Unhinge

  Did I expect too much from her? Maybe. But I think that maybe I thought too little of myself. Automatically, I want to assume that this burden is impossible for me to handle.

  “Why are you scared? You’re the bravest person I know.”

  Gasping, I turn around. Truly expecting to see Sinclair behind me. But he’s not.

  The movie drones on. Evelyn is fast asleep and soon I’m starting to nod off, when behind me I hear voices. One female, the other male. Within seconds I’m sitting up straight and twisting around. I know that voice. It strikes a chord in me.

  My heart is beating like a drum as I take in Sinclair. He’s standing next to the front entrance, talking to one of the nurses. He’s quickly talking. Kate’s face is set in a grim line, but she’s not completely shutting him down. I requested for Dr. Calloway to take his name off the restricted list, but did she follow through? God, I hope so.

  “What are you looking at? You’re sup…” Reagan’s voice trails off as she turns around. “Ah. Tall, dark, and dangerous. No need to explain.”

  “His name’s Sinclair.”

  There’s really no reason to say that, but I like his name coming from my lips. It feels right.

  My eyes slide to Reagan. “Have you seen him here before?”

  She nods. “A lot of times.”

  I try to hide my smirk by kissing Evelyn’s head. The thought of someone seeking me out, of wanting to see me, makes me feel less alone. Gives me more hope to continue forward. But there’s something else attached to this feeling. Something I don’t recognize and can’t explain.

  Susan steps into the dayroom and gestures for me to come over. I stand up, suddenly feeling awkward. I can feel multiple sets of eyes, but I feel Sinclair’s the most. His stare makes my skin feel like it’s about to go up in flames.

  “You have a visitor,” Susan whispers. “But make it quick. Visiting hours are over at—”

  “At seven. Yes, I know.”

  She shrugs and walks back to the nurses’ station. I follow behind her; the bright lights of the hall make me squint. Once my eyes adjust, I look over at Sinclair. The hallway’s empty, leaving the two of us all alone.

  I have no idea what to say. I may physically react to him, but that doesn’t make up for the fact that this is the second time we’re meeting.

  He smiles. Just smiles and yet it does something to me. This smile isn’t the same smile he gave the nurse a few days ago. And it isn’t a friendly smile. It’s intimate, as though years of my life are behind that smile. It all seems ridiculous. Inconceivable. Impossible.

  “How are you?” he asks quietly.

  Psych Ward 101: Everyone and anyone will ask you how you’re doing. It’s up to you to find a go-to response that will satisfy them all.

  But I don’t want to use that response with Sinclair so I say: “I’ve been better.”

  A look of pure concern covers his face. “What’s wrong? Is everything okay?”

  A male patient in the dayroom twists in his chair and shushes us obnoxiously. I glare at him.

  Sinclair gestures to an area right next to the front doors. “Want to go over there?”

  I nod and he lets me walk in front of him. Sinclair slips up beside me, his arm pressed against mine. Warmth shoots down my arm, straight to my fingertips. I fix my eyes forward even though I can feel his eyes on me.

  My mind is racing a mile a minute.

  Ask him about his sister!

  No, ask him about you. Maybe he can fill in the blanks of your past.

  Did he know Wes?

  Where did he meet you?

  These are all viable questions and I don’t know where to start. I lean against the wall, my shoulder brushing against the bulletin board with flyers announcing movie night, special game night, or the next special event or holiday. There’s a few dull motivational posters stapled in the midst of the brightly colored flyers.

  There’s an appropriate distance between us, allowing my pulse to slow down a bit. I quickly take him in. He has a good six inches on me. The crown of my head meets his shoulders. I kind of like this height difference, how he completely dwarfs me. Standing next to him, I feel like no one can get to me. Hurt me. And that makes my heart practically sing.

  He’s wearing jeans. His brown jacket conceals his shirt. Flecks of snow cling to the tips of his black, mussed hair. I’m tempted to reach up and brush the snow away. Déjà vu hits me as if I had done that once before.

