Page 222 of One of Those Amnesia Stories

I never wanted to erase him from my bones.

My throat was dry. I tried to move, to reach for the water on the table, my limbs heavy. I barely shifted before Cassian’s head snapped up. His eyes were wide, disoriented, still caught somewhere between sleep and waking. Then they found my face, and he was on his feet.

“I’ll get the doctor.”

“No.” My voice came out rough. “Just pass me the water.”

He stopped. Turned back. His hands were careful as he helped me sit up, as he held the bottle to my lips, as his fingers combed through my hair in slow, unconscious strokes. I drank. He waited. When I was done, he set the bottle down and looked at me.

And froze.

I didn’t say anything. I let my eyes do the work. I watched him read them. Watched the confusion clear, watched the dawning understanding, watched the disbelief that followed.

His face crumpled. A furrow formed between his brows, then smoothed, then formed again, like his face couldn’t decide what to feel first. His eyes filled.

“You—” His voice broke. He leaned forward, perched on the edge of the bed, his hands coming up to frame my face. His palms were warm, trembling slightly, pressing against my cheeks like he needed to feel the shape of me to be sure.

“You remember.” His voice was barely a whisper, cracking in the middle.

I nodded.

A breath left him—long, shuddering, like he’d been holding it for months. His forehead dropped to mine. His hands slid down my arms, gripping my elbows, my wrists, my hands, like he needed to touch all of me to believe it was real. Then his arms were around me, pulling me into him, and he was kissing my forehead, my eyes, my cheeks, my jaw. Every inch of my face.

“You walked away from me.”

He froze.

His hands stopped. His lips stopped. His whole body went still against mine. He leaned back just enough to see my face.

My eyes found his. The words came out before I could stop them, raw and honest and still bleeding. “That night. After you said your piece, you just left. In the middle of the conversation. You walked away.”

A pained look crossed his face, the memory of it surfacing behind his eyes. His hands came up, framing my face, his thumbs brushing the tears I hadn’t realized were falling. “I know. I’m so sorry.”

“Stop saying sorry.”

He nodded, swallowing. “Okay.”

“You said—” My voice caught. I forced it out. “You said the words ‘your little party.’ Like it was nothing. Like I was nothing. Like everything I did was just—”

His forehead landed on mine, his breath uneven. “I know.”

My hands gripped the front of his shirt. “You can’t do that, Cassian.” My voice shook. “You can’t dismiss me like that. You can’t ignore me. You can’t—” A tear slipped down my face. “It hurt me. It hurt me so much. I spent months planning that party. And you looked at me like I was nothing. Like I was in your way.”

His jaw was tight. I could feel him trembling against me.

“If you’re tired, tell me. If you’re stressed, tell me. But don’t talk to me in that tone. Don’t make me feel like I’m invisible. Don’t make me feel like everything I do for you doesn’t matter.”

He kissed my forehead, my temple, the corner of my eye where tears kept spilling. “I won’t. I won’t ever do that again. I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry for everything that happened that night. I’m sorry for the months before it. I’m sorry for every time I made you feel small, invisible, like you weren’t the only thing that mattered.” His voice wavered. “I won’t do it ever again. I swear.”

My hands slid to the back of his neck, holding him close. “I shouldn’t have asked you that question that night.” My voice was barely a whisper. “I knew it was hard for you. I knew there was some reason. And I still—”

He pulled back, his eyes sharp. “Alessia, no.” His hands tightened on my face. “Don’t. You should have asked. You had every right to ask me that. Every right. It was my failure that I made you doubt it. That I made you feel like you had to ask at all. That I couldn’t just—” His voice cracked. “That I couldn’t just tell you. When you needed to hear it most.”

His voice dropped, rough. “I will be better, Alessia. I will be better. I swear to you. I will spend every day making sure you never have to ask that again. Trust me.”

My hand slid into his hair. “I trust you. I do trust you.”

A breath left him, something that sounded like relief and fear and hope all tangled together. “You don’t doubt it anymore, though, right?” His eyes were nervous, flickering between mine, looking for something he was afraid he wouldn’t find. “You don’t doubt that I—I—”