I wrapped my arms around my stomach, rocking back and forth. Shivers racked through me, nightmares that I didn’t understand plaguing me.
Turning on my side, I rocked back and forth, soothing myself the only way I had for the past eight years. Kingston’s fingers traced my nape, circling around gently as if following invisible lines.
“W-what… are you… doing?” My teeth chattered, making it hard to speak.
“Tracing your tattoo.”
My eyes found his over my shoulder with knitted brows. “I… d-don’t have… a tattoo.”
“You do,” he assured me, his voice warm and soothing. “I’m touching it right now.”
Gasping for air and overcome with emotions, sobs took over. My gaps in memory alarmed me with each passing day. I should remember getting a tattoo. I should remember Kingston.
“What’s happening to me?” I croaked through sobs, images that made no sense flashing through my mind.
My stomach churned with nausea. I brought my fingers to my temples, pressing them while shivers racked through me. I wheezed, trying to ground myself. I struggled to breathe.Inhale. Exhale. In and out.
“Louisa, look at me.” Kingston’s arms wrapped around me.
“It’s… It’s Liana,” I stuttered, unable to control my tremors. “I’m… Liana,” I wheezed. It all became too much. Or maybe I was losing my mind. Blood pounded between my ears, a shrill ringing sound growing with each heartbeat, making it impossible to grasp my thoughts. My eyes found his and I cried, “C-can’t you see it, Kingston? I’m Liana, not Louisa.”
His lips brushed against my temple, whispering words I couldn’t understand through my panic attack.
“Just breathe, sunshine.”
He pulled me into his lap, rocking me back and forth, and I buried my face in his neck, crying until sleep pulled me under.
Nothing made sense anymore. Or maybe it was that everything finally did.
Chapter 51
Kingston
Louisa fell back asleep in my arms, her mouth tight and her breathing shallow. I smoothed a hand over her brow, still not believing she was Lou.
My Lou.
All this time, she was alive and breathing. So she didn’t remember me or our shared past, fine. I’d help her remember—someway, somehow. The main thing was that she was here. With me. In my bed.
Her sick mother must have put her through some extensive torture for her mind to be so damaged. Her trauma, combined with Sofia’s brainwashing, had convinced Louisa she was her twin. Did that mean Liana was dead?
There was no telling what torture Sofia put Lou through. She might have injected Lou with so much guilt that her mind snapped, and the only way Lou could cope was by convincing herself she was Liana.
My jaw clenched.
Guilt gnawed at me at the realization that I’d failed her, not once but twice. I couldn’t protect her in the dungeon, and then I left her at her mother’s mercy. It didn’t matter that I thought shedied in front of me, witnessing her brutal torture at the hands of Sofia and her men.
I ran a hand through my hair and pulled on the ends. What the hell should I do? I could tell her she wasn’t Liana, that she was my Lou, but I didn’t think she was in any state to hear it.
Reaching for my phone on the nightstand, I quickly typed a message to Dante Leone, a member of the Thorns of Omertà, the organization I usually did bidding for.
Me: I need the name and number of your therapist.
His reply was instant despite the time of night.
Dante: I don’t have a therapist.
I rolled my eyes.