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I didn’t answer, but I’m sure the horrified look spreading across my face as the realization sunk in and took hold of me spoke volumes.

I couldn’t do this right now – I wasn’t about to hash things out here, on a freaking Ferris wheel hovering forty yards above the ground. In fact, I didn’t think I wanted to hash things out at all. Ever. I just wanted to run away and forget the past three months of my life ever happened. But first, I needed to get away from him. And I couldn’t let on that I’d remembered, that I knew, or he’d never let me leave without talking things out.

And I definitely didn’t want to talk. I wanted to flee. I wanted to punch him in the face, then sleep with every beautiful man who walked across my path until his scent and his touch were permanently removed from my memory. I wanted to whitewash my walls, burn my bed to ash, and throw my guitar in a gutter somewhere.

Hold it together, Brooklyn.

“I feel sick,” I lied through my teeth, my tone flat and utterly devoid of emotion. “I forgot how much I hate Ferris wheels.” That part, at least, was true – after this, they’d be forever ruined for me.

“Aw, I’m sorry, princess,” Finn’s voice was gentle, understanding, loving; listening to it felt like he’d thrown salt in an open wound. “You had me worried.”

When he wrapped his arms around me, I couldn’t help myself – I went completely tense. It took everything I had not to pull away.

“Bee?” Finn’s questioned, confusion evident in his voice.

I was really f*cking up my plan to act like nothing was wrong; I needed to pull it together. One muscle at a time, I forced my body to relax in his arms.

“Sorry. I’m really okay,” I swallowed the lie. “Just trying not to throw up.”

Unfortunately, that second part was true. I’d been fighting nausea since I’d returned from my involuntary jaunt down memory lane, but it had nothing to do with motion sickness or heights.

“Don’t worry,” he told me. “We’re almost back on the ground.”

He was right; we were the next car to unload. I still hadn’t looked at him, for fear of what he might read in my eyes.

I couldn’t look at him.

Hell, I would barely be able to stomach looking myself in the mirror.

I felt used, dirty, lost, betrayed. But, worse, I felt like a child. Completely beguiled and na?ve. And those were words no one had ever, in the history of my existence, used to describe Brooklyn Turner.

The emotions were threatening to overwhelm me, and I knew if I started crying now, I might never stop; I needed to be far, far away from him when the levies inevitably broke.

Hold it together, Brooklyn. You can do this. Just a little longer.

When we touched down and climbed out of our car, I immediately sidestepped Finn so I was standing several feet away. He noticed my distance immediately – how could he not? In the months since we’d met, even when we weren’t officially dating, we’d always fully invaded each other’s space, gravitating so close to one another that we were near-touching at all times.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” I said, turning to scan the crowd for the nearest restroom. When I spotted the dull green concrete building several yards away, I turned on my heel without another word and began striding toward it. I made it about halfway there before Finn caught up with me, grabbing my arm to bring me to a halt.

“Hey, do you need me to come in with you? Hold your hair back or…something?” His voice was a mix of confusion and concern, the sincerity in his words burning my ears like acid.

“No,” I said, yanking my arm away roughly. “I need to throw up, Finn. Girls don’t like their boyfriends—.” I nearly choked over the word “–seeing them like that, okay? So let me go. I’ll be fine. But if I stand here another moment, you’re going to be covered in regurgitated fried dough and cotton candy.”

“Okay…I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I’ll wait for you outside. Just…let me know if you need me.” He sounded upset, and for a moment I felt sorry that I was being so nasty to him; only for a moment, though, because I quickly remembered that he was a lying bastard who’d been toying with me for god only knew how long.

As I raced for the bathroom, alone this time, I had an even more terrifying thought: What if Finn wasn’t just a liar…what if he was psychotic?

Here I’d been, worried that all those phone calls and scary instances were the work of a stalker or some kind of unknown sociopath who was out to get me. But what if I’d been closer to my attacker than I ever thought possible…so close, I’d invited him into my bed and thrown down a freaking welcome mat at the doorstep of my heart?

I rejected that thought so fast it barely had time to fully form, expelling it from my mind with a violent forcefulness that surprised even myself. No matter what – who – Finn Chambers was, he would never hurt me. I knew that as clearly as I knew that sun rose every day in the east, that my middle name was Grace, and that seven shots of Cuervo were enough to make me forget what year it was.

I'd never had a broken heart before, but now I totally understood the term. It isn't just an emotional pain, it's a physical one – as if someone has literally reached inside your chest and ripped your heart out, leaving an aching, open cavity behind that you know has no hope of ever fully healing.