CHAPTER 14 THE TOWN THAT KNEW ME MORE THAN I KNEW MYSELF.

The toy

.

I woke up to sunlight piercing through my puffy, red eyes. I turned and noticed Jessie wasn't in bed. With a slow gait, I strode out of the room, drawn by the sound of her laughter coming from the kitchen.

"Morning, sunshine," Zach greeted me as I entered.

"How are you feeling?" Jessie asked.

"Like I've been stung by a thousand bees," I replied, gulping down a glass of water.

"You'll get better," Jessie said.

My eyes darted around the room, scanning for someone I wasn’t ready to face. Just one smile from him, and my heart would foolishly skip a beat.

"So, what are your plans for today?" I asked Jessie.

"Well, Zach is taking me shopping with the money I won yesterday."

"When did you two become friends?" I inquired.

"We were never enemies," Zach said, taking a swig of his drink.

It reminded me of Damon, who liked to start drinking early in the morning—birds of a feather.

"And you don’t have to worry about the demon,"

Jessie added. "He’s gone back to New York."

I should have felt relieved, but instead, it felt like another hundred bees stung my heart.

"I want to go back to New York," I stated.

I couldn’t enjoy anything here, thanks to Damon. I needed something strong to distract me, and my work was the only thing that could.

Without hesitation, Jessie pulled out her phone. "I'll book our flight."

"We’ll just use my private jet," Zach suggested.

"Alright," I replied, and I headed back to the room to pack.

****

It’s been five days. Five days of lying on this couch and telling myself there is a part of him that loves me. Five days of anger as Damon flaunts his fiancé. Five days of promising myself that I'll become classy and elegant if that's what it takes for him to love me. Five days of drowning in the bitter taste of alcohol,shutting out everyone. Five days and I have passed through the five stages of grief, finally accepting that he would never love me.

I rubbed my face and reached for my phone, typing a message to Logan.

Me: Hey, sorry, I have been really dealing with a lot.

I tapped my fingers, waiting for his reply. He probably hates me for ignoring him, especially after throwing him out that night.

My phone chimed.

Logan: Hey. Would you like to talk about it?

Me: Yeah.

Logan: You know where to find me.

Me: I'll meet you at 6 p.m.

Logan: Alright.

I've been avoiding Logan because I didn't want to use him. If I'm with him, it should be because I genuinely have feelings for him. I still don't plan on using him. I just have to make myself love him, force my heart to flutter for him—anything to get Damon out of my mind.

*****

I stood outside a bar, clad in a body-hugging black dress, my face touched with a little makeup. I couldn’t tell if it was just embarrassment or something else that was making my heart race as it competed.

Taking a deep breath, I walked in.

“Hey,” I said, settling onto a stool at the bar.

“Hey!” Logan smiled at me.

I rubbed my palms together, trying to manage whatever I was feeling in my stomach.

“Try this.” He smiled, pouring me a drink. “Oh, it’s non-alcoholic,” Logan added.

My eyes widened as I took a sip. “This is fantabulous,” I commented.

A smile appeared on his face.

"So, what’s the name of the drink?” I asked.

“I don’t know; I just made it,” Logan replied. “I think I’ll name it Aria.”

“Aria?” I repeated, my cheeks turning red.

“Yeah, its taste is as beautiful as you are,” Logan said.

I giggled, and he chuckled before saying, “It sounded so much better in my head.”

I smiled.

“So, are you going to explain, especially about that night?”

I took another sip of the drink. “About that night...” I hesitated, searching for the right words. “I can’t explain.” I finally admitted it. “How’s your leg?” I asked, changing the subject.

“I twisted it, but it’s getting better.” He chuckled. “Do you want to talk about what you’ve been dealing with?”

I flinched as memories of the past few days flashed through my mind.

“I assume it has to do with that guy—Damon Wesley.”

I bowed my head, focusing on my drink, saying nothing.

“Why don’t you just end things with him completely?”

I looked up, meeting Logan’s green eyes. They weren’t as mesmerizing as Damon’s, but they were beautiful enough. “It’s not as easy as you think,” I said quietly. There was no way I could tell him about the contract. “I came here to forget, not to talk about it,” I added.

Logan smiled and refilled my glass. He took my hands in his. “You can use me however you want,” he said, his words cutting through me.

“However I want,” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

Logan nodded.

I smiled, before engaging in a long conversation while enjoying my Aria mocktail.

As I got home, I crashed on my sofa, recounting the drink date I had tonight. It was nice talking to him. I checked my phone—still no message from Damon. I tried to suppress my disappointment—anyway, it’s for the best. My phone pinged; it was a message from Logan.

Logan. Have you gotten home?

Me: Yeah. Thanks for today.

Logan. The pleasure was all mine. When I get home, I’ll message you.

Me: Alright.

Just as I was about to call Jessie and tell her about my date, A sharp pain throbbed in my head. It was the memory of the diary in my childhood house. This was the second time I had this memory—I didn’t know how, but I just knew it was important.

I had been running from my past because Aunt Mary always said it was a painful one, though she never explained why, and I had been too weak to seek the truth. But it seems my past is finally catching up to me, and I can no longer avoid it.

When the pain subsided, I went to bed knowing that tomorrow I would be going to my hometown—Warwick.

*****

As I arrived in Warwick, just an hour's drive from Manhattan, an unsettling feeling gripped my stomach. Despite this being my hometown, it felt like a foreign place, one that somehow knew me better than I knew it.

With the help of G****e Maps, I stopped at the front of a dilapidated white house numbered eighteen. I reached out of my phone and checked the picture of the house my aunt had sent me to confirm.

Stepping out of the car, I scanned it—Its windows were broken, and the lawn was overgrown looking like a dwarf bush.

Swallowing hard, I gave the door a soft push, causing it to creak open, slapping my nose with a musty scent of mildew and abandonment. Dust and cobwebs were the new inhabitants of the house. As I moved around the house, my steps and heartbeat echoed in my ears.

Approaching a door marked "Aria and Ariel," I entered to find two beds side by side. I desperately prayed for something, for a memory. I should be feeling nostalgic—this was my house—yet nothing.

I turned around, scanning the room, trying to figure out where the dairy was. My breath quickened as I pulled the drawers, revealing a hairbrush and nothing more. I opened the wardrobe—just clothes. After searching everywhere I could and seeing nothing, I sighed in frustration as I sat on one of the beds.

How do I find this diary? I know what it looks like, but I just can’t remember where it was. I had a feeling it was here. Suddenly, I bent down to check under the bed, and as I remembered I hadn’t checked, there it was—a box. I pulled it out and opened it.

My heart hiked, and my pulse rose as I saw not only the diary but the bracelet in my flashback. It looked expensive.

While admiring the bracelet, my shoulders tightened as I heard the door downstairs open, and footsteps echoed through the house.

Ariel is dead, my mother is in a coma, and nobody should be here except me.

Suddenly the steps got faster and louder—it was heading in my direction.

As it drew closer, my gaze darted around, searching for an escape route. I ran towards the window and glanced outside. The thought of jumping out popped up—my mind was willing but my body wasn’t; now I knew how Logan felt. The overgrown bush wasn't encouraging, as it could conceal dangerous objects. After dismissing the thought, I decided to hide in the closet.

I thought Damon was the only one who could make my heart beat in my head—yet here I was, my heart beating in my head as the door to the room opened. I stifled my mouth with my hand as the figure paced around the room.

My eyes flung wide open as the closet door opened. His pitch-green eyes stared down at me, a knife in his hands.