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I try to keep the same expression and keep walking like normal when I feel everything spinning again.
Like I’m falling backward and forward at the same time.
I lean heavily on Holly again, feeling her almost buckle under my weight as she hooks her arm around my waist.
My strongest arm is around her shoulders, resting against her heavy chest.
But it’s a struggle to stay upright, let alone feel her or look her over how I’d like to.
“We could get a cab,” she grunts, gnawing at her lip as she thinks aloud.
It’s an excellent idea, and I tell her so, but she hesitates for a moment.
I lift an arm, hailing a cab, and feel her tense up next to me.
“I just…,” she starts to say but thinks better of it, and before either of us can say another word, we’re in a cab, and she’s told the driver where to take us before fishing in her handbag.
Turning it to one side so I can’t see for some reason.
Counting out crumpled bills and coins, watching the meter, I can feel her fretting.
I feel bad because I can tell she feels embarrassed.
“I get paid next week,” she murmurs as if it should mean something to me.
As if it means the world to her.
Patting my own pockets, I fish for cash of my own.
A guy dressed like me, wallet with thousands in it. Must have something else in here….
Hello, what’s this?
I produce a cream-colored, thick envelope from my breast pocket.
No name on it, and it’s thin.
Apart from the wallet I had taken, it seemed to be the only thing on me.
The only reminder left of who I am and what I was doing before I hit my head.
Holding the envelope up to the light, I don’t see the green of cash showing and decide to stow it for later.
“You can afford the ride?” our cabbie asks, looking nervous as we stop at a set of lights.
Holly does some math and tells him to drop us off what I figure must be a few blocks from her place, but it turns out to be a little further than that.
I don’t really mind. Any time with her is worth more than money right now.
If she was following me, maybe she already knew who I was. But if she did, she would know my name, right?
I ask her point blank, but only get the same rigid and embarrassed look from her as we walk together.
I’m still leaning on her pretty heavily. But it’s fluctuating between a need to have her help me stand and a more pressing need to feel myself inside her.
“Not far now,” she says, forcing cheerfulness as we both pant and huff a little.
Her because of me leaning on her, and me because I’m so close to her. My leaning on her gets a bit trickier as the street develops a steep incline.
