The Forgotten Girl

Then do it.

Chapter 18

Lily

I know this person and Maddie knows this person too. I don’t know from where or how I know them, all I know is that I do. And I hate them with more passion then anything else in the world. This man has hurt us both, made us suffer, and created us, which makes me fill sick and vile. Loathe myself for the first time in a long time.

Maddie releases control to me quickly, just like that. Without a fight. And I know that she wants me to take care of it—act on her impulses, something she’s always been too afraid to do. So I storm down the hallway, ready to attack. The man just stands there, fully welcoming it. I know this could end badly. I could get hurt. Die. That’s not what I’m worried about—that’s the point of me existing. To take care of the things that Maddie fears the most—to step up and deal with the pain when she can’t. I’m the strong one and she’s the weak. I’m what she could never be and wishes she always was.

I lunge when I near him and he still doesn’t move back, allowing my head to ram into his gut. He smells like cigarette smoke, booze, and ash, and the three scents combined make me want to vomit. I don’t have time to brace myself as we crash to the floor and I land on top of him, my hands sliding up to his neck as I sit up, growling. I grip tightly, feeling his muscles tense beneath my touch, and his pulse throb just below my fingertips. I’m gasping for air, wild, mind racing more than it ever has before. I want this, more than anything.

At first I think he’s just going to let me kill him as he lies there in the shadows simply staring at me. But suddenly, when he’s getting to the point where he’s struggling for air, he gathers his strength and in one swift motion, flips us over so he’s lying on top of me. I bump my shoulder against the end table and a lamp falls off, crashes against my head, and glass flies, razor sharp shards that slice open my flesh, just like I want to do to his.

“Not now, my Lily,” he says, pinning me to the ground by the shoulders. I try to kick him, knee him in the gut, but he’s too heavy and the bump on the head is making my mind dance and my body go to sleep. “But soon.”

It’s the last thing I hear before he lifts his hand and presses it over my mouth, while gripping at my neck, choking and smothering me until I’m on the verge of passing out. I shut my eyes and wait to die. I’m surprised by how comfortable I am with my own death. Or just death in general. Like my warm blanket I used to carry around when I was a child. Death. I know death. It makes me content. Just as I’m about to give into the darkness and slip away forever, the hands release me. My eyes shoot open and my lips part. There’s nothing there but an empty living room and the night.

He’s gone.

Was he ever really there to begin with?

Chapter 19

Maddie

I’m not sure how I pass out this time, but as soon as I wake up, I know I’ve lost a lot of time. It makes me nauseous, knowing I can lose control like that, but at the same time, I’m glad I didn’t have to deal with the man.

When I open my eyes, I’m in my bed. The sun is trickling through the window and my skull feels like it’s been split open.

“Maddie, relax,” my mother says from my bedside. She’s sitting in a chair, dressed in tan slacks and a blue blouse, her hair is in a bun, her makeup done, and a magazine is on her lap. “You’re okay.”

I press my hand to my aching head as I catch my breath. “What happened?” I glance around at my room, clean as can be, the computer shut down, and the buttons put away. She cleaned up my room while I was out, which means she saw the buttons, saw the article I had opened. “Did you clean up my room?”

“Yes, it was filthy.” She sets the magazine down on the floor and leans forward in the chair, taking my hand in hers. “I did it while you were sleeping.”

I yawn, trying to decide if that’s what happened. Did I finally just fall asleep. “Sleeping? But what about the person that broke into the house? What happened to him?”

Her forehead creases. “Maddie, there wasn’t anyone in the house. After I called the cops, I came out of the room and you were lying in the hallway like you fainted… you woke up and said something about there being a man, but the cops checked the house and there were no signs of a break in… They did a few tests on you and said you showed signs of exhaustion.” She feels my forehead as if she’s checking for a fever. “Why didn’t you tell me you haven’t been sleeping very well?”

“I’ve been sleeping fine,” I lie, slanting away from her touch. “And if there was no man in the house then why did the alarm go off? I was… there was…” I’m at-a-loss for words. It’s difficult to defend myself when my mental stability is tottering from side to side and I can’t quite remember what happened, yet it feels like I should.

“The cops said it happens sometimes,” she explains, giving my hand a squeeze. “That even the slightest bump against a window can set it off.”

I’m not buying it at all. I’ve hallucinated before and what happened last night was too real to be one. “But I saw someone… I know I did.” I sift through my memories, through the haziness, to what I think I saw. “It was a man. He was tall and he… He called me a whore.”

My mother winces at the word. “Maddie, you passed out. How long has it been since you’ve gotten a good night’s rest?”

I tilt my head away from her hand. “I already said I’ve been sleeping fine… And I know what I saw. There was someone in the house and he did something to me… made me black out somehow.”

“I’m tired of arguing with you about this stuff.” She pulls her hand away from mine and touches the base of her neck. “Get some rest.” She gets to her feet. “I’ll come check on you in a while.”

“I know what I saw, mom. And you just need to tell me—”

She walks out of the room and shuts the door behind her. She’s lying, but the question is why? What is she hiding from me that’s so terrible she can’t even speak of it? Is it about me being in the hospital? My insanity? Or is it something else. How much does she know about me?

I get up out of bed and go over to the closet. She didn’t say a word about the box of buttons either, which I find odd. Unless I put them in my closet, but I’m pretty sure I left them out on my bed. When I get to the shelf, I know they’re gone before I even check. It’s like I can feel their absence. I check anyway and discover I’m right. I rummage through the rest of the shelves, under my bed, through my drawers. I start to panic and not because of the fact that I had Sydney’s button in there and the oval ones as well. I panic because they’re gone. They’re gone and I realize just how much I needed them. How much counting them has soothed me.