  “Is everything okay?” he repeats.

  It’s bad enough that I’m stuck in a psych ward. If I tell Sinclair that I feel eyes constantly watching my every move, he might never come back.

  I don’t want that.

  “Everything’s fine.” I brush my fingers against the back of Evelyn’s hand.

  His shoulders relax as he leans against the wall. “I can’t believe I’m talking to you right now.”

  “I had you and your sister taken off the list. If I knew that you were restricted I would’ve tried earlier to—”

  Sinclair quickly cuts in. “I know.”

  From the look in his eyes I know he means it.

  A silence descends around us, but it’s not that awkward silence that lingers between strangers. His presence is so achingly familiar, making the silence and speaking of past moments that we once spent together comfortable. A part of me thinks that if we stayed like this for a few more minutes, I might remember something about him.

  But I can’t keep quiet. The second I saw him walk into Fairfax tonight, my curiosity rose to the surface, asking questions and demanding answers.

  “Will your sister ever visit again?” I ask.

  Sinclair rubs the back of his neck. “Renee wants to but…” He frowns and stares at Evelyn, a faraway look in his eyes. Evelyn stares right back him. “A lot of things have happened since you’ve been here.”

  I straighten up. My brows furrow together. “Like what?”

  Sinclair sighs and drags his hands through his dark hair, making the strands stand straight up. “I’m not here to make things confusing for you.”

  “Why are you here then?” I can’t help the hint of desperation that slips into my words.

  “To help.”

  I look away, glancing toward the dayroom, filled with patients. I don’t want to spend my days looking forward to breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I don’t want to spend my days in the dayroom, slowly wasting away. If I don’t reach out to Sinclair now, I never will. “I’m…I’m trying to remember my past,” I confess.

  Sinclair’s eyes bore straight into mine. He has bedroom eyes, watching everything with mild interest. People like him are dangerous because they may not be bold and loud, but they see everything going on around them.

  “Is that a good or bad thing?” he asks.

  “Remembering my past?”

  He nods.

  “It’s…good. At least I think it is.” The feeling of being watched never really disappears and just then, I quickly look around. Susan and Kate are behind the nurses’ station. There’s no one watching us. “I’m ready to leave Fairfax,” I confess.

  A myriad of emotions flash through his eyes but happiness is the only thing I can see. “That’s great.”

  I nod and carefully construct my words. “The last time you came here, you said that you’ve tried to visit me every single day.”

  “I have,” he says fiercely.

  “I know…I checked the sign-in sheet.” Nervously, I lick my lips. One of his arms brushes against mine. Electric currents shoot through me. I flinch slightly.

  My body is going haywire and it’s all this man’s fault.

  “What do you remember about me?” I ask.

  “Everything. I remember everything about you.”

  I look at him from beneath my lashes. “Then tell me.”

  Sinclair frowns and says, “When I visited you last time it was obvious that I shocked you. I don’t want to pile any more information on you.”

  “You’re not piling in
formation on me. I’m asking you to tell me.”

  Sinclair barks out a laugh and rubs his upper lip. He almost looks nervous. “Yeah. Okay. I can do that.” He clears his throat, and leans in. Just an inch. Even though there’s still an appropriate distance between us, it feels like he’s mere inches from me, almost touching. “You love outdoors and gardening. Your favorite flower is hydrangeas and you hate orchids. Spring is your favorite season. You’re addicted to chai. You love gossip magazines and when you read a good book you can never pull yourself away….”

  On and on the lists goes. Sinclair rattles off information like he’s a walking encyclopedia of Victoria Donovan.

  What he says sounds beautiful but I can’t remember any of it. The helplessness that rushes through me threatens tears to pool in my eyes.

  There are no words I can say. Nothing.

  Sinclair pauses. “Do you want me to keep going?”

