“Joseph, I’m…” The words wouldn’t leave my lips, but I needed to force them out. “I’m—”
The bedroom door opened, and the oxygen in my lungs vanished when I saw her.
I blinked several times. My emotions must’ve gone haywire and made me hallucinate. That wasn’t her. She couldn’t be here because she was dead.
“Brynne, oh my baby girl.” She rushed toward me and pulled me away from Joseph. “My baby girl.” She hugged me and cried.
My gaze shot to Joseph’s, then to a man who looked like a carbon copy of him.
“What’s going on?” I screamed at him. “What is this? What’s happening?” I pushed the woman away from me.
“Oh, my sweet girl. I know you’re confused,” the woman said.
I refused to look at her or hear anything she had to say. My gaze was locked on the guilty man by the door, the man I’d just told I loved him.
“Your mom is alive, Bonita.” He took a step toward me. “Please don’t forget what I told you.”
I swung my arm and slapped him so hard my hand stung. “What have you done?” I yelled at him as guttural sobs bore down on me.
“Track, what is she talking about?” the woman asked him.
“Who’s Track?” I shoved him in the chest. “Who are you? Who are all of you?” I beat my fists on his chest repeatedly, and he took every hit I gave him. Was I losing my mind?
He pulled me into his arms and held me firmly against him. The room spun, and my legs weakened, but he didn’t let me fall.
“Bring her to the bed,” the woman told him. “Then I want you and your father to leave us.”
“I’m not leaving her,” Joseph replied.
“She’s my daughter.”
“She’s my woman.” He guided me to the bed and helped me under the covers. I felt paralyzed and numb. I heard them talking, but I had no energy to engage them.
“What?” the woman gasped. “Do you hear this, Raul? He called his step-sister his woman.”
And I was done.
I hit Joseph’s hand away. “Get out! All of you… Get. Out!” I bolted for the bathroom and slammed it shut, locking the door. I slid down onto my ass and sobbed.
“Brynne.” He knocked. “Let me explain. Please let me explain.”
I shook my head. What was there to explain? My mother appeared to be perfectly fine and very much alive. The man I loved and trusted was named “Track” and was my “step-brother?”
I gagged, wholly disgusted and sick to my stomach. I crawled to the toilet, lifted the lid, and puked up my guts. I heaved into the porcelain bowl.
“Goddammit, I will break this fucking door down,” he yelled.
A ruckus ensued in the bedroom. I tuned them out. Tuned out the entire world and dialed into the retch sounds coming out of me.
I wanted to be alone. Loneliness was all I knew. I was safe when all I had was myself to rely on.
I dabbed my mouth with a tissue, fell away from the toilet, and curled into a fetal position on the cold tile floor.
Depleted and totally wrecked, I closed my eyes.
None of this made sense. Was I having the most realistic nightmare ever? Or was my whole life a lie?
I placed my hand on my stomach. Rest, I needed rest.