Page 107 of Amnesty

Eddie glanced at me, questions in his eyes. I shrugged.

“Amnesia?” Maggie said suddenly.

My reply was instant. “Is she there?”

“I checked her bedroom.” Maggie’s voice was shaky. “I checked the whole house.”

My heart sank. “Maggie,” I pleaded.Tell me she’s home.

“She isn’t here, Amnesia.” My eyes snapped up to Eddie’s. “Sadie isn’t in this house.”

I didn’t want to believe it.

Everything inside me revolted, wanting to vomit out the very idea.

How?

How did you totally disregard the truth when it stared you boldly in the face?

“It wasn’t her.” My ass hit the chair as I said the words. My own voice sounded hollow and disbelieving.

It was a feeble attempt at lying to myself.

“Eddie.” Am perched in the chair beside me, angling her legs toward me. She was so close her knees brushed against my legs. Her pale, small hand reached out and covered mine. Her skin was cold, which was a jolt to my senses.

My eyes snapped toward her, taking in her appearance for the first time since we’d first run out of the house. She was only wearing a pair of jeans beneath the T-shirt she’d slept in. My T-shirt.

Her eyes seemed haunted, and beneath them were dark circles that looked like bruises. Her lower lip was slightly puffy from her chewing on it. It was a habit she had when she was upset.

It was my job to protect her. Even in the middle of a shit storm. Even when I wanted to rage about the unfairness of it all, when I wanted to deny what I knew deep down.

Nothing else mattered quite as much. Not my parents or the store. Not Robbie. Not even Sadie and the fact she might actually be… Well, I wasn’t sure.

“You’re freezing,” I murmured. “Where’s your coat?”

“I didn’t think about it,” she replied. “It’s fine.”

“No.” My voice was hard and loud. I pulled my long-sleeved T-shirt over my head, immediately transferring it to hers. I heard her protest while her face was stuffed inside my shirt, and I told her to hush.

The second her head appeared, I demanded. “Arms.”

With a thick sigh, she pushed her arms through. The fabric was so long it covered her hands. “What about you?” She worried.

I glanced down at the fitted shirt I’d worn beneath the thicker one. “I’m fine.”

Amnesia leaned forward, pressing her palm against my cheek. “No. You aren’t.”

No. I wasn’t.

“I noticed.” I admitted, my voice low, almost ashamed.

“Noticed what?”

“She’s not like you,” I murmured.

“Of course she isn’t. We’re different people.” Her voice was gentle and patient. My heart squeezed a little.

This hurt. I hated to admit it, even to myself. To acknowledge this situation was fucked up and there was nothing I could do about it. It hurt to even think Sadie could do something like this.

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