She rolls her eyes, before she pushes the needle into my skin. It’s not terrible, only a prickling sensation. I relax instantly, and close my eyes.
In silence, Freya works on me for a while, removing the old stitches, and cleaning the wound. I don’t dare look at what she’s doing, keeping my eyes closed. I’m not scared of blood, but seeing myself being stitched up just makes me nauseous.
Arlo’s hand is on my shoulder, rubbing it, in an attempt to soothe me.
“It’s not infected, thank God,” Freya breathes out. “It swelled up because of your terrible work. So, I can’t restitch it immediately. Come back tomorrow when the swelling’s gone down. I’ll give you some pain meds, because you’ll definitely need them.”
“Thank you.”
“Welcome,” Freya says, and stands up once she’s done wrapping me up. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
“Now, I do have something for you,” Arlo says, coming to stand in front of me. He pulls out a couple of ID’s from his pocket, handing them all to me.”
I frown. “What’s this for?”
“Well, since Amy is now Blair Hawke… I thought you might not want to live the rest of your life as Amy Marshall. So, I chose some pretty names, and it’s your pick.”
I skim through all the ID’s, with a raised brow. “Why are all surnames De Santis? It’s like we’re married.”
Arlo steps back, scratching the back of his head anxiously. He laughs, but it’s the nervous kind of laugh that immediately makes me suspicious.
“See, about that,” he laughs again, not looking into my eyes. He’s avoiding my gaze like the plague.
“What is it, Arlo? Spill.”
“Eighteen-year-old me was… well… stupid.”
I blink. “Elaborate, now!”
“I saw you and knew you were it for me. So uh…”
“Yes?”
He looks at me, swallowing harshly. “I may or may not have already married us without your knowledge.”
“We’ve been married for years?!”
The gasp that leaves my lips is one of a kind. My eyes are as wide as possible, words getting stuck in my throat. And there Arlo stands, a little bit sheepish, and not at all apologetic.
THIRTY-TWO
Ienter the bedroom, closing the door softly behind me. My heart weighs heavily in my chest, and I take in a sharp intake of breath, holding my hands clasped together behind my back.
“Blair.”
She turns to face me, forcing a smile. Her face is sweating, and her body is trembling. This isn’t from the wound on her stomach, it’s something much, much worse. Luckily, Freya was able to stitch up everything perfectly, and although it will scar, there won’t be any long-term consequences.
“Arlo.”
I keep my face blank, as stoic as possible, and if she were in her normal state, she’d be able to see right through that. My feetcarry me to the chair that’s next to the bed, and I take a seat, hands in the pocket of my hoodie.
“Is there anything you’d like to tell me?”
Blair swallows thickly, her smile faltering. She’s trembling like a leaf, and I know withdrawal symptoms when I see them. She grips the sheets, avoiding eye contact. Her eyes fall to the floor.
“No,” she murmurs.
There’s silence for a couple of moments. I found out who was taking out drugs from the warehouse very, very easily and when I saw Blair’s face on the footage, something in me shattered. Guilt for not noticing how long it’s been going on and right under my nose. Anger directed toward myself for not being someone she could trust with that secret. But, one thing’s for certain, this addiction will not take her away from me.
