I can see you

Chapter 22

(ROSY'S POV)

He told me we were taking a trip to his hometown. Just for a day, he said. Somewhere quiet and old. I didn't ask questions, not out loud. But I asked them all in my head.

Why now? Why bring me somewhere new when everything between us was still so delicate?

But Edward didn't look nervous when he said it. He looked certain like it was something he'd decided long before I got a say. Like he was finally flipping the next page of a book I didn't remember writing.

The drive was long and at some point I must have fallen asleep curled up against the window, the hum of the road rocking something loose in me. I don't remember dreaming, but I woke with a tight feeling in my chest, like I'd been holding my breath in another life.

We pulled off the road just before sunset. The sky was soft and orange, but the air felt heavy like it knew something I didn't.

I blinked at the house ahead. Something about it was eerily normal. The lawn was neat, the grey paint fresh and the windows clean. I expected something worse and maybe more broken but this looked lived-in. Cared for.

What didn't make sense was how empty the area felt. There was no cars or any sound. Just one other house nearby, sitting close but not touching-like a ghost twin.

That one looked forgotten. The windows were boarded, Vines were strangling the porch, and the fence was broken. The sight of it made my skin crawl.

I turned to Edward and found him looking at me way too delicately.

"We're going there," he said softly, pointing to the decaying house.

My temples pulsed-sharp, then gone. A warning I couldn't translate.

"Sorry... what?"

He nodded gently. "That's the one. I have the key."

We made our way down the overgrown path. The vines clung to our shoes like they didn't want us to leave.

Edward kept his voice calm. "My psychologist told me it's better not to force memories. That truth needs space and familiarity."

My feet hesitated. "You talk about this with your therapist?"

He glanced at me. "Only one person. Someone who's helped me understand... you. And me." The smile he gave me didn't quite meet his eyes.

This made no sense. How come I don't know that he has a therapist? What does me mean by memories needing space and how am I connected to any of this? Does he know about my memory loss? That can explain the shoes and his reaction of Roy's name. But how could he know?

Inside, the air was thicker than it had any right to be. Dry, but not empty. Heavy with things unsaid. A broken lamp lay on the floor, still plugged in. The wallpaper peeled like it was trying to escape the walls. The scent was dust and damp wood and maybe something else.

Something faintly sweet like ash.

"Does this house look familiar?" Edward asked.

I shook my head slowly. "Should it?"

He watched me for a long time. "What do you remember... from seven years ago?"

My heart gave one hard, deliberate thud. "Why seven?"

"It matters," he said gently.

I hesitated. The floor felt soft under my feet, like memory might rise up from the wood.

"My memories are blurred," I said carefully. "I remember waking up in the orphanage. I was told I fell from a tree the night before. Hit my head."

He didn't speak. I kept going.

"The man running the place told me I was lucky to be alive. I lived there for a few months after that, long enough to start thinking maybe that was all I'd ever been."

I looked down. "That's... my beginning."

Edward's jaw tightened. "Orphanage?" he echoed, like the word hurt.

I nodded. "Until I ran. He... he hurt girls when no one was looking. The first time he tried it with me, I left. Got out. Took part-time jobs. Saved up. Found my way back to school."

My hands curled into fists. "I never went back."

He looked wrecked. "I'm so sorry," he said, voice raw. "You went through hell. Alone. And I-" He paused. "I was supposed to protect you."

He stepped forward, reaching for my hand. I didn't pull away. Not yet because something in his voice didn't sound rehearsed. It sounded... broken.

We stepped deeper into the house. My feet moved without thought. My body knew something my mind hadn't caught up to yet.

The living room was coated in dust, but undisturbed. Like no one had lived here since... Since whatever happened. A shattered mug in the corner. A child's crayon drawing half-curled on the fireplace hearth. My hand trembled. Edward's voice was low.

"Rosy," he said. "There's something I need to tell you."

I didn't speak. My throat was thick. He still held my hand. Like he thought letting go would make the truth slip away.

He took a breath. "Seven years ago, on a day just like this... two people were murdered."

I blinked.

"I didn't bring you here to hurt you," he said. "I brought you here to remember. About Riya. Your other identity. The one who loved and killed my brother."

The floor vanished under me. I staggered. Not just from the words but from the rightness of them. Like he wasn't telling me something new.

He was telling me something I'd buried.

My ears rang. My lungs forgot how to breathe. I looked at him. Really looked. He wasn't smirking. He wasn't cold. He was grieving. For me, for his brother, for something bigger.

"You didn't just live in this house once," he said. A pause. "You became a killer in it."

But my thoughts wouldn't stay still. They spun and kept circling one name. Killian. He had told me that Riya was my twin. Showed me evidences that he grew up with us in the orphanage.

But now, standing in this house with Edward looking at me like he'd seen me before I wasn't so sure. Killian never said why he was so certain that Riya was out there. Why he seemed to gather more about my past than I ever could.

I swallowed. I didn't want to believe he'd lied to me but something in this house was waking up. And if I started remembering things that didn't fit the story he gave me...

What would that make him? Who he was? No who was I?

Something in me broke. Not with a scream or even a sob. Just silence. Complete, collapsing silence.

The walls blurred. The air buzzed and my knees gave out.