Chapter Five
Exactly how the hell I am going to act like I don’t want to slice this piece of shit’s throat the minute he is ready to leave is beyond me. Zack and I didn’t really have much time to talk or strategize any of this out before he had to leave; I have so many questions running through my mind.
“God, Turner, where are you?” I whisper.
Turner was an only child, for God’s sake. How could this be? His father took off when he was two and neither his mom nor Turner ever heard from him again. It was as if he fell off the face of the earth. And Melody, his mom, has kept the fact that he has an identical twin brother a secret. How could she do that? The biggest question is, why would she do that? And what does Trent expect to gain from stealing his brother’s identity?
The thing that is tearing me up more than anything is the fact that I’ve had sex with him. No wonder he seemed so different. I’ve slept with another man a man who I don’t even know and now that I know the truth about him, I have to pretend that I don’t? I lay my head on my desk and I can’t help but let the tears fall. My body is wracked with deep, body-thrashing sobs. Tears continue to fall as my heart feels the pain and torment of what is happening all around me. I need Turner, my Turner.
“Oh, God!” I scream.
“Clove! What in the hell is the matter, sweetheart?”
That voice. The voice sounding just like my Turner is asking me if I am all right. Fucking hell, no! I am not all right, you asshole. You have destroyed my life, so fuck no, I am NOT ALL RIGHT.
I can’t look up at him yet. Keeping these murderous thoughts to myself, I shake my head back and forth in pure disgust at myself for what I have done and what I will have to do.
I feel him place his hand on my back and I stiffen from his touch. Pull yourself together, Clove and think. Think! I lift my tear stricken face off of my desk.
“I have a horrible headache,” I mumble and try to gauge his reaction to see if he knows that at times I come down with migraines.
“Is it another one of your migraines?” He asks with his fake concern.
Oh, this asshole is good. How he knows about my headaches makes me wonder what else he knows about me. He knows everything. I just know he does.
“I think so. Do you mind if we skip out on our plans for tonight? I just want to go home and take a pill and climb into bed.”
“No, not at all. Let’s get you home. You know I hate it when my girl doesn’t feel well.”
Oh, how I want to slap him across his smug face as he removes his hand from my back, then strides to the table on the other side of the room to bring me back a box of Kleenex. With shaky hands I remove a few and wipe my face, stand, and gather my belongings without a thank you or another word to him.
Now that I know the truth about this man not being my husband, the thought of being anywhere near him repulses me. Until I can come to grips with all of this I need to stay as far away from him as possible. I need time to think and time to plan how the hell I am going to deal with the fact that the man I am sharing a bed with is not the man that I love.
I should win a damn award for best actress as we drive home and I am forced to listen to this stranger who looks just like my husband ramble on about how he is going to take care of me when we get home. I don’t want him to take care of me. I want my husband to take care of me!
As Trent soothingly runs his hands through my hair as we drive home, I take the time to study him in profile. Everything about him looks so similar to Turner’s distinctive features . . . eye color, hair color, body size, even the shape of his head. Their voices are the same, too. My head really does start to ache as I think about the one thing that truly sets them apart from one another- it’s the way they have sex. Turner is so gentle and kind and worships every part of my body and Trent fucks. Plain and simple, he just fucks. I recoil as far into my seat as I can, shying away from his touch and laying my head against the window.
“Almost home. Do you need me to stop and get you anything?”
Every time I hear that voice it takes me further into a state of heartbreak.
“No. Just get me home. Sorry about ruining our plans for tonight.”
I remain still with my eyes closed.
“Hey, don’t be sorry. I hate seeing you like this. You’re the most important person in the world to me, and you know it.”
No, asshole, I don’t know it. Whatever your reason is for doing this, it seems to me you’re the most important person in your world, you bastard. God, I wish I could tell him how I feel.
“It will be good to just sit around and do nothing. It’s been one hell of a week at work.”
His voice sounds a little irritable.
An epiphany hits me when he mentions work. How in the hell has he pulled off pretending to be Turner for almost a week now, even at the office? Has he been stalking us and watching our every move? How did he know where we lived after I picked him up from the airport? And my home! He knows where everything is. He walked right in the other day and he knew.
Jesus Christ, he knows my morning routine. He knows almost everything about me. How does he know all this?
Unless . . . oh God, no. He’s been in our home when we haven’t been there. He might even have hidden cameras all over the house, seeing as how he’s so familiar with the most private details of my life.
All of a sudden I am fuming. I want to claw his eyes out and scream at him, to demand for him to tell me where Turner is. Why? What in the hell could my husband have possibly done to him to make this crazy fucker want to destroy him? But I can’t. I sure as hell know who can, though, and after my brother and I figure out exactly what it is that we need to do, the first person I am going to pay a not-so-friendly visit to will be Melody.
