AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Did I speak Russian before the accident?” River asks in a melancholy tone. “I’d hate to have lost an entire language. Even my English sucks a little now.”
“Well, you never spoke Russian, so don’t feel ashamed of that. I can teach you in time,” I reply as I wheel her back inside. “My English is good enough.”
I push her down the hallway into the main living area. “So, how much money do we have exactly? Like, how much did this ring cost?” she asks, her eyes glittering as she scans the room. She focuses heavily on a painting hanging over the fireplace, an expressionist piece done by my great grandfather.
“The ring was fifty thousand, give or take. I don’t really remember. All I know is that you saw it, and you absolutely needed to have it. I couldn’t ever say no to you,” I reply, stroking her hair softly.
“Fifty thousand dollars? That’s someone’s entire salary!” she shrieks.
“Not mine. Not even close,” I say dryly.
“Holy shit, this is real? This is all my life?” she asks, clearly on the verge of tears.
I stroke her hair softly for a moment. “Of course. Did you think I rented all of this just to impress you when you woke up?”
She giggles. “No, no, it’s all just so... surreal. I can’t believe this is really happening. I feel like I’m still in a coma, like I’ll wake up at any second in a regular hospital room without anyone next to me.”
“You don’t have to worry about that at all. You’re home, and all you have to do is adjust to it all again,” I reply, wheeling her through the next hallway.
I take her through the rest of the estate, watching her expressions continue to express her wonderment without faltering. Even if she doesn’t remember her life before, you’d think she came from absolute poverty based solely on the way she reacts to even the simplest luxuries.
At least she doesn’t suspect anything.
3
RIVER
Being wheeled all over the building today made me feel so dependent on Adas. He’s my husband. I should be able to completely surrender myself to him in this state, but whenever I try to remember any shred of our former life together, I keep drawing blanks.
The whole situation frustrates me in a way that has made it impossible for me to be comfortable in my own skin, in this bed, or in a wheelchair with Adas behind me. I feel like a snake that’s trying desperately to shed its tight old skin, getting caught halfway out and losing strength by the minute.
I can’t rest if my mind can’t rest.
Even still, I’m coming up with nothing.
I’ve heard of coma patients emerging from their comas with no recollection of their family, at least depending on the severity of their injury. I try to draw comfort from that possibility, but I come up with nothing. It brings me no peace at all, just the knowledge that I could have truly forgotten my husband and the life that he’s created for me.
Seeing all of the beautiful things he’s bought for me over the years was both a pleasant surprise and a huge weight of guilt on my shoulders. It feels like I’m ungrateful; how could I have loved all of this so much if I was able to forget it so easily?
Does that mean I don’t really love Adas?
Did I ever?
Marrying solely for money doesn’t feel like something I would do. Even in my post-coma haze, I feel very wrong about the idea that I would have married into a dangerous crime organization just because I wanted a koi pond and an excessively expensive wedding ring. I don’t know who “me” is, but that doesn’t sound like me at all. I feel a tensing in my chest at the thought of it.
I very much doubt that a traumatic brain injury gave me a moral compass.
I’m lying in my hospital bed, still surrounded by all of the ornate beauty of this room as the moonlight streams through the gossamer drapes over the window. In a way, I feel like every princess in every story – fragile, spoiled, at the mercy of a large, strange man.
God damn it!
Feeling so apathetic towards Adas makes me want to scream at myself. What’s wrong with me? He clearly cares very much for me, even choosing to spend god knows how much money just to have me home instead of stranded in a hospital.
He’s not bad looking, either. Quite the opposite, actually. He’s tall with broad shoulders and visible muscles under his shirt, and his jawline is so strong and precise that even I envy it. I’m still not sure exactly what color his eyes are, whether they’re blue, grey, or something in between. But I do know I’ve been looking at them a lot, scanning past the superficial beauty to see into his true self.
The problem is that he’s impossible to read. Sure, he’s been very nice to me, very accommodating. But there’s something about him that just seems a little bit off to me. What do I know about men who nearly lost their wives in a gun fight? How am I supposed to predict his behavior or reactions?
The important thing is that he seems happy to see me doing well. He’s been nothing but good to me since I woke up. Maybe the issue here isn’t him, but my pride.
