Where I Left Her Page 17

  Kids aren’t supposed to like their parents, she’d said.

  Whitney had believed her. That’s why, as much as the wall between them hurt Whitney, she didn’t back down. She stuck to her guns. Her job wasn’t to be Amelia’s friend. It was to protect her. Keep her safe.

  That’s what she thought she’d been doing.

  Now she worried that by saying no all the time, she’d caused this. If she’d been more open, less protective, would Amelia still be here?

  Her daughter had been keeping so many secrets, going behind Whitney’s back. And because of that Whitney didn’t even know where to look for her. She may have technically lost Amelia on Friday night, but in reality, she’d lost her months ago.

  These thoughts propelled her back to Amelia’s desk, her fingers greedy as they sifted through the remaining papers. Her vision blurred, the pinprick of a headache forming above her eyes. Setting down the papers in her hand, she headed back to her room to grab her reading glasses. She didn’t need them all the time, usually just in the evenings when her eyes got tired or when she was on the computer for too long, working. They had blue light lenses, so that helped with the glare of the screen.

  In her bedroom, she located them on her nightstand. Turning to leave, the corner of her big toe scraped against something flimsy, movable. Familiar. A piece of paper? Bending down, she felt under her bed until she located it.

  An ivory sheet of paper, jagged edges. It looked like it had been torn out of a diary, the press of a pen showing through the backside of the page.

  Whitney had never kept one. So, what was this doing under her bed? She was grateful for her reading glasses as she slipped them on.

  When she flipped the paper over in her palm, she instantly recognized the handwriting, even though she hadn’t seen it in years. Her blood ran cold as her gaze darted down to her own name, written multiple times in the diary entry.

  Where had this come from, and why was it here?

  She stood up, carefully pried her glasses off and tucked them into the palm of her free hand. The diary page fluttered in the other. She thought about the picture in Amelia’s room. About the money missing from both Amelia’s account and her drawer. And about the photos that had vanished from Amelia’s Instagram page.

  This entire time she’d been looking for someone to blame. Someone to pin this on. She’d been chasing after Dan, Jay and random boys. But what if the real culprit was Whitney?

  What if this all had to do with her past? With what she’d done?

  From down the hallway music rang out. It took her a few seconds to realize it was her phone ringing from where she’d left it in Amelia’s room. Dropping the glasses and the paper, she raced toward it.

  “Dan?” she answered breathlessly.

  “Hey, Whit.”

  “Have you heard from her?”

  “No,” he said, his tone wary. “I actually called because I wanted to come clean about what I told the police earlier. I wanted you to hear it from me,” Dan said. Whitney pitched forward. “I told them about my suspicions.”

  “Suspicions?” Her mouth dried out.

  “About Amelia’s eye color.”

  “Oh, my God. Are you serious?” Shaking her head, she blew out a breath. “Why?”

  “Because the police need to be looking into him. He might have something to do with it.”

  Her chest tightened. “You didn’t tell them his name, did you?” When he didn’t readily answer, she let out a shaky breath. “Dan?”

  “I had to.”

  “Why? It doesn’t make any sense. He’s in prison.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “I don’t know. I think so. Why? Do you know something I don’t?”

  “No,” Dan said. “I don’t keep tabs on him.”

  “Neither do I,” she said, her cheeks stinging at the implication.

  “Well, maybe you should.”

  “There’s no reason to. He has nothing to do with Amelia. He’s just my high school ex-boyfriend. Why are we involving him? God, what were you thinking?”

  “You want everyone to think you’ve changed, Whit. But you haven’t. Not at all. You’re still the same. Always in protection mode.”

  “I’m not protecting him.”

  “I know. I’m not talking about him.”

  She recoiled, as if he’d slapped her. She couldn’t deny it. She was protecting herself. But not just herself. She was also protecting Amelia.

  Dan thought he knew everything. That he had it all figured out. But that was Dan’s problem from the beginning. He’d always underestimated Whitney.

  Thought he was smarter. Knew more.

  He was wrong.

  Dr. Carter sat across from Whitney, his eyes blinking behind his large glasses.

  “I don’t know what I’m supposed to talk about.” Whitney picked at a hole in the thigh of her jeans, tugging at a loose string.

  “These are your sessions, Whitney. You can talk about whatever you’d like.”

  “But they’re not really. My parents are forcing these on me,” she admitted. “They think I’m depressed.”

  “Are you?”

  She didn’t know how to answer that. She’d been sad, lately, yeah. But depressed? She wasn’t sure she’d go that far.

  “They think I can’t get past my brother’s death.” The string came off her jeans and she wrapped it around her pinky finger.

  Dr. Carter nodded, his gaze never leaving her. It was a little unnerving. “Losing a sibling is hard, especially at such a young age. He’d been sick a long time, is that right?”

  “His whole life. He had cystic fibrosis.”

  “I bet that was hard on you.”

  Whitney uncoiled the string from her finger, releasing it. It fell to the ground. There was a window to her right, and she stared out of it. Dr. Carter’s office overlooked his backyard. Lush, green grass, lots of flowers, a tiny garden nestled in the corner.

