Page 93 of Wicked Truths
I hold it up to the window. The lacy material is soft against my fingertips. Something about it sends a shiver down my spine.
“Bunny?” I whisper, turning it over in my hands.
I turn the mask over in my hands, feeling the lace between my fingertips. Something about it tugs at me—not a memory exactly, but a feeling. Familiar and foreign all at once.
Without thinking, I lift it to my face. The fabric settles against my skin, soft and light.
A shiver runs down my spine as I glance at my image in the mirror.
I blink hard, shaking my head. My hands shake as my breath catches in my throat. The room spins slightly, and I grip the edge of the sink to steady myself.
“What the hell?” I whisper as I stare at my reflection—the pink lace framing my eyes, the bunny ears rising from the top. Someone else stares back at me.
This is someone I was—but someone I don’t know.
I walk back to my bedroom, drawn to my laptop sitting closed on my desk. My fingers hover over the lid before I flip it open.
The screen illuminates, asking for a password. A password I don’t remember.
My head throbs suddenly, a sharp pain that makes me wince. I press my palm against my temple, squeezing my eyes shut.
I’m sitting on my bed, the mask on my face, the glow of the screen illuminating my skin.
Typing messages.
Feeling watched.
Wanted.
Powerful.
The pain intensifies, spreading across my forehead like wildfire.
The pain in my head pulses harder, like something trying to break through. I rub my temples, trying to ease thepressure building behind my eyes as I remember the feeling of eyes on me, hungry and demanding.
I yank the mask off, breathing hard. My reflection on the screen shows wide, frightened eyes.
But what was I doing?
And more importantly, who was watching me?
24
Caleb
I sit in mycar outside Dom’s house, gripping the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white.
The engine’s off, but I can’t bring myself to get out yet.
“This is madness,” I mutter to myself, loosening my tie.
The research papers on amnesia are tucked into my leather portfolio on the passenger seat. I’ve read them so many times I could recite them verbatim. Familiar environments. Routine activities. Gradual reintroduction to previous responsibilities. That’s what the experts recommend.
My students noticed my distraction today. I fumbled through a lecture, my mind constantly drifting to Amara. Sweet, beautiful Amara, who looks at me now with empty recognition—like I’m just another face in the crowd.
I grab my portfolio and force myself out of the car. Each step toward Dom’s front door feels heavier than the last. The security guard nods at me, already familiar with me from my recent visits.
I was surprised Dom actually allowed it, but slowly, over the weeks since the accident, he is becoming a little more open. He knows Amara comes first.
