There Is No Light In Darkness (Darkness 1) - Page 55
“Oh, sorry,” I say with regret.
“No, it’s okay. It was a long time ago. I guess you might as well know. It’ll make more sense if you meet my family and you realize how crazy they are. Hell, maybe you can even warn Aubry before he meets them during Thanksgiving,” she says as she sits down on the edge of the bed.
I sit on the other side and wait for her to continue.
“I had a brother—a twin. He looked nothing like me. He was older by two minutes. He died when we were little.”
I give her an empathetic look. “I’m so sorry.”
She shrugs. “I have some pictures of him in that album,” she says, pointing to her desk. “I just can’t bear to look at them. I looked at them every day for years, wishing he was alive. When I realized he wasn’t, I stopped looking.”
Aimee gets up and goes back to the closet and I get up and sit in her chair to leaf through the album. Bu-bump. Bu-bump. That’s the noise I hear in my clogged ears. I clutch on to my heart with both hands, willing it to slow down. Willing it to be quiet.
“Oh, honey, I didn’t mean to make you cry,” Aimee coos when she walks out of the closet.
I shake my head vigorously and look at her through blurred eyes for a long moment.
“Aimee, what is your mother’s maiden name?” I ask shakily.
She crinkles her eyebrows and looks at me like I’m crazy. “Murphy.”
I gasp and shoot up out of the chair, hitting my knees against the desk and knocking over the cup of pencils. “Where’s your bathroom?” I ask desperately.
She points at the next door down the hallway. I run to it, close and lock the door, and spew the tuna salad I had for lunch in the toilet.
“Are you okay?” Aimee calls from the other side of the door.
I grip on to the toilet seat. “Yes,” I reply weakly. “I think the tuna I had for lunch was bad. Keep packing or whatever. I’ll be fine.”
“Okay,” she calls out unconvinced.
When I’m sure she’s left, I get off the floor, splash my face and rinse my mouth a few times and open the door very quietly to look out. I can hear Aimee in her closet, so I tiptoe to the room next door and open it. It’s a storage room. I open the one next to it—master bedroom. I open the one beside that-it’s completely blue.
I step in and switch the light on. I feel my body shaking as I close the door quietly behind me and lean against it. I don’t know if the tuna salad really upset my stomach or if it’s my nerves. I’m going to have to go with the latter, though. I look around the room and see wooden shelves on both sides of the room that have baseball collectibles on them. There’s also a lower shelf by the bed that has all kinds of G.I. Joes. I spot something peeking out from the closet and it’s almost as if it’s calling me to free it. I can’t stop my wobbly legs from slowly walking toward it. The door creaks as I push it open slowly—as soon as I see it, I fall to my knees with a loud thump. I stare at it as water wells in my eyes and affliction courses through my veins. I grab it and stuff it in my oversized purse. I get up shakily, my heart still drumming in my ears, but and quickly walk back to Aimee’s room. She comes out of her closet with a bag in her hand and looks at my with furrowed eyebrows.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
“No,” I reply as I grab on to the strap of my purse to calm my shaky hands. I’m not okay at all.
On the ride back to my apartment, I debate whether or not I should ask her any questions. I decide not to. She tells me that her parents are in DC for the week. She explains that she thinks she remembers a time when they were a happy family—before her brother died—but it’s been hell living with them most of her life. I listen quietly and send Aubry a text message, asking him to please stay at Aimee’s house tonight. Cole’s flight gets in at 8:00, and I want us to be alone for the night.
At 9:00, the door opens, and I hear Cole speaking to Bruce. He knocks on my bedroom door three times, and I open it. He leans in and gives me a big wet kiss on the lips before crushing me into his chest. I breathe in his scent—masculine Christmas tree mixed with Jean Paul Gaultier—and hug him tightly, bracing him and myself for what’s to come.
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