“I… I need the bathroom,” I say.
Graham grunts. “Fine. Go.”
I turn away from the kitchen counter. But before I do, I grab a pen from the drawer and stuff it into my pocket.
Once I’m inside the bathroom, I consider locking myself in here. But I’m not sure what that would accomplish, and anyway, it looks like Graham has had the foresight to remove the lock. He could come in here anytime he wants. Which means I don’t have much time.
I pull up the sleeve of my sweater. The number I scrawled on it has partially been rubbed off so that I can no longer make out the digits. Even though it kills me, I have to wash the rest of it off with soap and water. If I put on a T-shirt to sleep in, the numbers will be visible. I can’t let Graham see it.
If I leave myself a message, it has to be somewhere he won’t see.
I remember the word I found on myself this morning, on my upper thigh above where my oversized T-shirt ended. Find. I hadn’t had a chance to see it before the shower washed it away. But clearly, Graham hadn’t seen it—leaving a message for myself there may be my best shot. I’ll have to keep it short. And I’ll have to hope that tomorrow morning I see the message before I wash it away.
My hands are shaking. Writing on my skin is difficult, especially since whatever Graham laced my water with is hitting me hard. I can hardly even keep my eyes open, much less write legibly. But I’ve got to try. Everything depends on this.
There’s a knock on the door. “Tess? Are you okay?”
“Just a second!” I call back.
I finish writing what I need to say. The words are small, but I can read them. I can only hope that I’ll see them before they wash away in the shower tomorrow. I toss the pen in the garbage and yank my pants up just before Graham bursts through the door.
DAY TWO
Chapter 18
If you relax and try to have a good day, you will be much happier. Just remember that the people around you care about you very much and only want you to be safe. Do what they say.
You are in good hands. Trust me.
Love,
Tess
I look up from the letter in my shaking hands. That man is still standing in front of me. Graham, he says his name is. My husband, apparently. And if this letter is to be believed, we’re happily married. He’s been taking care of me since this horrible accident took my whole life away one year earlier.
“Tess?” he says.
I look up at his face. This stranger is attractive—I can’t say he isn’t. Especially dressed in that expensive dark suit. But my husband? How can I be married to this man? Harry Finch is the love of my life. Harry and I are going to get married. He popped the question on my computer keys, and we’re going on a honeymoon somewhere warm with lots of beaches.
I look down at my left hand, expecting to see the ring Harry gave me. The modest little diamond that he saved up for over several months. But it’s not there. Instead, there’s a much bigger diamond—almost embarrassingly large.
“I know this is hard to accept.” Graham settles down on the edge of the bed next to me. His hair is still damp from the shower, a few water droplets glistening in the short strands of his hair, which is darkened by moisture. “But after the initial shock, you’re usually okay. You usually have a nice day.”
I run my fingers through my dark hair. I can’t get used to how short it is. And then when my fingertips touch my scalp, I feel something strange. A scar. A jolt of electricity goes through my skull and I jerk my hand away.
Graham pushes his glasses up his nose. “They did surgery. To remove some of the blood from your brain. That’s why we had to cut your hair, but it’s mostly grown back.”
Gingerly, I reach for my scalp again. I trace the raised skin, where the hair will never grow again. There’s a long scar in the shape of a C on the right side of my skull.
“God,” I murmur.
Graham attempts to reach for my hand, but I pluck it away. I’m not ready to let this stranger touch me. Not yet.
I look over at the fancy dresser across from the bed—at all the photos of me and Graham in our previously happy life. The pictures span our lives until a year ago, when I apparently was in a horrible accident that permanently damaged my brain. I look at the center photo, of me in a gorgeous white wedding dress and Graham standing next to me, looking devastatingly handsome in a tuxedo.
“How come the glass is broken on our wedding photo?” I ask.
He looks up sharply, following my gaze to the wedding photo. “Oh. You dropped it yesterday. I haven’t had a chance to get it replaced.”