Remembering Us Read online

  When I woke up, there was a chunk of drywall missing from the wall and half a dozen dark red dots on the carpet.

  It only confirms the suspicion I’ve had in my head all week long, ever since that dream. We were always a disaster waiting to happen. Everything I’ve seen in the dreams, everything I’ve felt always leads back to that conclusion. The fear, the uncertainty, the jealousy – never once have I seen, or felt, any redeeming quality from either of us as I remember how we began. We bring out the worst in each other.

  “What do you think?” I spin around in the three-way mirror. Kelsey watches me with a funny expression. “That bad?”

  She wrinkles her nose. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you in a dress.” I frown in the mirror, watching her regard me like I’ve grown two heads instead of put on a navy and white maxi dress. “It looks strange.”

  “I like it,” I say, hands on my hips, convincing myself this should be a part of my new wardrobe. Kelsey looks doubtful. “What’s wrong with a dress?”

  “Nothing. It’s just …” she starts, and then sighs, running her hand through her long dark hair. “You just swore you’d never wear a dress again.”

  I press my teeth together until my jaw hurts. She’s had this same attitude for the last three hours. She took me to the hospital for my doctor’s appointment, and as soon as my casts were removed, I asked her to bring me shopping. She looks like she’s regretted the choice to come with me ever since I tried on my first dress.

  Hell, I’m regretting having her with me.

  “Yeah, well, I don’t remember that,” I snap at her, and fling back the curtain in the dressing room.

  A minute later, clad only in my bra and underwear, Kelsey walks in with a silent apology written all over her face. I ignore her while I pull on my jeans.

  “You can’t keep throwing fits and being pissy with me for crap like this.”

  “I know,” she mumbles. “Do you remember when you were fourteen and stopped doing ballet in order to play lacrosse?”

  “Yes.”

  Lacrosse looked fun and gave me an excuse to get off the ballet stage where I was forced to spend hours practicing even though I never liked dance. My mom refused to speak to me for a month, and when she did, the first words out of her mouth were, “You look like a boy with all that muscle.”

  “Well, the dresses thing was something similar. You ditched them over the winter when you and Adam got serious.”

  I frown. “I changed who I am for him?” I hate that idea. Did I become that girl that is so insecure that she changes everything about herself to become what a guy wants her to be? I can’t see me doing that. But what the hell do I know?

  “No,” she says, smiling sadly. I look at her through the mirror, adjusting my shirt. “It’s more like you became who you always wanted to be, and Adam helped you get there. This is like stepping backward in time.”

  “So why did I change? And how did I become the girl who only dresses in rock concert t-shirts and denim skirts and jeans?”

  She rolls her eyes and I resist the urge to slap her. “It’s not about the clothes, Amy, and you know it. You never liked who your parents tried to make you be. Adam just held your hand while you fought against them and found yourself. That’s all.”

  I watch her pale blue eyes soften, willing me to believe her. I can’t. The girl I’ve become with Adam is so far apart from the girl I remember being. And everyone refuses to give me straight answers of how I got from point A to Q.

  I pick up the dress, along with the others that I threw in the dressing room but haven’t tried on yet. “I’m getting them.”

  I’m in the kitchen making a grilled cheese sandwich when Adam finally crawls out of his room for the day. His unshaven facial hair is longer than I’ve seen it. His dark hair is sticking up in places and matted down in others. His right hand is wrapped in a bandage and there are dots of dried blood on his knuckles seeping through the gauze. His eyes are bloodshot and he doesn’t look at me as he walks to the coffee pot. I feel the tension begin to bubble between us, and instinctively, I straighten my back. I can feel his eyes boring into the back of me as he takes in every inch of my exposed skin.

  “Nice dress.” By the tone in his voice, he hates the dress.

  I don’t move. I keep my hands on the counter, watching the sandwich cook on the countertop griddle, and press my lips together.

  I don’t respond to Adam’s sneer, but I see him sit down at the kitchen table with his head draped in his hands. The steam from his coffee cup floats upward and disappears into his hands.

