Beautiful Confusion (New Adult Romance) Room 105 (10 page)

I eagerly joined him. It was a beautiful night, clear and sparkling. The stars were out in full force.

“I have this really cool book about American Indian sky lore,” he said. “In some of the Hopi stories, the Moon is depicted as male and the Sun is his mother, whereas in some of the Cherokee stories, the Sun is female and the Moon is her brother.”

Fascinated, I replied, “What other stories are in it?”

“Lots of different ones. Like in the Tsimshian tribe, Sun was kept in a box by a chief in the sky, which made everything dark. But then Raven flew through a hole in the box and brought Sun to the world. Raven is a key figure in the Pacific Northwest.”

“Do you have a favorite story?”

He nodded. “It’s from the Blackfoot tribe. In this legend, there are six young brothers who were orphans. They wore ragged clothes and the other kids in camp were mean and poked fun at them. The only friends they had were a pack of dogs.”

I understood instantly why this story affected him. Duncan had been a ragged boy once, too.

He continued with the tale. “It got to the point where the boys didn’t want to be people anymore. At first they thought they would become flowers, but flowers could be destroyed. They considered becoming stones, but stones could be thrown away or broken. Water could be drunk, and trees could be chopped down or burned. They didn’t know what to become.”

“So what happened?”

“They decided that they wanted to be stars because stars are always safe.”

I gazed up at the night sky. It did look like a safe to place to be. “Did it work out for them?”

“Definitely. The Sun welcomed them, and Moon called them her long lost children. They’re still up there to this day.” He gestured to a grouping of stars. “That could be them over there.” He pointed to another spot. “Or there.”

“That’s a nice story. The beginning was sad, but it ended well. What happened to the mean kids? Did they ever get punished?”

“Actually, they did. The Sun caused a drought and the camp suffered. But then the dogs that were friends with the boys howled at the Moon and asked for help, and the Sky took pity on them and it began to rain.”

“I’m going to think of that now whenever it rains.”

“I’m going to think of you whenever it rains. Or whenever I gaze at the stars. Or eat licorice or roast marshmallows.”

My heart pounded beneath my breast. “We haven’t roasted them yet.”

“No, but we will.”

Our faces were just inches apart, but he didn’t kiss me. Nor did he press his body against mine. He was obviously trying to be good and not roll around on the blanket with me. If I’d been one of his other girls, I had no doubt that was what we would be doing.

Several quiet moments passed before he sat up and reached for my hand, lifting me forward.

He opened the marshmallows and we slid them onto the skewers and held them over the fire. We sat side-by-side, our shoulders touching.

I took mine off the fire before he did. I liked them golden brown. He preferred his charred on the outside.

I started eating mine. They were so good I made an orgasmic sound, like I’d done last week when he’d kissed me.

He looked at me, and we burst into laughter. We laughed when he ate his, too, because they were so well done, one of them melted right off the skewer and dropped onto his pant leg. He picked it up and ate it anyway. I laughed so hard I hiccupped.

“Damn, these are messy,” he said.

“Did you bring napkins?”

He shook his head. “I guess that’s the only thing I forgot.”

“We can use this.” Luckily, he’d brought towels. I poured water over the corner of one of them and wiped the goo off his jeans. We cleaned our fingers, too.

Then we roasted a second helping of marshmallows. We also ate chips and cookies and other junk.

Finally, we stopped and plopped back onto the blanket, lying down again.

“I’m full,” he said.

“Me, too.” I put my hand on my stomach. “We made pigs of ourselves.”

After we recovered, he leaned on his elbow and gazed at me. By now, I was facing him, too. In the distance, we could hear the other beachgoers enjoying their bonfires.

“What’s your favorite color?” he asked.

“I don’t know. What’s yours?”

“It changes with my mood. Tonight my favorite color is yellow, like your hair.” He reached out and touched a strand of it. “On a medicine wheel, there are four directions and four colors. Yellow is predominantly east. On some wheels it represents fire or the sun, and on other wheels it’s associated with air and taking flight. Tonight, I think it’s both.”

He always said such beautiful things. It was obvious that he was an artist. The artist whose heartbeat used to pound in my head. Was there a logical explanation for that?