  Dr. Carter fixated on her, present in a way her parents never were. He seemed genuinely interested in what she had to say, and she didn’t want to waste his undivided attention on talking about the one person who’d been stealing the spotlight from her most of her life. Sure, she felt awful about her brother’s death. It had been hard for her when he died at only eleven years old.

  But it was also kind of a relief. And that was the part she could never admit to anyone.

  How would that make her sound?

  She had loved her brother. Of course she had. But when he died, she’d thought that finally her life wouldn’t revolve around having a sick brother. But it seemed he still haunted her. Still permeated every facet of her existence. Oddly enough, in death Kevin owned her parents even more so than he had in life. They were merely ghosts of their former selves. Once Kevin was gone, she’d lost them completely.

  Out the window, she caught a glimpse of the main house. She thought of the boy she’d met at the front door. Dan. He was nice. Sweet. Good-looking.

  In his eyes, she’d seen pity. Concern. But, also, curiosity.

  He knew she was here for therapy, and she could see his brain working overtime to figure out why.

  She may have met him for only a few minutes, but it was clear he had a hero complex. It was the same vibe she was getting from his dad. They wanted to fix her. But more than that, they were interested in her. In what she had to say.

  Whitney was so much more than just the girl with the sick brother. She had other things to talk about. Other things that weighed on her mind.

  “I am sad about losing my brother, sure,” she said, still staring out the window, unable to meet Dr. Carter’s intense stare. “But that’s not all I’m sad about.” She paused. Took a breath. “I met someone. Someone really awesome, who I liked a lot. But then...” She bit her lip, pondering what she should say next. />
  “But then what?” he asked gently. She wondered if the soothing voice he used was the one he was born with or if he’d trained it to sound like that.

  “There’s this guy. He’s a little older than me. I met him through a mutual friend.” Bringing her hand to her mouth, she chewed on the fingernail of her index finger. It tasted like nail polish. “He was really cool. He told me he really liked me. That I was pretty. He made me feel special.”

  “That sounds nice,” Dr. Carter said.

  Bruises against pale skin. Dark purple, yellow around the edges.

  She tugged on the edge of her sleeve.

  “It was,” she said, “at first.”

  “What changed?”

  “I don’t know.” She shrugged. “It’s like he was so sweet at first, always saying nice things and wanting to be with me. But then he just kinda started pushing me away.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, like I got this haircut a few weeks ago and he told me he liked it better before,” she said. “And sometimes he talks about how hot other girls are right in front of me like I’m not even there. But the worst is when he physically pushes me away.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “One night we were hanging out with friends, smoking and drinking, and I leaned in to kiss him, but he shoved me back, turning his head away.” Whitney picked at the skin around her fingernails. “Everyone saw. It was so embarrassing. I asked him about it, but he said I was acting stupid that night and he wasn’t in the mood.”

  “Is that the only time he’s treated you like that?”

  “No.”

  “Then why do you keep seeing him?”

  “I’m in love with him.”

  She could see the switch in his eyes then. From concern and pity to determination. He wanted to rescue her.

  It was the same look her dad gave her when she’d pressed her palm into the frying pan.

  And it’s what she had been counting on.

  “I don’t know what you want me to say, Dan,” she said now.

  “Nothing,” he said. “I just want you to finally do the right thing for once in your goddam life and find Amelia.”

  “Okay.” She swallowed hard. “I will.”

  In order to keep her promise to Dan, she could no longer sit around. He thought he knew the truth, but he didn’t. Not all of it, anyway. And by telling the police what he did, he only made things harder. More convoluted. She had no choice but to take matters into her own hands. They weren’t here in this apartment.

  She had to go back to the last place she’d seen her daughter.

  Back to the place she’d left her.

  25

  I NEVER LIKED MITCH. Never trusted him.

  But it wasn’t until Millie started dating him that I realized just how dangerous he was. Despite his promise, he did hit her again.

  “You’re gonna leave him now, right?” I asked, reminding her of the conversation we’d had after the first punch to the face.

  Her gaze bounced to the floor. My stomach sank.

  “You can’t be serious? Why would you want to stay with someone who hurt you?”

  “It was my fault. I kinda flirted with a friend of ours. We were stoned and I guess I just wasn’t thinking,” she said.

  “And that gives him the right to hit you?”

  The smile on her face was confusing. “It’s just because he likes me so much. He got jealous.”

  Unbelievable. She was turning his violence into a romantic gesture. I felt sick.

  I knew he didn’t hit her out of jealousy or passion. It was all about control for him.

  I’d seen him flirt with other girls all the time. I’d even seen girls emerging from his apartment in the early mornings when I’d leave Millie’s.

  Not to mention that he leered at me all the time. Watching me in a creepy way, especially when we all blasted music and danced together around his living room. It’s like he was getting off on it.

  Millie knew all of this too. Turned a blind eye. It was like she didn’t believe she was worth more. But I knew she was, and that was why I had to get her away from him. She may not have been able to fight for herself, but she’d fight for me, wouldn’t she?

