"Where are you, Polina?" She wrings her hands, and she's crying. There's a man—no, there areseveralmen, faceless but not quite strangers, there with her, comforting her. They're familiar, but I couldn't name them. I couldn't place them.
My heart aches. I reach for her, and I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. I try, desperate to communicate with her as she gets farther and farther away from me. I can’t see how she’s drifting away, so I’m helpless to get to her or bring her back to me until her back is to me. The farther she goes, the harder I try to get her attention.
"I'm here," I want to say, which makes no sense to me, even in my dream, because… my name is not Polina. My name is Anissa. I have no mother. And who are the strangers?
Half waking, I feel strong arms around me, warm, comforting. Restrictive. I scream and thrash, but it does no good. I open my eyes and sit up, gasping for air.
I turn toward Rafail… my husband. He holds me. "You're all right," he says, and even though it looks like he's trying to soothe me, concern is written across his features. "I've got you. It was just a dream. Just a dream."
It’s terrifying to wake from one dream only to realize that you’re living in a nightmare. "It's all right," he says, his voice softer this time.
I remind myself over and over… My husband. This is my husband. I married him and wear his ring. I still don’t remember.
There's some comfort in at least knowing who he is.This is my husband.I'm getting to know him, and I’m safe. I’m okay.
All right, I can do this. Just as a trial, I push one of his arms, which is wrapped around me, until he lets me go. He’s only trying to comfort me, not restrain me.
This time.
Still, my heart is beating so fast that I feel a little sick.
I sit up in bed and look around the room. "It was just a dream," I repeat.
We had sex the first night, the two of us, and it’s been a few days since then. He’s touched me, talked to me, but mostly workedhard at making sure no one bothered me so I could “rest” and “recover.”
I won't call itmaking lovebecause I don't know him well enough to call this anything even close to that. There’s something about the way he touched me, the way he kissed me, that spoke more to me than his harsh words and angry glares.
This man, who is still a practical stranger to me, is a lover. He knows his way around my body, and I definitely enjoyed the novelty of being with him. It was nice to lose myself in him for a little while.
“What’s going on?” he asks in a low, husky murmur. "Do you want to talk about it? Was it a… bad dream or something?" he says. There's a little divot between his brows that tells how much effort it takes for him to be gentle. He’s worried about me. Give Rafail Kopolov a sword and tell him to slay your dragons, and he'll do it without hesitation. Ask him to talk about emotions, and he’s terribly out of his element.
I may not know who I am, but I'm starting to get to know whoheis.
"It was," I say quietly, looking away because I'm still trying to sift through the memory of what happened. "There was a woman—an older woman, someone who could've been my mother. But you told me I don’t have a mother."
"You don't," he says quietly. There’s no sign of a lie.
“She called me Polina.” I look at his face for some sign of recognition, but either he's a very good liar, or the name is unfamiliar to him too.
"I've never heard that name before," he says. "I mean, I don’t know anyone who goes by that name.”
I open my mouth to tell him, but something holds me back. I look away.
I am vulnerable, split wide open, and completely at his mercy.
Who is Polina?
Maybe I need to keep a few things to myself. Maybe?—
His finger under my chin gets my attention. I swing my gaze to his as he cups my jaw. "You looked like you were going to speak and then stopped. What is it?"
"The name wasn't unfamiliar to me, Rafail. It felt… like it fit.”
He stares at me and nods, perplexed. “That isn’t your name. I know these types of medications can really wreck dreams. I'll ask the doctor to put you on something else tonight.” He frowns. “How's your pain level?" He’s eager to get answers, something tangible.
A dragon to slay.
"Manageable," I say softly because it is much better than it was. I sigh. I feel like one of those people in a movie, gifted with a vision and determined to get others to see what they can’t. Any moment, he’ll take my temperature to see if I’m delusional.