  Finally, he rubs his hands roughly over his face and takes his first sip.

  “Just tell me about the fucking dream, Amy. Tell me what sort of asshole you think I am now.” His nose wrinkles, and over the hissing griddle, I hear him grind his teeth together. He doesn’t look at me. He doesn’t look at anything. He just stares straight ahead at the television mounted on our far wall with blank, dark eyes.

  The smell of burning bread snaps me back to the counter, and I swear, flipping the burnt sandwich into the sink before unplugging the griddle.

  How do I tell him how it felt to watch him kiss some girl and then throw my tongue down some asshole’s throat just because I was pissed?

  I was jealous.

  I was emotional.

  I don’t remember there ever being a time in my life where my emotions ruled my actions.

  It wasn’t what happened in the dream that terrified me. I’ve replayed it in my mind a dozen times and I don’t actually think he wanted to kiss Britnee. It was my own actions that have shaken me.

  It was how I felt. Crazed. Like a lunatic in search of a drug to satisfy an itch that burned deep in my bones.

  I don’t understand it, and it scares the hell out of me. It wasn’t me. Somehow the girl who moved into this apartment is the complete opposite of the girl I remember being.

  She’s the evil twin driven by emotions. I can see it. I can feel it in the darkest places inside me that I’ve somehow changed.

  “Just tell me, please.” He turns to me with begging eyes, and I realize I’ve just been staring at him. Or through him, because I haven’t seen anything. His voice is desperate, his eyes pleading.

  I can’t resist.

  “We were at a formal for your frat. I walked in on Britnee kissing you in the hallway and took off.” I swallow slowly. The scene flashes before my eyes, as I remember the feelings of pain and pride fighting for first place as I ran out of that ballroom.

  “And made out with Brendan.” His voice is cold as he finishes my sentence, and there’s a tightness in his jaw. His undamaged hand grips his mug so harshly that his knuckles are white.

  “I went home with him and cheated on you,” I clarify. I don’t know how the dream ended exactly, but I can imagine. With the hormones and emotions flooding me that night, I have no doubt I let Brendan take me somewhere and do whatever he wanted to me – just because I was pissed.

  Adam scoffs and shakes his head. “You didn’t cheat on me. Although, I wouldn’t have blamed you if you did after what you saw with Britnee.”

  His eyes drift away from me and out to the window. It’s not the first time I watch a dream I had play out as a memory in his eyes. I watch his breath pick up, the tick in his jaw, the anger, and then the sadness unfold. Every emotion I experienced in my dream plays out in his eyes and in his facial expressions as I silently watch him.

  “That’s not the point.” I don’t think whether I had revenge sex with Brendan is the point, although the thought alone makes me shudder and gives me a sick feeling in my stomach.

  “Then what is it? I didn’t mean to kiss Britnee. She just pulled me to her before I could stop her.”

  “And you kissed her back. I saw you.”

  “I was twenty-years-old and a walking ball of hormones. I had a hard-on all night long from that fucking dress you were wearing. I was stupid, and it took me a second to register what in the hell was happening. But I d
idn’t want her. I wanted you.”

  He stands up from the table and walks toward me in the kitchen. His nostrils flare and I know what he’s thinking about because I’m thinking the same thing. The way his touch felt like fire through my dress. The way I wanted him. The way I wanted his fingers to dig into my skin and pull me into him. God, I felt it all in my dream and even now standing in front of him, I don’t understand the physical pull he has on me.

  Like I’m drawn to him, whether I want to be or not.

  “Tell me what else you remembered, Amy. Tell me what happened in the dream before that part.”

  My jaw drops and my eyes widen. My pulse begins dancing across my skin as Adam walks up to me. With his hands on both sides of the counter, he’s blocked me into our u-shape kitchen and I can’t escape. I take a step back until my back hits the wall. The zipper of my dress digs into my skin and I move against it, hating the feel.

  I shake my head. “It’s too much.”