“What can I do to make you feel better?” the sick bastard asks as we enter my house. My damned house, not his. Mine and Turner’s.
Get the fuck out of here and go get my husband, you sick and twisted fucker, is what I really want to say. Turner would never ask me, ‘what can I do?’ He would just do it because he knows me.
“Nothing,” is what actually comes out. I toss my purse on the counter as I normally do and set off towards the stairs. “I am just going to take a pill and climb into bed.”
“Clove.” His voice startles me as I begin to ascend. “Wait a second.”
He wraps his arms around me from behind. Thank God he cannot see my face because I feel tears starting to well up in my eyes again.
“I’ll be right down here if you need anything, so just holler, okay?”
He kisses the top of my head and squeezes me just a little tighter before releasing me.
I really have to get my act together or he is going to catch on to the fact that I know he is an impostor. I continue up the stairs and enter my bedroom, softly closing the door. A calmness settles in my heart when I notice my wedding picture sitting on the dresser.
I draw nearer and run my hands over Turner’s face. Tears of both outrage and pain relentlessly fall as I look down at him, blurring my vision. Covering my mouth for fear that Trent will hear me, I just stand there and stare at the man I love, wondering what he must be feeling right now. If he knows what is going on, he must be as scared to death for me as I am for him.
“I am so in love with you, Turner Calloway,” I whisper.
I scrutinize the picture that was taken on the best day of my life and study the features I know so well. It’s remarkable how identical the two of them truly do look. The more I stare, the angrier I become, and the more determined I am to get to the bottom of this nightmare.
Pulling my glance away from the picture, my gaze drifts over to Turner’s closet. With slow steps I enter and I am surrounded by the strong smell of my man.
I fumble my way through all of his clothes, desperate to find the shirt I am looking for. I toss clothes all over the floor until I find the dark blue shirt that we bought for him on our honeymoon. I bring the shirt up to my nose and sniff, triggering my tears again. I slip down to my knees, crying and rocking myself back and forth on his closet floor.
I have never been so scared of anything in all of my life. I need him, and he needs me. We belong together. There is no fucking way I am going to let anyone take him away from me. Sitting on my knees for God knows how long surrounded by all things Turner, I vow to him and to myself that I will find him and bring him home where he belongs.
Even though it’s the beginning of summer and warm outside, I remove my clothes and change into a pair of sweats and Turner’s t-shirt. Right now the thought of my skin touching his makes my body shudder. I feel as if I am going to suffocate. The information I need to find Turner lies within the man downstairs; it’s only a matter of time before he is going to want to touch me again and I am going to have to let him. If I don’t, I may never see my husband again.
Can I do this now that I know the truth? I thought my husband was having an affair; never in my wildest dreams could I ever have imagined the real reason he was acting so differently. More guilt and shame eat away at me for doubting my Turner at all.
I feel somehow disconnected from my mind, body, and soul as I try and separate my old reality from the nightmare happening all around me. Turner is everywhere in this house, in our bedroom, and in this bed. This bed where I have slept with another man. How long am I going to be stuck in this never-ending cycle of deceit?
Curling myself up in a ball, I lay there in the dark and wonder where my husband is. Is he safe? Alive? He has to be alive. I close my eyes and picture my brave man and pray that wherever he is, he knows how much I love him and that everything I have to do is because he’s everything to me.
I believe in soul mates, and Turner is and always will be mine, even if this destroys us. But then I realize that it doesn’t matter what I say or do, now. I am never going to be able to forgive myself, and Turner is never going to look at me the same way again. He is never going to want me, knowing someone else has had me. Our lives are ruined, and for what?
Even though my back is to the bedroom door, I feel Trent standing in the doorway. Staying as still as possible so that he thinks I am sleeping, I lay there and wait for him to climb into bed. When he does, I still don’t move.
Please don’t touch me. Not yet.
But he does. He moves closer to me and wraps his arms around me, tucking himself in close. I don’t want to acknowledge his presence but I can’t risk tipping him off.
“Hey,” I murmur.
“Hey, sweetheart. You feeling better?” he says softly.
“Not really.”
And it’s the truth.
“I’m sorry. I wish I knew what to do to make you feel better.”
“You know the only thing that makes me feel better when I get these headaches is sleep,” I sigh.
He lets out a frustrated breath and loosens his hold from around my waist. I can smell the alcohol on his breath and with his arms around me and that smell, my gut starts churning and I feel like I could be sick.
Pushing all those thoughts back and curling into his touch, I close my eyes knowing that I won’t feel better until I have my husband’s arms around me, not the arms of a stranger. A stranger who scares me, a man I have a feeling will kill my husband and me if he ever finds out what I know.