I decided it was now or never to speak my piece. “I have something to tell you, Duncan. Something that’s going to sound crazy.”

He frowned. “What is it?”

“Remember when I mentioned wanting to stay in room 105 when we were at the hotel? 105 is more than just a number that Abby put in my head. It’s a place.”

“What place?”

“According to Abby, it’s another dimension.” I forged ahead, telling him everything, every detail I could muster, starting from the day I “created” him.

When I was done talking, he sat forward, but he didn’t reply. I sat upright, too.

“Duncan?” I clasped my clammy palms together, desperate to hear what he thought.

He was still frowning. A dark, worried frown. “You don’t believe it, do you?” he asked me.

I clutched my knees to my chest. “Mostly I don’t, but then sometimes I think that maybe I do. There’s just so much of it that can’t be explained. And if you died, if I was responsible for something happening to you, I’d never get over it.”

“I’m not going die by next year. That isn’t going to happen. I’m not a warrior from some faraway world. I’m just a regular guy who can’t remember his past.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because those types of worlds don’t exist.”

“But what if people like Abby and Jack know things that we don’t know, and places like Room 105 are real?”

“They aren’t, Vanessa. They aren’t real.”

“I didn’t think so, either. Then I met you, and I got all mixed-up. Why do you look like the warrior I dreamed up? Why is your name Duncan? Why did you have blackouts when you were younger? Why did Jack think you were from a meta-universe and say that he saw you disappear? And why did you depict yourself as a warrior and paint a big black stallion?” I tapped my hand against my head. “And why did I hear your heartbeat? Why have you been inside me all this time?”

“First of all, my blackouts are most likely related to a trauma I suffered when I was a kid. And secondly, Jack was ill. What he claimed to have seen was a delusion. As for the rest of it, maybe it’s just one those of those cosmic things. Maybe when I was a boy on the streets, you reached out to me somehow and it caused you to hear what you thought was a heartbeat. And then later, we met because we were supposed to know each other.”

I rocked forward, remembering how Abby had rocked on my bedroom floor on the day she’d made me dream up the warrior. “So I didn’t curse you to die?” I had to be sure. I had to hear him say it again.

“Someday I’m going to die, like everyone else. But it’s not going to be because of anything you did and it’s not going to happen when I’m twenty-one.” He shot me a silly smile. “I plan on getting shit-faced drunk on my twenty-first birthday, not be pushing up daisies.”

I smiled, too. “I want to take you to meet Abby, Duncan. I want you tell her that you’re not the warrior. She probably won’t believe you, but I want you to tell her anyway.”

His smile fell. “I can’t go see her, Vanessa.”

“Yes, you can. I can arrange it. You can come with me on the next visiting day.”

“No.” He shook his head.

My heart sank. “Don’t you want to meet my sister?” When he didn’t reply, my sinking heart twisted in my chest. “And here I thought you were going to be an ally, an advocate. Everything that you claimed you would be. But you’re not.”

“I’m sorry, but I think I should take you home now.”

“Why are you being this way?” I’d never expected him to refuse to meet Abby.

“Let me take you home, Vanessa. And when we get there, Carol can explain why I can’t meet Abby.”

“Carol?” A burst of panic spiraled through me. I couldn’t believe this was happening. That Duncan was turning on me. “What did my aunt say about my sister that would stop you from meeting Abby?”

He blew out a hard breath. “It’s not my place to tell you. I think Carol should be the one to do it.”

My panic intensified. “No, Duncan. I want you to tell me. I want to know what lies my aunt has been spreading about my sister.” At this point, I didn’t trust Carol any more than Abby did.

“Let’s just go back to your house. Let’s deal with it there.”

“Fuck that.” I stood up, ready to bolt, to run toward the ocean. Anything to keep from going home.

He jumped up and grabbed my arm before I could take off. “Please, Vanessa. Calm down.”

“Tell me what she said.” I was practically begging him now. “I want to hear it from you.” He was Abby’s pseudo-warrior. He was supposed to be the protector of her people.

He kept a firm grip on my arm. “Just don’t run away, okay? I can’t handle this if you pull away from me.”

“I won’t. But please, just tell me.”

