes out. A flash of anger, his words dripping in hate. It’s there for a second and then gone. But I saw it and that’s all that matters.
“She’s not telling me anything. She’s showing me—”
Abruptly, I stop talking. Remembering has put a crack in Wes’s masquerade. I can’t see him in the same light anymore and that means I can’t trust him.
“What were you going to say?”
“Does it matter? You’re going to deny everything.”
“Of course it matters! You’re being fed lies.”
“It’s not lies!” I scream.
Walking around my bed, I put as much distance between us as I can and grip the edge of Evelyn’s bassinet. “You need to go.”
“Don’t believe them, Victoria.”
“Go.”
“I’ve stuck by you when no one else has. Shouldn’t that say something to you?”
“Go.”
“Someday you’re going to regret everything you’ve accused me of. Someday you’ll realize that there’s no one in the world who will love you like I do.” He shakes his head, looking at me with anger and disappointment. As he brushes past me, my entire body locks up. “Instead of looking at me,” he says, “perhaps you should consider looking at yourself. Maybe you’re the villain in the