Dying to Remember (The Station #2) by Trish Marie Dawson Page B

feeling.
    Well,
Rush. If you can hear me, I bet you didn't see this one coming, did you?
     
    ***
     
    Night comes
quickly and sleep takes Jess away just moments after she closes her swollen
eyes. This would usually be my time to wade through the memories and thoughts
of my assignment with peace, but peace escapes me completely on this night.
I've never had the impulse as strong as I do now to chew each of my finger
nails to the quick and pull my hair out by the handful.
    I don't
know what to do.
    And it's
true, I really don't. Whatever problems Jess had before my arrival, they are
now multiplied infinitely by what happened today. Lost in the lightlessness of
Jess's mind, I imagine being in my body, crumpled in a heap on the floor of the
Station, feeling defeated and hopeless. Just as I do now.
    I don't need
memories to tell me that the relationship she has with her parents is a
strained one and in the case of Mommy Dearest it's practically nonexistent.
Jess was born into the family simply because it was expected for her parents to
have at least one child. There were nannies when she was young and Isabel took
over as a surrogate parent when Jess became a teenager. Since both Mr. and Mrs.
Levy were esteemed and highly successful Doctors, they didn't have time to
raise a child. And they had little interest in making Jess a priority.
    Surprisingly,
there is no history of physical or sexual abuse, other than the more recent
abuse at the hands of the now dead Chris. Jess has friends, though she doesn't
share her private thoughts or happenings with them. They are more like
accessories, so that Jess fits in. Nothing more.
    Then there's
the pregnancy and the abortion. Chris was her first, and he was a perfect
gentleman in the beginning. Bringing her gifts, sending her sweet texts and attaching
love notes to the bouquet of roses he would spontaneously deliver on
Thursdays…just because. But once they slept together, he changed. He became
possessive of her, jealous of her time spent with anyone other than him. Jess
didn't know what to do, and had no one to talk to, so she let it be for as long
as she could handle it. Then she woke up one morning and threw up on the
expensive Egyptian rug that decorated her elaborately designed bedroom before
she could make it to the bathroom. After spending two weeks puking or feeling
like she was going to, she caved and peed on a stick to verify what she already
knew was true. She drove all the way across town to buy the test, even wore her
over-sized sunglasses to hide her face under a hat while she shopped. The only
person that saw her was the teller and she didn't know him, and doubted he even
cared who she was.
    It was
finding out that Chris had been sleeping with not just one, but two other girls
that Jess finally had what she considered an excuse to break up with him.
Several days of constant phone calls and middle of the night visits banging on
the front door and Jess's parents couldn't take it anymore and banished him
from the property. Though even then, they didn't really want to know what
happened. Isabel was the only person Jess talked to about Chris.
    Just over a
week ago she drove almost two hours away for a clinic that wasn't associated in
any way with her parents. She barely made the drive home; stopping twice before
she fainted. And she told no one. Not until today. It was a secret she wanted
to keep, but in light of recent events, she might not be able to hide it from
the police. They would want to know why Chris attacked her. I sort through
every fight she's ever had with the high school jock until I find what I
need…she isn't the only one who knows about his violent side.
    Her name is
Marisa Swain. And I know just where to find her.
     
    ***
     
    Jess waited
until her parents retreated to their separate parts of the house for work, long
after dinner was consumed in silence. No one spoke at the table. Jess pushed
the food around on the plate until her mother chastised her. It was