Insta-Hate (Instant Gratification #1) by Casey L. Bond

Author:Casey L. Bond [Bond, Casey L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B01FCQUO5M
Published: 2016-05-16T23:00:00+00:00

EIGHTEEN

Truth is Relative

Alexandria

Sometimes there are turning points in a person’s life, moments that you know will separate all others into before and after. This was one of those defining moments. I stared quietly at the cardboard shoebox sitting on my coffee table until Ava arrived, ringing the doorbell twenty times in a row until I walked to answer her.

When I opened the door, she took one look at me and gave me a big hug. “Was it Arsen? Is he still here? I’ll cut his—”

“It was Mom.”

“Oh.” Her eyes widened. “Oh, honey. What happened?”

I pointed toward the box on the table.

“What’s in there?” she asked, eyes wide. I could see her brain working, imagining all the scenarios. Severed head? Million dollars? Stocks and bonds? Collection of poisons? The cardboard held none of those things. It held me.

“I am.”

“You are?”

“Yep. I need you to help me find myself.”

She grabbed my hand. “Oh, sweetie, do we need Doc?”

“No,” I cried. The tears clogging my throat finally broke free. The hiccupping began and I couldn’t stop the snot. It was everywhere all at once. Ava ran for tissues and I fumbled through the kitchen. Hakuna ma vodka was right, but I had no liquor. Wine would have to do. I uncorked the bottle with a loud pop and settled onto the floor in front of the box, legs crossed. Ava came and sat beside me. I asked her to take the lid off of Pandora’s box and it wasn’t long until Ava was crying too, sipping the wine right along with me.

In the box were pictures: me and Meg, me and Arsen, me cheerleading for the Dark Woods High School Timberwolves, wearing baby blue and white and a wide, genuine smile. There was an article printed from a computer printer about a tragic motor vehicle accident in which there was only one survivor: Me.

It said I’d killed my father.

It said I was driving when we hit the tree.

My name was Trinity McGregor, just like Arsen accused, and I’d been punished for my mistake. I lost my memory, my identity, my father, and my family. I lost Arsen and hope and love.

The plastic bracelet from the hospital lay beside cuttings from a pom-pom and a picture of a two-story house and an address. Fourteen twenty-nine Oak Street, Dark Woods, North Carolina.

The picture wasn’t enough. There wasn’t enough detail. What did it look like now? Would I recognize my room? The yard? Something? I needed to see it. I didn’t know why, but I needed to go there.

“I need to go home.”

Ava nodded. “I don’t have the time off work, but I’ll go with you if you need me. Fuck the job.”

I shook my head, taking a large gulp of Cabernet. “No, I think I need to do this alone.”

She nodded, blowing her nose daintily. Meg should take notes. “You need to call our travel agent pal Julie.”

“I will, but right now I just need wine and time to process this entire mess.”

Ava sat with me.

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