Memories That Still Haunt Us

Chapter Forty-Seven:

I sit on the couch, a glass of wine in my hand, as I absently stare at the black TV screen. Consumed by my hatred for Millie. Worried that I've put Ellis off. That the stunt I pulled earlier makes him question if I'm worth the trouble—the headache. He has a lot more at risk than I do.

For him, I need to still be the sexy, youthful version of me that is aloof, desirable, and fills him with everything he lacks in Millie. I can't be the train wreck I truly am. I can't expose my horrible wounds so soon.

Hating myself, my mind goes to the worst places. Life would be so much easier if I never thought. If my brain worked like a light switch.

Millie must know that I know. I'm onto her psycho bullshit. Her lame attempts at attempting to derail my life. She can key my car, watch me sleep, and steal my shit all she wants. All I care about is Ellis. He's the ultimate prize. I'm so close to having him—I know it. I can feel him pulling further away from Millie and more towards me. He dreads seeing her. Any love he once had for her vanished when she fled in the night with Beck. He must hate her now. How could he ever love her after she killed their first son and now uses the only one they have left as a way to keep him in check?

My phone begins to ring, jolting me from my spiral of thoughts. Looking at the screen, I'm shocked to see Lake's name flashing. Why would he be calling me? A spark of interest wraps itself around me as I answer the call.

"Lake?" I ask, voice surprisingly slurred. Have I really drank nearly the whole bottle already? My eyes glance at it and widen at the small amount remaining. When did that happen?

"I knew you were fucked up, but I didn't think you were this fucked up." He snarls, and my body stiffens. "What the fuck did I ever do to you, Reign? Tell me. I want to know."

"Where is this coming from?"

He scoffs. "You're fucking sick. I've tried to help you. I can't believe I ever loved you."

I sit up on the couch, feet planted on the floor. My head too fuzzy for this conversation. "Um, okay. Did you just have an epiphany and decide to let me know? What do you want me to say right now? Congrats, I'm glad you've come to your senses and realized I'm a bitch."

"Don't fucking do that. Don't fucking gaslight me, Reign, like you always do. I mean, you really think what you did is okay? My parents are fucking mortified. I had no idea you were recording us. I feel disgusted. I can't even figure out why the fuck you would do something like this. Has your goal been all along to just completely fuck up my life? Because, good job, you've succeeded."

I rub my forehead. What the hell is he talking about? "Lake—"

"And of course, you're drunk. You probably won't even remember this tomorrow. You're an alcoholic, narcissistic whore."

My mouth drops. "Fuck you!" I seethe. "I don't even know what the fuck you're talking about. I never recorded us. What does that even mean? You need to just move on and stop trying to find excuses to talk to me."

He bellows loudly. "I have moved on! I want nothing to do with you. You're the one who won't let me move on." He pauses for a moment. "Tell me why you did it. Why did you record us having sex then send it to me and my fucking parents? Why? You're sick."

My mouth drops. "I didn't! Why the hell would I do that?" I'm so confused. His parents have a sex tape of Lake and me? From when? From here? How? "Lake, I never recorded us—"

"Just fuck off. All you do is lie and bullshit." With that, he ends the call. I stare down at my phone. What just happened?

I down the rest of the bottle before tossing it into the trash and popping open a new one. I stumble towards the bathroom, where I swallow a Xanax. My mind can't think properly. Can't process what Lake just told me. I never recorded us having sex. Never. Nobody else ever did either. The last time we had sex was here.

My phone buzzes, and I'm hesitant to see who texted me. I don't have the energy or the patience. I'm about ready to storm across the lawn and into the house to find Millie, strangling her with my bare hands. Stupid bitch.

The night blurs. Another bottle down. Hazy thoughts and replaying of Lake's words and Ellis storming out on me. Until I'm crashing onto my bed, sleep taking over me.

***

My head is absolutely destroyed the following morning. Actually, is it even morning? I rub my eyes, groan in agony, then peek at the window. It's still gloomy outside, making it impossible to tell what time of day it is.

Reaching for my phone, my vision is blurry with sleep as I peer at the screen.

At first, when I see the message, the one I received last night but, being as drunk as I was, went unread, I think I'm still dreaming. It can't possibly be real. I've envisioned this happening so many times. All the different scenarios. How it would play out, what he would say, what I would say. But as the years have gone by, the visions have gotten blurrier and less frequent. My hope of hearing from him again is fading.

I look at the message with a slack jaw. Sitting up in bed, my hands begin to tremble. My stomach feels sick. I'm going to vomit.

I race towards the toilet and barely get the lid up before I'm puking out all the wine from last night. My body feels weak and deprived. Then I think about the message and the teacher again, and I'm vomiting more. This was not in any of my visions. I thought I'd be happier. More giddy. Maybe even a bit angry and sassy, and I'd respond in a mature manner.

But no. I suddenly feel very weak and immature.

When there's nothing left for me to throw up, I push away from the toilet and lean my back against the cool wall. My lungs attempt to retrieve some air. Hands shaking so violently, you'd think I'm standing in the middle of a blizzard. What is wrong with me?

Why now? Why does he message me now? And of all times. When I've found someone. I'm in love now. I have a million shitty things going on. What would he be messaging me for? What does he want?

I remain on the bathroom floor until my nausea completely passes. It's already past noon. Ellis has been awake with his family, having breakfast, and possibly kissing his wife, forgetting I'm cooped up in this stuffy guest house. Alone and sick and hungover while my ex-boyfriend has called me a narcissistic whore and my teacher has sent me a text message requesting to see me. I wonder what else can possibly happen in such a short span of time.

Deciding the teacher can wait longer for my response, I force myself to get ready. Showering, brushing my teeth, fixing my hair, and changing into a cozy lounge set before returning to my phone, where the message remains waiting on my screen.

My hands begin to tremble again as I pick up the phone and think of what I want to say. Of course, I want to see him. Things ended so abruptly. So unexpected. Just the day before, he was saying how much he loved me and how we'd go public with our relationship once I turned eighteen, and the next, he cut all communication with me. Only to meet up with me in secret when I was in high school, have sex with me, then act like I forced him to do it.

I hate him and everything he did. I hate what he did to me. But I still feel desperate for his approval. Desperate for him to see that I'm in love now and stronger and more mature than I was before. I want him to see.

My fingers type out multiple responses, none of which seem to suffice.

Finally, I settle on: When and where would you like to meet?

Simple, no emotion. I begin to gasp for air like I've just run for miles, and my throat is excruciatingly dry. I heave forward, my body shutting down. It's happened. I'm seeing him again. Nothing else matters at the moment. Only this. Even Ellis is put on hold.

My phone buzzes, and I quickly look at his response.

Tonight. 8pm. Old Burial Hill.