  “Too much what?” His eyes drop to my feet and slowly rake up every inch of me. One side of his lips twists into a sneer when he hits my dress at the knee. He hates it. He hates that I’m not being the me he knows, but rather the one I was before. The two sides of me are confusing. One I don’t know, and one I remember but I’m not sure I like.

  Too much of this, I think. Too much heat and fire. It’s explosive and powerful.

  It’s scary.

  It makes me want to jump off a cliff just so I can drown in cold water.

  “I can’t do this.” I hear my own doubt and breathlessness as his eyes pin me against the wall. It doesn’t take anything else besides a look of his narrowed eyes that are clearly warring against something to keep me frozen to the wall.

  “Do what, Ames? Let yourself feel again?” He takes a step forward, and then another, until he’s standing inches in front of me, towering over me. “Heaven forbid you remember what it’s like to feel something. That’s what it is, isn’t it? That’s what you’re so afraid of. That’s why you’ve gone back to being the ice princess with this stuck up little dress.”

  I shake my head, but inside I’m screaming, “Yes!” at the top of my lungs.

  I clear my throat. It’s dry and scratchy and feels like I’ve been screaming though I haven’t said a word. “Ice princess?”

  He laughs softly, just once, and then a finger comes out and barely brushes my yellow shoulder strap. I shiver, not sure if it’s because his finger burned my skin or scared me.

  “You know what it means.” His breath flows over me, caressing me, and my knees shake. His tone is deep. Seductive. Yet dark and twisted at the same time. Like he’s seducing me with sin and something inside me wants it even though I know it could destroy me. “You were the princess. The girl who had it all figured out. Every action perfectly scripted according to the plan your parents wrote for you.”

  Blood begins to boil under my skin, and yet I can’t move away. He’s right. He’s completely right. I hated my parents for that. I hated never meeting their expectations but trying my hardest anyway. It was a battle I always lost but a war that I never gave up, so determined to make them proud of me. But hearing it from him, in his voice that is dripping with desire, makes me feel angry again.

  How dare this man that I don’t know, know every single thing about me.

  “What scares you is that you’re remembering that you’re different now. You just don’t know how you got here.” I look away, but I can feel his eyes on me. All I see is the dust under the fridge and the dried blood on his damaged hand. He’s dangerous in more ways than one.

  “You don’t know anything,” I choke out over a grapefruit sized lump in my throat.

  “You’re wrong, Amy.” God his voice sounds smooth like butter and as decadent as chocolate. I close my eyes, trying to fight against what my body is feeling. “I know everything. I know every fear you have. I know how strong you were the day you told your parents you didn’t want to work at your dad’s firm. I know what your skin feels like when you move beneath me and the sounds you make right before you come.”

  “Stop it,” I whisper, my eyes still closed. He’s pressing too hard – not with his body – but with his words and the confidence in them.

  “What do you want to know, Ames? I’ll tell you anything. First kiss? It was in my room at the frat. First date? We went rock climbing. That first time I saw you in Statistics? I left and had a hard-on for two weeks. God, I was so excited to see you on that first day of class. I had dreamed of you all summer. And the first time we had sex? I took you to a suite at the Lux, the very same night of that formal, by the way. I couldn’t keep my hands off you and I took you against the wall.”

  He pauses and I think I might die of a heart attack. The things he’s saying are revolting. Dark. Intoxicating. He puts one hand up next to my head on the wall. His other hand leaves my shoulder and falls to my waist.

  “It was a lot like this,” he says, and slightly squeezes his hand at my hip. Why am I not pushing him away? Why do I like the way he touches me despite how much he scares me?

  “What do you want from me?” Slowly, I open my eyes and stare up at him. I can see the fight in them; fighting for control, despite wanting to lose it.

  “I want you to feel,” he whispers against my ear. It sends my skin dancing. I want to roll my shoulders to erase the feeling, but I can’t move, so I stand there and take it, holding my breath at the strong sensation. “Stop trying so hard to remember. Stop thinking and just feel. Feel me, Amy. It’s what we’ve always done best.”

