Chapter 19

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I drank the last drop of the third glass of whiskey, and when I sensed a bit relief, I unclothed myself and stepped into the bathroom. I turned the shower on and let the water flow over my head. I released out a heavy breath as I let my body shiver in the cold water. I closed my eyes and started to analyze the bizarre things that were happening to me.

Clara was right. It was impossible. How could I even think of that? I wanted to believe in myself, that I was doing the right thing and that I was sane enough to work on this alone. The truth was, I couldn't because I was scared. I knew to myself that something was wrong with me.

How could I possibly think that I was Rafe? If I was him, it means my mother was lying to me. It means all of this was just because my mind was fucking with me. Was it all just a coincidence? When Mom rescued me from a fire accident, I lost my memory and then when it came back. I knew who I was. I was Travis. I grew up in Italy with a foster parent. I sold fish sticks to make a living—there were memories of me fighting in the streets with the other kids and I speak Italian. If I was Rafe, what are those memories? If I was him, then who was Travis? Surely, I wouldn't be him. Mom wouldn't do that to me. She was my rescuer.

After a few minutes of debating with my thoughts, I pulled out a towel and dried my face. I was wiping myself then I saw my reflection in the mirror. I couldn't help but ask the man who's staring back at me.

Who are you?

I shook my head in disbelief, but then I stared back at her. All I see was the man who's confused about his own mind. A man who's finding answers about the death of his brother and the people who're trying to kill him. I slowly dried up myself with the towel, but not taking off my eyes on the mirror.

Suddenly it hit me. My eyes landed at the side of my waist. Quivering, I traced the scar with my finger. I had it ever since I woke up in the hospital after the fire. A long scar that seemed so deep.

I backed away from the mirror. I panted.

"Second, I was stabbed at the side of my waist by a random man coming out from a black van..."

"Second, I was stabbed at the side of my waist by a random man coming out from a black van..."

"Second, I was stabbed at the side of my waist by a random man coming out from a black van..."

It was stab wounds.

"Fuck!" I screamed. I covered myself with the towel and stormed out of the bathroom. I hurriedly clothed myself and then I sprinted out of the room. Not minding the time, I went straight to Clara's room and knocked on the door with haste.

"Clara! Open the door, right now. Please..." I knocked loudly again. "Clara?"

Clara opened the door in a few minutes. She was already in her baby blue sleepwear. "What do you want, Trave? You're going to wake Stephon up," she complained, scratching her eyes.

"Listen to me, Clara..."

"Why are you panting—" she paused. "Trave? What's going on with you?"

"No time to explain. I have a question for you."

"Yes, what is it? What's the rush?"

"Do you know if Rafe had a scar anywhere on his body?"

She frowned. "A scar? I don't know, why do you ask?"

"Well..." I swallowed. "You know, you are a couple... you might have seen it or noticed—"

"Hold on." Clara held up a hand, "Travis what is going on with you?"

"Come." I grabbed her hand then I took her to my room. I closed the door, made sure it was locked and then I stood in front of her, staring at her confused eyes. I pulled my shirt off.

"Trave!" She panicked, clasping her mouth with her palms. Her eyes widened as she gazed landed on my bare chest. She looked away immediately.

"Take a look..." I breathed out, resting my hands on my waist.

She stepped back instead. "Gee, just what the hell are you doing?"

"Now, I am going to ask you one more time. Have you seen anything like this on Rafe?" I showed her the scar on my left side.

She gasped, shaking her head. "Oh God, I don't know what's happening to you anymore." Her voice raised an octave.

"Just answer the question!" I snapped.

She looked at my scar again. "I don't know. I am not sure."

"I'm sure you two had sex, that's why you have Stephon. Just in case you have seen this scar on him when he was naked, tell me now."

She swallowed. "I don't know, okay? Oh God, Trave, is this about your crazy ideas again?"

"I told you that I opened the hard drive, right? I found Rafael's files, documents, and video clips. He filmed himself before he passed away or not. He... kind of uh, he was talking about this incident that he was almost killed by a stab wound. He never told anybody. So I was figuring that maybe—"

"Oh no, please don't start with that again!" She shook her head, begging. "Please no, Travis, no."

"Clara listen to me... I've been doubting my identity for a while now. What if this is the answer? What if—"

"Stop!" she screamed. "If he had the scar, so what? Maybe you two shared a kidney or something?"

I rolled my eyes. "No! Goddamnit, will you please listen to me?" I bellowed. I breathed hard, then pressed my nose bridge with my fingers. "I need your help now. I need you..." I uttered as I fell down the bed.

"What do you want me to do then? Tolerate this?"

I looked at her. "If there's one person who knew him better, it's you. So please, help me with this..."

She stared back at me. She began to weep. "Oh, please, no..." she shook her head. "No. This can't be true."

"I remembered how you looked at me when you first saw me. You were convinced that I was him."

"That's only when I first saw you, not anymore, Travis. You are different from him in every way. You may look exactly that same, but you are different."

I nodded. "Okay. Then I wish you right. I wish that this isn't true. I wish I'm the man who I thought I am every time I am waking up in the morning. But everything doesn't make any more sense to me. This whole thing... and how accurate are the timelines? I lost my memory from an accident. Rafael died from an accident. My mother kept me away from everyone because someone wanted to murder her son. Maybe she... she only made me believe that I am somebody else because of that—"

"Wait," she cut in. "What are you saying?"

"Rafael's death isn't an accident. He was murdered from some evil reason. The evidence is all in his files."

She bit her lip hard. "Then are you saying you are..."

"I am saying that I could be Rafe, Clara."

"We don't know that."

"I know but we will find out, okay?"

"How?" she asked.

"I could ask my mother, right?"

"And if she refused?"

"I have ways..." I whispered.

Clara knees fell, then sobbed painfully. "I can't take this. I can't. If you are Rafe, I may never know what to do..."

I exhaled out sharply then sat on the floor behind her. I wrapped my arms around her and pressed a small kiss on her temple. "We will figure out what to do, and whoever I may be—Travis or Rafael..." I kissed her cheek softly. "I am here for you." 

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