Page 243 of Mangled Memory
Hours. She’s been gone for hours. Her coffee run was nearly eleven hours ago. Coffee shop to her parents. Then… nothing.
Where the fuck is my wife?
I know. Of course, I know. I bolt for the door and am in the G Wagon before I can question it. Speeding these streets is brutal at rush hour, and rush hour seems to be continuing well past the time it should. I skid on two wheels into Cian Murphy’s driveway.
I bang on his door to nothing but silence. No response. No barking from Eleanor. Nothing.
Pure, still Colorado night.
But I know better.
I know Ayla.
And while she thinks that leaving her phone and car behind can hide her, her heart is a different matter.
The fact that there were two ambulances means something’s wrong. Either both her parents needed them or… I can’t think about the other option. It would meansheneeded one.
Halley is out. I’ve talked with her throughout the day. She doesn’t know what’s happening and has asked me to check in with her when I locate Ayla. Liam would be option number two. He seems to be off on some mission and out of town. He’s heading back this way since his sister is MIA. He may be rough and tumble, but his sister is an exception to his bristly nature.
But Cian and Eleanor? Ayla’s heart is safe with that dog and it’s where she’ll run if she’s scared. And while her first reaction is always anger, it usually mellows into fear.
I walk around the house to the stone patio that skirts the woods and provides a barrier to the night. Inside, one light is on. One that barely pushes warmth into the evening twilight and halos my wife, lying on the floor, huddled in on the dog who thinks she’s the sun, the moon, and the stars.
My wife who ignored my knocks.
Her brother sits in one of the chairs staring down at his sister and his dog curl up in the fetal position. He thumbs his phone while his head lifts to watch the two before returning to his screen.
Eventually, his eyes lift to mine. His jaw goes hard, but he holds my gaze until doing so would look foolish. Pulling out my phone, I shoot a quick text to him. His chin lifts to mine and dips once.
I lift the tails of my coat up and finally take a seat on a patio chair. Cold seeps in as darkness overtakes what’s left of the day. And I watch.
Ayla
Eventually, I have to get off the floor, right? I stroke my hand through Eleanor’s fur. The curls that wanted to wrap and knot around my fingers are a thing of the past. My fingers slide easily over her chest, down her hip, and over her legs, before reversing course to her ears and beginning their path again.
She’s been so patient with me today, giving me what I’ve needed as my shit life has unfolded in gory detail before my eyes. I’m cried out. I’ve gone through disbelief and anger to some kind of resolve. But my tank is full right now because my sweet girl has allowed me to siphon her calmness, love, and peace to take as my own.
She jumped and flipped when Christian pounded on the door. Everything in her went on the defensive in that moment, except for baring her teeth. I’ve never seen her like that until tonight. She sat, alert and ready, between me and the door as if her job was to ensure I couldn’t be touched.
Cian’s cameras notified him the moment the SUV hit the driveway, though I have to say, I was shocked he waited this long to come for me. My brother didn’t move, and neither did I as we waited for the knocking to stop.
I should be surprised he went away as fast as he did.
I shouldn’t be surprised that a call to the little old man who mentioned how well I looked on my date last night verified what my dad claimed in his sucker punch this morning. I am, in fact, a ward of my husband.
I own nothing, have no legal rights, possess no money, and have no agency in my life. I’m a nineteen-fifties housewife withhobbiesthat make my husband money while he controls… everything.
Every.
Fucking.
Thing.
I don’t understand. I don’t understand how I have a voice and a mind and am notallowedto control my life, make my own decisions.
Allowed.
As if I need permission. I didn’t need permission when Ilived at home with my overly controlling dad and I didn’t need permission when I chose to marry the asshole who now owns me.