  His head lowers slowly. Never once does he break eye contact from me, and he doesn’t wait for my permission as his lips slide across mine. His tongue flicks out, wetting his lips and mine at the same time. When he presses his mouth to mine, sliding his tongue in before I can resist, I just … take it. Because ohmigod it’s heaven. As soon as his mouth hits mine and his tongue slides inside, I feel like something inside me is re-connecting, even though I still don’t know what’s been broken in the first place.

  It’s passion and love and I can feel it. The kiss is soft but powerful. His tongue knows exactly where to go as our mouths move against the other; he knows exactly what I like and how I like it, even though I’ve never experienced it. I’ve kissed guys before. I’ve even had excellent kisses that make my stomach flip-flop and leave me wanting more. I’ve had sweet kisses that make me lean into the man, wrap my hands around a guy’s neck, and my foot pop off the ground like in classic romance films.

  But this, this is in a whole new realm of kisses.

  “God, Amy.” He pulls away, panting for breath, and rests his forehead on mine. “I just … fuck … I just need you.”

  I catch another glimpse of his bandaged hand right next to my face, remembering the thump of the wall as he cracked a hole in the drywall and take a deep breath, collecting myself.

  “I can’t.”

  I duck out from under his arm and walk past him, not even looking to see if he turns around. “We’re a disaster, Adam. You almost broke your hand last night and everything I see tells me that this …” I wave my hands frantically in the air, keeping my back to him, “it’s just a fucking mess. We’re a mess.”

  “We were twenty and stupid. Our relationship was never perfect. You can’t expect it to be, but there were a lot more good times than bad. You just haven’t gotten to the good stuff yet.”

  I walk out of the apartment after grabbing my purse and the wedge sandals I bought at the mall earlier in the day. The straps are uncomfortable in the heel and dig into my skin, but I bought them to match the yellow dress with the zipper that is still digging uncomfortably into my back. Damn me and my pride for trying to prove Kelsey wrong.

  Ten blocks into my walk, my ankle that is still healing begins protesting against the pain of the wedge sandals. I take them off and throw them in the nearest garbage can. I have no idea how long I walk after that, wandering aimlessly around Denver in nothing but a summer dress that’s too lightweigh
t for the weather and bare feet.

  By the time the sun begins to set, I’m in a park I don’t recognize with a dead cell phone and no idea how to get back to the apartment. Not that I’m sure I want to.

  I can still see his amber colored eyes flashing with desire. My mind replays every scene. Every word spoken. I shiver, crossing my arms against my chest, and rubbing my hands on my shoulders and upper arms. I tell myself it’s because I’m cold, but I’ve never been a good liar.

  The mountains are in front of me at a distance that makes them appear absolutely breathtaking. I can see the glaciers on the top and I know that if I were to hop in my car, I could be glacier sliding in two hours. I could be at my favorite cliff in an hour. Not that I’ll go anywhere with tender bones, a setting sun, and no car.

  What was I thinking? Why did I let him get so close? Why do I stay? It’s not my home, and yet Adam has the answers. I know he does.

  But I’m so exhausted. The small flashes of memory I’ve gotten are so different than the man I dream about. How can he be so completely different? He drinks too much, he swears even more, and he can go from laughing to yelling in the blink of an eye.

  But his touch. One simple touch and I want to fall into his arms and never leave. One taste of him and I still haven’t fully cooled off from the heat it sent through my body.

  I take a deep breath, closing my eyes, and try to press it all to the back of my mind.

  Feel me, Amy.

  “Damn it!” I jump off the bench I’m sitting on and spin around, trying to find anything that looks familiar enough so I can figure out how to get home.

  “Amy?” I turn back to the vaguely familiar voice.

  Standing in front of me, hands in the pockets of his perfectly pressed khaki pants and dry-cleaned and starched light blue dress shirt, is Tyler. The boy who cheated on me. The boy who looks more like a man than he did the last time I saw him. “What are you doing here?”

  I look around the empty park and wonder how he found me. There’s a row of townhomes down the street and businesses line the other side.