After a terrible accident, Gemma is left with no memory of the first twenty years of her life and nobody to turn to who can help her remember. When she loses her job, Gemma sets out on an adventure to find something worth living for. What she doesn'...
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"LET ME GET this straight," Émile says as, beside him, his computer screen fades to black, falling asleep despite our chillingly illicit conversation. "You think you dated Audrick?"
Tucking some stray strands of hair behind my ear, I meet Émile's calculating eyes. "Yes. I mean, I have screenshots of the pictures here. I can show you," I offer, reaching a hand into my sweater pocket, but freezing when my fingers brush against my phone. In a hushed voice, I say, "Do you think there are cameras or something recording our conversation?" Honestly, given what just happened in Audrick's office, I wouldn't be surprised if there were.
But Émile shakes his head, confidently. "No. I don't. But even if there were, you'd have been in trouble the moment you chose to search Audrick's office."
Nodding, I open the gallery app and reach across the space separating the end of his bed from where he's sitting at his desk, handing him my phone. I watch as his expression changes, eyes narrowing slightly as they search the images, eyebrows raising at one point.... It's only when Émile looks up and I realize I've been caught staring that I look away, fire blazing beneath my cheeks.
"Well that's... unexpected."
From the corner of my eye, I see him holding my phone out to me, so I turn around to accept it.
"Tell me about it."
"How do you feel, knowing that?"
Sucking in a deep breath, I pocket my phone and lean my head back against the wall. "Confused," I admit, exhaling. "Angry. I don't know if I'm ever going to be able to stand even looking at Audrick again. But I need to find out more. I need to know. I need a plan—"
The sound of keys entering the door lock makes me come to a sudden stop. Despite how desperately I want to figure this all out, Émile and I will need to continue this conversation elsewhere.
"Hey Declan," I say when the door swings open, revealing a red-faced, shorts and t-shirt clad Declan. Beads of sweat coat his temples, and I assume he had a game today. "Did you—"
"What are you thinking?"
I'm caught off guard by his seemingly random question, and I feel my face crinkle in confusion. There's not a trace of the animosity toward me that existed in Declan's brown eyes the last time I saw him in this very same room, and his friendly demeanor only confuses me further. "What do you mean?"
Declan shoots me an I-Know-You-Know-What-I-Meanlook, but I really don't. Either understanding dawns on him a moment later or he decides he isn't in the mood to deal with his roommate's friend's stubbornness because he says, "Your plan. Do you have any ideas?"
I feel blood rush to my face as I stare back at Declan. He knows. He heard about the plan. I don't know whether to play stupid or concede, and Émile must be conflicted as well because he stays quiet. Ultimately, I choose the former.
"What plan?" I asked, trying to sound lighthearted.
"The one you andmy roommate here were just discussing."
Drat. "You were eavesdropping?"
Declan shrugs, unfazed by my attempt to paint him as the bad guy. "These walls are paper thin. Trust me, I've gotten complaints," he says, winking as he starts toward the closet. Pulling out a laundry hamper, he begins unloading the contents of his gym bag into the plastic bin.
I look at Émile, who's still seated at his desk. He gives me an apologetic look, as if he doesn't know how we're going to get out of this one.
When Declan finishes unpacking his bag he tucks it under his desk then turns to face us. "All I heard is that you're angry with Audrick— who I'm assuming is Audrick Taylor, head of the Ministry of Education— and you're making a plan to get back at the man who did you wrong. Am I right?"
I'm shocked at Declan's straightforwardness. How much did he hear? "You're not... wrong."
"Look, I'm just offering my help. I've been on campus longer than either of you. I can help."
Turning to Émile for a second opinion, I see he's watching Declan.
So I go with my instinct. I can't let anyone else in on this scheme, a scheme I haven't even started planning yet. "No. Thank you, but it's nothing important. I'm just upset about something that happened last weekend."
"Your loss," Declan chimes, grabbing a towel from the closet, then proceeding to the bathroom.
As soon as I hear the shower turn on, I turn to Émile. "I'll think about this some more," I say, being careful to keep my voice hush.
Émile nods. For a moment we're both quiet, our soundtrack the muted sound of shower water hitting the tub, the gentle rush of the computer fan, and the chirping of birds from outside. When I see Émile tilt his head, I look at him and he looks me in the eye.
"So... it's Keira then?"
The truth is that I don't know. Would I rather have a name most likely given to me by my biological parents or one that someone gave me after I lost my memory but is still the only name I've known.