  I think, if I ask him to, he can still keep rattling off information. But my head feels heavy, weighed down by all his facts.

  “It’s enough.”

  He’s still staring intently at me. Somehow I don’t think his question is meant to be answered. Even if it is, I have no response to give him. “It’s enough.” The air has left my lungs and my stomach is twisted so tightly it feels like it will never uncoil.

  “Mr. Montgomery?”

  Our heads turn toward Susan at the same time. She glances between the two of us and gives me a small, apologetic smile. “Visiting hours are over.”

  He gives her a brisk nod, looking calm and controlled, but I see the way his lips go into a straight line. It’s crazy, but I feel a slight thrill that he’s not ready for this conversation to end.

  “I guess I should be going.”

  There’s a moment when it looks like he’s going to say or do something else. His eyes never leave mine. They speak to me, saying, Just try. Try to remember me. I brace myself, but he just says goodbye and walks toward the door.

  “Wait!” I place a hand on his arm. The warmth that transfers from his body through mine feels like a lightning bolt. And it’s all from one touch. I swallow. “Are you going to visit soon?”

  Sinclair smiles the kind of smile that women dream about. One that makes your pulse speed up and your cheeks flame. “Of course I will. I’m not going to leave you here.”

  “Even though I can’t remember who you are?”

  “Especially since you don’t remember. But you will remember,” he says confidently.

  “How do you know?”

  Sinclair shrugs. “I just do.” A ghost of a smile plays at his lips. It holds a memory behind it that I want to steal as my own.

  His reply gives me more pleasure than I care to admit.

  He says goodbye again and leaves. As I sit there, something deep down inside me, something dark and dormant, tells me I need Sinclair Montgomery to reconstruct my past.

  —

  Later on that night, I pull the photographs out of my pocket and stare down at the happy couple. Wes hasn’t come to visit in two days. It’s almost as if he knows I have thousands of questions for him, and he enjoys keeping me in suspense.

  My door opens slowly and ominously and I know without looking that it’s Wes.

  Finally.

  His shadow stretches across the floor and over half my face. My entire body stiffens and I turn my head his way.

  “How is my queen?” he asks. There’s an edge to his words.

  My body is in the present. Yet my mind lingers in the past, holding on to the glorious memory for as long as it can.

  He crosses his arms, his hands hidden behind his biceps. “Aren’t you going to answer me, Victoria?”

  I can’t look at him. Those memories were so bright and vibrant. The two of us together took my breath away and now this? It’s a letdown of epic proportion.

  “No,” I mutter.

  “Why not? Did you have a bad day?”

  Everything he says is filled with condemnation and sarcasm.

  He crouches next to me and stares at the picture. The cologne that drifted behind me in my flashback is the same scent that circles around me now. It makes me suck in a sharp breath. “You remember that moment?”

  I nod.

  Wes sighs. “We were happy.”

  The blinds are open and silver light cuts through the room and slashes across his face. I see sincerity in his hazel eyes mixed with pain.

  “How happy?”

  Wes doesn’t answer and my desperation makes me abruptly turn to him, until our faces are inches apart. “I’m sorry,” I blurt out.

  What am I sorry for? I don’t really know. But I know something bad, something really bad had to have happened to bring us to this point. From the devastating expression Wes gives me, I think I’m the cause for all the bad things.

  Did the bad happen all at once? Or was it a slow decline? Was Sinclair part of the bad? My first instinct is to say no, but I can’t count anything out.

  “Just tell me what happened to us,” I whisper.

  Wes shakes his head. “I can’t.”

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  “Both.”

  I drop my face into my hands and fight the urge to scream out my frustrations.

  “Why?” I finally ask.

  I lift my head and find Wes staring at me. The sincerity dissolves and turns into agitation. “Ask Sinclair.”

  My shoulders instantly stiffen.

  Wes laughs bitterly. “What? You didn’t think I’d find out he visited you?”

  I didn’t reply.

  “I’ve known all about him.”