He took me in his arms and held me close, making sure that I didn’t leave him. I breathed against his shirt; I clung haphazardly to his shoulders. I couldn’t leave him if I tried. The sea was crashing onto the shore, making the moment more riotous, more confusing.

“Tell me,” I implored him.

“All right, but before I say it, I want you to know that you’ve heard this before. That Carol has told you countless times throughout your life, and sometimes you believe her and sometimes you don’t.”

He wasn’t making sense. “Just say it. Damn it, just say it.”

He nuzzled his cheek against mine. Then he put his mouth against my ear and whispered, “I’m so sorry, Vanessa, but you don’t have a sister. There is no Abby. She isn’t the one who is schizophrenic.” He held me tighter. “You are.”

An unholy tremor came over me. I shook so hard, I thought I might faint. How could I be the one who was ill? And how could there be no Abby? My sweet baby sister with her choppy blonde hair and waiflike smile. It wasn’t possible.

Duncan pressed his lips to my forehead, but I didn’t take kindly to it. I wanted to punish him for thinking that I was crazy. I’d been fighting for my sanity for most of my life and now he was preying on those fears. I tried to push him away, but he wouldn’t let go.

“It’s a lie,” I said in a traumatized whisper. “It’s a lie.”

“No, Vanessa. It’s the truth.”

“I don’t believe you.” I made my voice more audible, but that didn’t improve the shattered tone. “I just saw Abby two weeks ago at The Manor. And then I went there again last week to tell her about you. But on that day, I decided not to see her because I wanted to bring you with me instead. And now Carol has convinced you that she isn’t real.” I wasn’t going to let my aunt do this to me. “Carol lied to you, Duncan. She’s only saying that Abby doesn’t exist because she thinks Abby is bad for me.”

He didn’t reply. He was obviously sticking by his story, the tale my aunt had told him.

Distraught, I gazed at the fire and noticed that it was burning down to nothing, the embers dark and low. It was no longer a friendly bonfire, no longer a place to laugh and talk and roast marshmallows.

Duncan pressed his lips to my forehead again, as if he was trying to heal me somehow. I wanted to tell him that I hated him, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

“I’m taking you home,” he said. “And we’re going to talk to Carol so she can explain everything to you.”

“I don’t want to see Carol.” I didn’t want to hear her lies. This was her fault. She’d done this to me.

“There’s no other choice, Vanessa.”

He put out what was left of the fire. Then he lifted me into his arms and carried me toward his truck. I was too weak to fight him, too dizzy and confused, too hurt over my aunt’s betrayal.

“What about your stuff?” I asked. I gazed over his shoulder at the blankets, the towels, the ice chest, and our half-eaten snacks.

“I’ll go back and get it after I get you settled.”

He was so big and strong, so protective, yet he was taking me to see the enemy. “You could be the warrior. You could be him. Sometimes he’s fierce.”

“I’m not him. And I’m not trying to be fierce. I just need to get you home.”

I spouted my pain. “Home is where the hurt is.”

“It doesn’t have to be.” He unlocked his truck and placed me in the passenger seat. “Carol only wants the best for you.”

“That’s what I kept telling Abby. I defended Carol, saying that she loved my sister. But now I know that she doesn’t.”

He buckled my seatbelt. I felt like an eight-year-old, a little girl whose parents had just died. But now it was Abby who was being killed. “I can’t lose my sister, Duncan.”

“Shhh.” He hushed me with a kiss to the lips.

I shivered from the warmth of his touch. Now I felt as if I was the one who was dying. Could it be true? Was I schizophrenic? My identity was as mixed-up as Duncan’s.

“If you’re the warrior, then maybe none of us is crazy. Not me or Jack or Abby. Lori called me weird, but that isn’t the same thing.” I panicked. “Don’t tell Lori about this. Please don’t tell her.” I was afraid that Lori wouldn’t want to be my friend if she knew, and I needed a friend who didn’t think I was delusional.

“I’m not going to tell anyone anything. Now sit still while I get the stuff from the beach.” He skimmed his fingers along my cheek. “I’ll hurry back.”

Once again, his touch made me weaker than I already was.

When he returned, he dumped everything in the back and got behind the wheel.

I stared straight ahead, mortified that this was happening to me. It didn’t help that I was educated about schizophrenia. It actually made things worse.