Even with my confusion and overall uneasy feelings about being treated with kindness and respect, there’s still something about Nolan that makes it impossible for me to shut my mouth when I’m with him. He’s easy to talk to, and he never once looks at me in disgust or judgment when I speak to him, even when I’ve told him some of the more strange and awful things I’ve remembered. I told him about my dreams, the flashes of memories, the realization that something very bad happened to me growing up, and even everything my mother said to me before she took her own life.
If he isn’t going to leave me alone and I’m going to continue being a glutton for punishment by hanging around him, the least he could do is help me figure everything out and try to make sense of the things my mother told me. As we walk side-by-side through the grass up to the front porch, just remembering how everything unfolded that night makes my breath come out in short, angry pants. My hatred for her grows even stronger when I replay the drivel that came out of her mouth, not even having the decency to finally tell me everything I was missing before she selfishly shot herself. Instead, she spoke in riddles that didn’t make sense and now became yet another puzzle I’d have to figure out. I stomp so hard up the stairs, I’m surprised the old wood doesn’t crumble beneath my feet.
Nolan puts his hand on my arm, stopping me when we get to the top of the stairs. “Are you okay?”
I quickly wipe the anger from my face, shaking out my clenched hands, and smile up at him.
“Perfectly fine,” I reassure him.
I’ve opened myself up to Nolan, more than I felt comfortable with, but I drew the line at letting him in on the thoughts and feelings that run through me and stimulate me. A girl needs to have a few secrets and something tells me that informing Nolan I dream of blood and death and fantasize about revenge and hate and hurting people wouldn’t go over very well. Maybe I’ll tell him everything some day. Maybe when I’m finished using him to help me uncover the missing pieces, and I no longer need him, I’ll show him who I really am.
Nolan jogs across the porch and opens the front door, holding it wide so I can enter. I walk past him and continue moving toward the stairs, making it halfway up when I realize he’s not following behind me. Looking over my shoulder, I find him standing awkwardly at the base of the stairs with his hands in his pocket.
“If you’re going to help me switch rooms, it would help if you’re actually in the rooms with me,” I remind him.
He still doesn’t move up the stairs toward me. Instead, his eyes dart nervously around the hallway and then beyond me up the stairs.
“What’s the problem?” I ask, trying not to let my irritation show.
“I’ve never been upstairs in the living quarters before,” he tells me.
“Okaaaaaaay,” I reply, drawing the word out in confusion.
He huffs out an irritated breath, pulling his hands out of his pockets to cross his arms in front of him. “Look, this is a little weird, even knowing your father is probably comatose in his office. He doesn’t like me, I don’t like him, and he would kill me if he found me upstairs. If he found me upstairs in your bedroom, he would revive me just so he could kill me again.”
I laugh, rolling my eyes at him.
“Stop being such a chicken. You have no reason to be afraid of him,” I tell him, turning back around to continue upstairs.
“Don’t be a chicken, you knew this day would come. You should have spent more time being afraid of me, instead of hurting me.”
I stop suddenly on the stairs, not realizing Nolan finally followed until he bumps into my back. He asks me something but I block him out, trying to concentrate. I close my eyes, repeating the words that just popped into my head, over and over, hoping to retrieve something else along with them. Did I say them? Did someone say them to me? Where was I? How old was I?
Just like always, my mind shuts down like someone slammed a door in my face. I let out a frustrated sigh and open my eyes, continuing the rest of the way up the stairs.
“Did you remember something else?” Nolan asks softly as he moves next to me when we get to the top.
I wave him off with my hand and head to my bedroom.
“Nothing important,” I lie, entering my room and taking a look around, trying to figure out what to move first.
“Good God,” Nolan mutters, stopping in the doorway.
His eyes are wide and his hand comes up to cover his mouth. I open my own to ask him what his problem is, quickly snapping it shut when I realize that little trip down memory lane distracted me so much that I almost forgot Nolan has never been up here before. I’m so used to staring at the huge dark stain on my window and walls that I forgot it would probably be disturbing to someone else. I wait for him to ask me why I haven’t at least tried to wash some of it off, especially the window where most of the blood and pieces of brain matter landed.