  “Tell me. You know I don’t remember.”

  Wes jumps up, towering over me. I take a step back. “If you’re dying to know, ask him.” He laughs at my shock, but it’s forced, as though he’s doing everything in his power not to let his pain show.

  Guilt clutches my heart at the thought that maybe I’m the person behind that pain. I have no sense of who I was and what I did, but I’m a good person. I know I am. No matter what happened, I would never deliberately go out of my way to hurt Wes.

  “How do you know him?”

  “Does that matter?” he shoots back.

  No? Yes? I’m not sure. Lately, every single thought of mine is dissected, pulled so far apart I can see through them to the truth and lies on the other side. Even then I question myself. But if Wes knows anything about Sinclair, even the smallest piece of information, maybe it will trigger my memory.

  “I know everything about him.”

  “You’re lying,” I whisper.

  “What do I stand to gain by lying?”

  We stare at each other. Wes means every word he says. I just can’t tell if it’s the truth or not.

  Evelyn cries out and I’m pulled back to the present. I jump up and rush over to her bassinet and pick her up.

  “I need to take care of Evelyn.” Stubbornly, I hold her in my arms, hoping that he’ll get the hint and leave. There’s a beat of silence and I think he’s going to stay. Just to torture me. But he finally nods. He kisses the top of my head. I want to believe that it’s a gesture filled with love. I really do. But I can’t. I close my eyes and bite the inside of my cheek.

  “Victoria?”

  I look over my shoulder.

  “Don’t believe a thing he says.”

  A comment like that can’t be said in parting. I want to know why he said it, but Wes is already backing out of the room before I can ask.

  “Just stop while you’re ahead,” he says. “Nothing good can come out of you turning around and staring at your past.”

  “Of course there’s good.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like my freedom. Like Evelyn and me getting out of here.”

  Wes doesn’t glance at Evelyn. Not once. Just keeps his sharp eyes on me. He shakes his head sadly. “If you think that, then maybe you really are crazy,” he says.

  The door shuts behind him and I’m left in silence, weighin
g his words.

  Just because one group of pictures triggered memories, it doesn’t mean a new set will.

  I’m too nervous to invest faith that this method will be the one that works.

  My heart thunders in my ears as I make myself comfortable across from Dr. Calloway. Even Evelyn stops her fussing long enough to peer at Calloway.

  My file seems to have taken up permanent residence on Calloway’s desk. It sits at the very top on a small stack of file folders. I know it sounds petty and ridiculous, but I like that I’m at the top. That means that this is important to Calloway too and that, in her eyes, I’m not just some crazy person.

  “Ready for some more photos?”

  Nervously, my left leg bounces up and down. Dr. Calloway instantly catches the action. She laces her fingers together and leans in. “What’s going through your mind?”

  I try to take a deep cleansing breath. “That this time the pictures might not bring any memories.”

  Dr. Calloway shrugs. “That may be the case. We don’t know. We’ve only just begun to start the process. I don’t expect every single photo in your file to evoke a memory. I hope so, but if they don’t then they don’t. As long as the photos spark something, even down to the most minor memory, then we’re on the right track. How does that sound to you?”

  Some of the tension releases from my body. The nerves don’t but I really don’t think that feeling will ever fade. “It sounds good,” I reply.

  We immediately get to work. As she pulls out a new batch of pictures, I nervously adjust Evelyn in my arms.

  Photo number one: It’s of Wes. He’s staring into the lens, brows slightly raised, eyes wide with shock as if someone just called out his name. He’s dressed down in sweats, hair messy. It’s a shock to my system to see Suit-and-Tie Wes so casual. I peer at the surroundings, but they don’t look familiar.

  Photo number two: me. My hands are in the air as I smile widely. Behind me is a massive house in the middle of construction. With scaffolding lining the brick. Wes is in the background, standing in the doorway. He stares right into the lens just like I do, but the hatred brewing in his eyes is enough to make the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.