  If Mitch hurt me, she’d have to face what kind of monster he was.

  I thought she would choose me over him.

  That’s why I did what I did. And before you judge me, know this: I did it to help Millie. To save her. I did it out of love.

  One afternoon when I was leaving Millie’s I spotted Mitch standing outside his apartment smoking a cigarette.

  “Hey.” I walked over to him. “Can I bum a cigarette?”

  Without a word, he handed me one. He wore a wifebeater tank top, baggy pants that rode low on his hips. His hair was messy like he’d just woken up. I lit up the cigarette, held it gingerly to my lips. After taking a drag, I blew it into his face.

  “What the hell?” He scrunched up his nose, batting the smoke away. Big slicing motions with his arm.

  My insides trembled. This would be too easy. He was already getting upset. It never did take much.

  But could I go through with this?

  I thought about how easy it would be to walk away now and hurry home. To safety. But, no, I had to do this. For Millie.

  After taking a few more drags off my cigarette for courage, I tossed it down, ground it out with the toe of my shoe. Then looked up at Mitch.

  “You know she’s too good for you, right?” I said, my voice strong and steady, despite how my insides felt.

  “What?” His entire face scrunched up as if in disgust.

  “Millie,” I said, glaring. “She deserves someone better than you.” His face was reddening, but it wasn’t enough. I had to ratchet it up. “In every way.” My gaze traveled up and down his body. “I mean, look at you. Millie should be with someone more on her level.”

  Mitch threw down his cigarette but didn’t bother putting it out. He stepped toward me. This is it, I thought, squeezing my eyes shut. But he didn’t hit me. He started laughing. My eyes popped back open.

  “Oh, yeah? And is that someone you?” he asked, his expression one of amusement.

  “Huh?”

  “Come on, we all see the way you look at Millie. The way you follow her around like her damn shadow. You’re into her, huh?”

  I swallowed hard, wishing I’d chosen a different tack. There were a million things I could’ve said that would piss him off. I’d seen him blow a gasket over tiny things. Spilled beer. Making fun of his favorite basketball team. Anything. Why had I chosen Millie?

  “No.” My voice shook. “Millie and I—we’re just friends.”

  “Yeah, I know.” He smiled. “But just admit it, you want her. You want her bad.”

  I backed up, my legs like jelly. “No, I—I—don’t. I like boys.”

  “Prove it.”

  “What?” I froze.

  Before I could stop him, his hands came around my waist. He shoved me up against the door to his apartment. The back of my head slammed into it. I bit my tongue, coating it in a metallic taste.

  “I said prove it,” he ground out.

  Stop is what I tried to say, but the word came out so tiny it got lost on the breeze.

  One of his hands traveled up to grab my breast, shocking me. Nothing about it felt good or sexual. It felt painful, cruel. I’d wanted Mitch to hurt me, but not like this. Never like this.

  “God, it’s like a game trying to find your tits in all that fat,” he said, a cruel joke, squeezing harder.

  I screamed out, flailing my arms, trying to push him away. I’d never felt so frustrated and helpless in my life.

  “Stop, stop, stop!” By the time I got the word out, it sounded like a mantra.

  He drew back, shook his head, laughed agai
n. “Told ya.”

  My eyes widened at his cavalier response. I shoved off the wall, sidestepping him on shaky legs.

  “You’re not into guys,” he added.

  “Just stay away from me.” Once I put a decent amount of distance between us, I turned to him. “Don’t ever touch me again.”

  “Oh, trust me, I don’t want to.” His gaze roamed my body as if it was a mound of puke. “I only did that to prove a point. I’m not a chubby chaser.”

  Hot tears stung my eyes. Whirling around, I hurried away from him so he wouldn’t see me crying. His laughter trailed me until I reached the street and the cars thankfully drowned it out. As I stormed down the sidewalk, I cursed Mitch with every step. By the time I made it home, I vowed to get Mitch out of our lives for good.

  The minute I got home, I called Millie. My entire body was shaking with adrenaline by the time she answered. I was prepared for her to be irate with Mitch. To vehemently defend me.

  But he’d already gotten to her.

  She sounded stuffy when she answered. “I can’t believe you would do this to me,” she said before I could say a word.

  “Do what?” I asked, honestly confused.

  “Come on to my boyfriend.”

  “What? I didn’t—I would never,” I sputtered. “That’s what he told you?”

  “Yeah, he said you went downstairs to bum a cigarette and then told him he should break up with me.”

  “No, I didn’t really say he should break up with you. I said that you’re too good for him.”

  “What gives you the right to decide that for me?”

  “No, you don’t understand. I was just trying to help.” I slid down the wall, pressed the phone tighter to my ear.

  “Why did you meddle at all?”

  We were getting off course. None of this mattered, anymore. Not after what he did.

  “Millie, he...he forced himself on me. He assaulted me.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  My gaze shifted around, grateful no one was home. “He got angry, shoved me up against the wall and touched me...you know...”

  “So you told my boyfriend to break up with me and then you let him feel you up?” she snapped. “Oh, my God, what is wrong with you?”