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“Do you remember who you are?” the doctor asks, looking into my eyes with a penlight. I close them, hating the onslaught of brightness.
I don’t remember who I am. The thought is petrifying. “Of course, I do.” My stomach clenches with fear, but I refuse to show it.
“What’s your name?” he asks me. His kind eyes are worried. I want to check myself over, but it hurts, so I focus on him.
“Gia.” I smile, knowing that answer because it was already said.
“What is your last name?”
I look around the room for any type of clue.
When I refuse to answer, the doctor asks another question. “Do you know the year?”
“2021,” I confidently answer. When he smiles, I know I got it right.
“Very good.”
I look back to the man holding my hand, and he has another frown on his face. But it disappears as soon as he notices me watching him. I’m not fooling him at all. He nods for the doctor to follow him out. I try to listen, but with the door closed. I can’t hear a thing.
My whole body aches. With them gone, the pain comes right to the forefront. Closing my eyes, I think I might hear better, but the only thing it does is pull me back under into the darkness.
I wake upfeeling cold. My eyes flutter open, seeing no one beside me. Closing my eyes again, I try to remember how I got here. The harder I think, the more blank my memory seems to be.
“You’re awake,” the man who looks to be my age says. His tone is sweet, but I have zero memory of it. “Do you remember the accident?” he asks, taking a seat by me and grabbing a hold of my hand.
Shaking my head, I study him. I pray his presence can give me some clue to anything about the accident or myself.
“You got mad at me and drove drunk.” He talks slowly, as if testing out the words himself.
That feels out of character for me, but I have nothing to back it up with. If anything, it confuses me further.
“Why did I get mad at you?” I’m still not clear who he is to me. Brother doesn’t feel right. Boyfriend or friend? His gorgeous green eyes are sharp, trying to pull the answers I don’t know for myself out.
“Do you remember who I am?” His thumb brushes over my chin repeatedly. His expression is caring, and relief pours in.
I want to lie. He’s looking at me so hopefully. “No,” I respond, defeated and growing frustrated with myself.
“I’m your fiancé.”
My head jerks back at the unexpected news. Something prickles at the front of my mind. I want to protest, but something about that word fiancé sounds right. My resolve crumbles as I repeat his words in my head. I can’t describe it, but I know I have a fiancé. My heart doesn’t jump. The idea calms me. Deep inside, I know this to be true. I am engaged.
He’s looking at me expectantly, and I force a smile. Why don’t I remember him? The calmness I had felt disappears as he leans closer to me. His eyes look hooded, and I already feel the pull of him wanting to kiss me. When I don’t pull back, he must take this as a welcome sign to kiss me. He bends down, and I feel the tension I have rolling over my shoulders. His rough lips press against mine. Butterflies invade my stomach. Warmth circles my heart. But I have no sudden memories. I’m left staring wide-eyed at a stranger who kissed me. If I love this man, surely my mind would remember him? When his lips leave mine, I nibble on the bottom of my lip.
“How was that?” He winks at me with a cocky grin, as if his one kiss will wake me up from the memory loss.
“Who are you?” I try to keep the annoyed curl of my lip down.
“Your—”
I stop him. “No, your name.”
“Oh. Romeo.” Nothing. The machines I’m attached to keep on beating their steady rhythm.
“Romeo who?”
“Mancini.” The name wants to pull out a memory, but it’s not strong enough to come to mind. What he says must be true. I know him. My body is acting like it remembers him. I can sense we’ve met before. That last name does something to me, but I can’t figure out what the emotion is.
“Why did I get mad at you?” I’m trying to connect any dots that present themselves to me.
