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“You thought you’d find out your name, and it would jog your memory,” he guesses.
I nod, my tears still falling. The fear I’d been keeping at bay seeps out of me like water through a crack in a dam that threatens to drown us all.
“The drug you were given is pretty potent. You need to be patient with yourself. Heal.”
“That’s easy for you to say, but there is a killer out there who knows I survived. If he doesn’t already know my name, he will soon. And if that’s not terrifying enough, I won’t recognize him. He could walk up to me in the supermarket or be a delivery guy. Or it could be a nurse at the hospital. It could be anyone, and I wouldn’t know until it was too late.”
The sob rips out of me as I drop the file into my lap.
“Hey, come on.” Nathan moves closer and wraps his arms around me. “Nothing is going to happen to you, Rue. You didn’t survive everything just to give up now. I know you’re scared. And you have every right to be, but you have a lot of people looking out for you right now, me included. We could put you in protective custody like the feds want?—”
I shake my head. “I need to be around familiar things. I need something to jog my memory, something to spark something—anything. I’m scared that if I go into hiding, I’ll lose all sight of who I was. And if that happens, I might never get her back again.”
He rubs his hand up and down my back, and I look up at him.
His eyes take in my tear-stained face before dropping to my lips briefly. “I can sleep on your sofa.”
“Won’t you get into trouble?”
“It’s not like I’m going to run around the station and advertise the fact, but I’m not about to leave you alone either. That’s not the kind of man I am.”
I nod and rub my eyes. I’m so tired, yet all I’ve done is sleep. God, I don’t remember ever feeling so exhausted before.
Oh, that’s right. I don’t remember anything. A semi-hysterical laugh slips from my lips and quickly dissolves into another sob.
Nathan curses and tugs me into his arms again, holding me tighter. Right now, he’s the only thing that’s stopping me from completely falling apart. Maybe in the morning, I’ll be embarrassed. But right now, I couldn’t care less.
When Nathan found me, I thought everything would be okay. Though I’m grateful not to be dying in a ditch, I’m so far from okay; it’s a joke.
When I’m too worn out to even cry anymore, Nathan lowers me back down to the pillow. He leans over me and strokes my hair away from my face, much like the night he found me.
“It might not seem like it now, Rue, but it’s going to be okay. I promise.”
I let my eyes flutter closed, not bothering to tell him not to make promises he can’t keep.
When I wake up, it’s with clarity.
I still can't remember anything, but it’s as if I’ve processed that and the chaos of the last few days and am now ready to move on to the next stage of healing. One thing is for sure: I can’t stay here.
Looking around the empty room, I take in the long dresser under the window and the table at the end of the bed and notice the absence of cards and flowers. I understand that nobody knew who I was before, but now that the police know my real identity, I’m curious as to why nobody has come to see me.
I know the police are still concerned for my safety, but I just wish I knew if there were people out there who cared about me—loved me even. Did I have a husband or a boyfriend? Maybe I had a girlfriend. I shake that thought off. My doctor is a beautiful woman, but other than having hair envy, she didn’t stir any kind of interest in me. Nathan, however, made my pulse quicken when he looked at me with those soulful eyes of his. Yeah, definitely not gay, not that I intended on trying anything with him anyway. The man has literally seen me at my worst. Besides, I could have someone out there wondering when the hell I’m coming home. Fuck, I could have kids.
It’s all the uncertainty and not knowing anything that’s messing with me. If I knew something, I could work from there, like having the first piece of a puzzle. But right now, all I have is a whole lot of nothing, and it’s terrifying.
I carefully sit up, my bruised ribs protesting, but I know how lucky I am that tender ribs are the worst thing I walked away with. None of the others were quite so lucky. I swallow down theurge to vomit and ease myself off the bed before walking over to the attached bathroom.
I use the facilities before heading over to the shower and turning it on. I move to the counter while the water heats up and carefully take off my hospital gown. I turn my back and look at the reflection of the tattoo I discovered yesterday—a series of musical notes that run the entire length of my spine. As pretty as it is, it had to be painful when I got it. I would have had no idea back then that I’d forget all about the pain and the tattoo altogether.
I turn back around and look at my long, curly red hair and groan at the tangled mess. That’s going to be a bitch to get a brush through. Dismissing it for a second, I take in the rest of my face. Funnily enough, there isn’t a bruise on it. The first time I looked, I had expected black eyes and bruised cheekbones, but the only signs that anything was wrong were the dark circles under my eyes and a long cut right next to my hairline.
My skin is pale. I assume that’s a natural thing for me with the red hair, but even so, I look almost transparent right now, as if all the color has leached from my skin. If it weren’t for the sprinkling of freckles across the top of my cheeks and the bridge of my nose, I’d look like a ghost.
I stare into my copper eyes, that look like pennies, and sigh. Turning, I step into the shower and wonder how a person carries on with their life when everything that shaped them and made them into who they are is gone.
Am I a good person? Am I kind? Do I have a job? Am I happy?
As a thousand more questions erupt in my head, I lean against the wall and slide down to the floor, bringing my knees up to my chest.
