Sydney's been in the hospital for close to a week now. Every day though, I've come down to visit her. Every day, I've made sure to sit by her side and talk to her. I've tried to find the words to tell her that I'm not actually her husband, that it was all a lie. Every day though, the words still don't come.
I have my reasons for the lie. It was to protect her. To be by her side. To take care of the paperwork and to make sure she had everything she needed. Being an old boyfriend doesn't give you those privileges, and I feared they might reach out and find Peter. That's the last thing I want to see happen because I'm positive he's behind this somehow. I can't prove it, don't have a shred of evidence to back that theory up, but all the same, I know it. I know it in my heart and in my gut. Otherwise, where in the hell is he?
I want to tell Sydney the truth, but she's scared enough as it is. So, I remain quiet and say nothing. I'll tell her eventually, but not here at the hospital. I need to be able to see her, to protect her. I need to make sure we're in a secure place where I can do those things before I tell her the truth.
That's what I tell myself anyway. But, even I have a hard time not believing I'm selfish for taking this opportunity to get back into her life. When I saw her again in Daisy's the other night, it re-opened old wounds – wounds I thought had healed over long ago.
When I saw her again though, it made me feel like I'd been given a second chance. A second chance I probably don't deserve, but a second chance nonetheless. I want to make the most of it. I don't want to screw it up.
Today is the day she's being released from the hospital, and I'm supposed to take her home; to my home, where she will be safe. I consider contacting her parents, but memories of their disdain for me inflame my anxiety and make me put it off. I keep telling myself I'll do it later – but later hasn't come yet.
Once she's home though, we'll talk about what happened and I can finally admit the truth about who I am. After that, we can call her parents and I'll see about sending her back to her real home, as soon as she's approved to fly.
I’m running a big risk. She might absolutely flip out that I lied to her and the hospital about who I am. I'm hoping she understands my reasons, but I know it's a crapshoot at best. Regardless of how it all shakes out though, I know that once I get her home, I'm finally going to have to come clean about it.. About everything.
That's the plan, at least. Another part of the plan includes locating that douchebag she came to Redstone with and asking him some very pointed questions about what happened. If I don't like the answers I'm hearing, or I suspect he's lying – which, I assume he will – he's going to have a very, very bad day.
She has no phone, no wallet, nothing. Not even shoes to wear. So, I'm asked to bring her a change of clothes and some shoes to take her home in, and that's a challenge, because obviously, I have nothing of hers. Peter has everything, but as her “husband,” I'm expected to have something for her to wear. Which means I'm going shopping before I pick her up. Which, of course, is going to provide me with a whole fresh set of challenges.
I park at the curb of Redstone's shopping district and try to get my bearings. I don't usually do clothes shopping down here, so I don't know what the lay of the land is exactly. The first boutique I walk into, I see a twenty-something young girl behind the counter playing on her phone. She hardly looks up as I enter. I stand there and look around the shop, feeling completely lost.
I finally give up trying to figure it all out, walk over to her, and clear my throat.
“Excuse me?” I say. “Can I get some help, please.”
The girl rolls her eyes as she finally tears her eyes away from her phone and meets my gaze.
“Yes?”
Her name tag says Brittney and her tone is well beyond snotty. It's a suitable name for a stuck-up little girl, I think to myself. Her bleached blonde hair is nearly white and fried beyond belief, and her makeup is too dark for my tastes. The clothes on the rack all seem to be for twenty-somethings as well, showing a lot of skin in crop tops and miniskirts. I'm suddenly not sure I'm in the right place.
“You know what? I think I made a mistake,” I mutter. “Sorry to bother you.”
She lets out a derisive snort as I turn to go, and she drops her gaze back to her phone again. I feel lost. I have no idea how to shop for a grown woman. I know though, I'm not going to find what I need in a shop like that.
The next store I walk into seems to be a bit more sophisticated. Two women rush me as soon as I enter the door, both of them eager to help me. Perhaps too eager, I think, but they likely work on that, are they're just really enthusiastic and love what they do.
The brunette named Marianne is dressed in a knee-length skirt, tall boots and a sweater, which seems like Sydney's style, based on what she was wearing when I saw her last. The other woman, a more natural-looking blonde than Brittney, introduces herself as Katya. She has a Russian accent and wears what I can only describe as an upper-class cocktail dress.
I go off with Marianne, which puts a broad smile on her face.
“I need to pick up a few things for a friend of mine who's staying with me,” I tell her. “She doesn't have much with her right now.”
I mention that she's in the hospital but leave it at that. The fewer details, the better. Marianne offers a sweet smile, her red lipstick perfectly complementing her pale skin. Her brown hair is long and falls around her soft face, highlighting her delicate jaw line and petite features.
“What a nice thing to do,” she says, patting me on the shoulder. “It's so hard to find good men these days. Your friend is lucky.”
She winks when she says the word, “friend” as if she knows there's something more there. I only wish that were true, but there's not. Nor will there ever be. I saw to that long ago. The best I can hope for now, is some form of closure. All I want is for Sydney to say she understands and forgives me for what I did.
“No, I swear, she's just a friend. An old friend,” I say, running a hand over my head, not really sure why I feel the need to explain myself to her.
“So you're single?” Marianne asks, her brown eyes twinkling.
“I am.”
She gives me a once over, and a flirty little smile before turning to a rack of dresses. She pulls out a frilly, pink one and I grimace.
“Not a frilly, pink type of girl?” she asks. “Tell me, what does she like?”
“I don't really know,” I mutter. “To be honest, something along the lines of what you're wearing, maybe? I guess she needs pants more than skirts though, it's probably way too cold for dresses.”
“I've got just the thing,” she says brightly.
Marianne takes my arm and leads me through the store until we reach a rack that's stuffed with cashmere sweaters. She urges me to touch them and they're so soft, like clouds against your skin. Marianne's words, not mine. Still, I can't say that her description is that far off the mark. They feel nice.
One of the sweaters in heather gray catches my eye. I remember Sydney used to like black and gray clothing, but I'm not sure what she likes anymore. I imagine her style and tastes have changed over the years. Still, it's a start.
“The price is a bit steep,” Marianne warns me.
“I'm good for it.”
I don't even look at the price tag, since it's not even an issue for me. Whatever I can do to make Sydney comfortable, I'm going to do it.
“Money isn't an issue for me,” I say.