Page 84 of When Hearts Unravel

The office windows and glass walls turn opaque, then darken. Rex shifts in the recliner, clearly uncomfortable with my question.

Since he’s evading me, I answer, “Tremors, headaches, mood changes, poor judgment, psychosis and hallucinations, not to mention increased risk of heart disease, diabetes, high blood pressure, impaired memory—”

He barks out a harsh laugh, his eyes snapping open. “If only.”

I flinch. The seething anger in his voice shocks me.

Rex shakes his head, then wipes his eyes with his fingers. “You sound like one of those pharmaceutical commercials.” Clearing his throat, he sits up and takes on a professional newscaster tone. “Velowake’s side effects may include…”

Velowake?I scribble that in my notebook. Those must be the pills he’s taking.

“What crossed your mind just now?”

Snorting, he stifles his laughter and turns to me, bleary-eyed. “What do you mean?”

“You laughed when I mentioned the symptoms of sleep deprivation. Something must have triggered that.”

His smile vanishes and in its place is a new mask—flattened lips, clenched jaw, flared nostrils. His knees bounce a restless rhythm.

I used to think his whiplash moods were disorienting, but now they make sense, given how little he sleeps.

His body and brain don’t have time to recover.

Glancing away, he murmurs, “I’m feeling generous today. I’ll give you another truth. I have HSAM.”

I frown, and he adds, “Highly superior autobiographical memory. I don’t forget things, even when I want to. That’s why I was laughing.”

His revelation is a light bulb flickering on in a dark room. HSAM. It’s something I’ve read about in passing in medical school. We don’t spend much time studying rare conditions.

But it makes sense.

While he hasn’t confided what troubles him, I’ve always sensed his guilt and self-hatred. It must’ve been something in the past he thought he did—someone he wronged, a tragedy he caused.

And he can’t forget because his mind doesn’t let him.

“That’s terrible.” Without thinking, I place my hand on his knee, stilling it.

He releases a ragged exhale and looks at me. This time, there’s no mask—no faked humor, no crude jokes, no shameless flirting.

There’s only pain in those storm cloud irises.

“Is that why you can’t sleep?” I ask, keeping my voice soft, not wanting to disrupt this rare moment of vulnerability from a man whose entire identity is a lie. “Because something happened in the past and you can’t forget it? And you replay it in your mind repeatedly, but it doesn’t really matter because the outcome will never change?”

He draws a stiff inhale, and wetness gathers in his eyes. An answering ache twists behind my rib cage.

Yes.That’s what his eyes are telling me.Free me, Olivia. Free me from the past.

Gripping his knee tighter, I want to transfer his pain to me. “That’ll drive anyone crazy…to relive the worst moments of their lives, never escaping them.”

His throat works, then wretched gasps saw out of his lips. Tears gather, but they don’t fall because he’s holding them in.

A new tension ripples through his frame, the muscles in his thighs trembling.

Let it out, Rex. Let it out.

I squeeze his knee, letting him know I’m here.

Perhaps the world doesn’t understand his pain, but I do. And it’s okay. He’ll be okay.