She was talking like she’d experienced all of it in person and like those things weren’t something she imagined, but something she remembered clearly.
I wanted to ask her more, but I wasn’t sure if she’d tell me the truth. So I stayed quiet, letting her talk, waiting to see what else she’d say more.
"Things are really changing, you know..." she said with a lazy smile, taking another sip of whatever was in her hand.
Her words were loose, her eyes too relaxed, like she had no care left in this world anymore.
And then suddenly my attention went to the bottle in her hand.
What the hell was she drinking?
I leaned forward and snatched the bottle from her hand, frowning as I examined the label.
It was the juice Joseph had left in my car.
Except it wasn’t juice. It was laced with alcohol! It was light for the drinkers but strong enough to mess with non-drinkers.
No wonder she was slurring her words, muttering things, and jabbering about things that had still not happened.
She wasn’t lying or cracking jokes—she was drunk! The alcohol had loosened her tongue, and she was saying whatever she wanted.
"Hey! Give me that bottle," she said, glaring at me as she lunged forward to grab it from my hand. "I want to get drunk today."
I stared at her with a stunned look on my face.
She knew it had alcohol? And she still drank it?
"No more," I said flatly, moving the bottle out of reach and setting it aside.
She paused, eyes narrowing for a second, and then all the glint in her eyes were gone.
"You’re... You’re just like them!" she blurted suddenly, her voice cracking as she sank down to the floor and hugged her knees tight to her chest. "I just want to drown myself in my sadness."
I exhaled, watching her. It wasn’t only the alcohol talking now but there was something else that I couldn’t tell.
"If you’re that sad," I said quietly, "then try to be happy. Why drown yourself in a drink that doesn’t even taste good?"
She peeked out from behind her knees. Her eyes looked soft, and her face pouty as her lips trembled. "It’s not like I’m some eighteen-year-old little girl! I’m a full-grown woman... old enough to be a mom!"
The third time she’d said something .
My brows pulled together. Why did she keep bringing up being a mother?
What exactly was going on in this girl’s head?
"Fine," I said quietly, trying to meet her where she was. "You don’t have to drink to escape your sadness. Just share it with me instead. I heard somewhere that sharing grief can lighten it." I suggested.
I tried as gently as possible, but she got mad at me!
"What do you know!" she barked, her voice breaking as she glared at me like a cornered little puppy. "Who the hell would even believe me?"
"I would," I answered, without hesitation. "I’d believe everything you say. Just try me."
She looked up at me, tears suddenly slipping from her eyes, as her hands trembled.
"Why?" she asked, in a painful voice that was raw. "Why would you believe me? An autistic girl who could barely speak a few words!"
She was an autistic person! But I hadn’t thought about it properly until now. I’d seen the files. But when I looked at her now, I didn’t see any symptoms.
How could someone go from that level of developmental delay... to this?
Even with the best doctors in the world, even if the entire Lancaster fortune had been poured into her treatment... it shouldn’t be possible to this extent.
She wasn’t just healing. It was like she’d never had any problem being with.
How the hell did she recover with 100% accuracy?
"But you know what..." she scoffed, wiping at her face with the back of her hand, "no one even cares that I’ve recovered out of the blue."
"They just keep telling me I’ve changed," she continued. "That I was faking it being autistic, and I acted like that for attention."
"How could they possibly know what I feel?" she went on, her voice rising. "I’m scared, Lucien. I’m so damn scared. Things are happening that never happened before. I met you... You, someone who didn’t exist in my last life. And Brother Asher... he was never this kind. He only softened after the world turned its back on him."
What the hell was I hearing?
This wasn’t imagination or drunken nonsense. It seemed as if it was some deep-rooted trauma.
I sucked in a breath and stayed silent, afraid that if I spoke, I’d hurt her even more.
"I’m scared that all of this..." her voice cracked, and she wrapped her arms around herself, "...will disappear the moment I wake up. That I’ll open my eyes and find myself back in that dark, wet room in the mental hospital. Room number 402..."
She paused, trembling. "The room that didn’t even exist on paper but was hell for me."
Her legs folded for a second. Then her voice broke fully as her loud and ugly sobs filled the entire room.
"I was supposed to be there! Or maybe I’m still there, and this is all just a dream. Maybe I’m strapped down and drugged and hallucinating this whole thing."
She slowly stood up, her body swaying like she could barely keep herself upright. Her steps were weak, unsteady, but she made her way toward me.
Her eyes were wide and wet, like a child begging the universe for mercy.
"Tell me..." she whispered, standing right in front of me, her hand reaching out with a tremble. "You’re not my imagination... right? Are you real? You won’t disappear, right?"
My heart felt like it cracked open right there.
"Room number 402," I muttered.
Let’s go a QnA... Ask me anything related to the book or anything. I’ll reply!