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Why am I not dead now?
Fear races through me as I realize I don’t remember anything.
No, I remember some things, but they come in flashes. Incomplete moments. Waking up in an upside-down car all alone, struggling to swim to the surface, and the man who saved me afterward. Before that, though, there’s nothing.
“Where am I?” I muse aloud. No brutal woman is waiting for me. No one wants me to ‘become’ anything. A figure swims into my mind, covered in shadow, dark hair.. Unlike the woman, I yearn to touch him, to run my hands across his body and through his hair. I recognize him. He is mine.
I can hear footsteps approaching. Are theyhis? My savior’s? Will he tell me what the hell is going on? A soft knock on the door, and I call, “Come in.” Feeling stupid for inviting the person who lives here into their own room, I examine my clothes. In my mind’s eye, I’d been wearing jeans, a tank top, and a sweater. Now I am sporting some sweatpants and a baggy T-shirt. I am suddenly very aware that I have no underwear on.
The door opens, and the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen stands there.
Probably.
His hair is thick, a little on the long side, and a deep dark brown. It compliments his face. Oh God, his face is divine. With high cheekbones and a strong jaw, the angles and planes make him look like an ancient warrior. His eyes are piercing blue, seeming to penetrate through me. He resembles the figure I pictured. He is lean but toned and takes up a fair portion of the doorway. Six foot something of deliciousness.
“I’m glad you’re awake,” the man says, his voice deep and gravelly. He steps in and shuts the door behind him, standing before me and crouching to peer into my eyes. I could get lost in those eyes of his. Two pools of crystalline blue, ready to devour me and my secrets. “How do you feel?”
I ponder the question… I feel fantastic. I flex my muscles, stretching my legs and toes. I reach up to the sky and flex my back. There is no pain. I can’t see any visible marks from glass or debris. How long have I been asleep?
“I feel amazing.”
He reaches for my face, gently pressing his palm to my cheek and stroking me with his thumb. I could sink into his touch if it were possible. Warm and inviting, I just want him to touch me more.
“Are you thirsty?” His voice is strange. It carries a certain weight to it. Right when he mentions it, a sudden dryness fills my throat.
“Parched.” I almost whisper, my hand grasping the base of my neck.
The man nods and walks to the dresser. A cup sits there, and I have no idea if it has been there for a while or if he’d brought it with him. I am too busy examining his features instead of looking at his hands. At my side again, he passes the cup to me. It is warm in my hands. I can’t see what it is, the cup has a lid and straw. Ever so carefully, I suck on the warm liquid, not wanting to burn my tongue.
I don’t have a comparison for the drink as it hits my mouth. It tastes so pure, so delicious, like heaven. It is warm and thick, and reminds me of the lakeside. Still, I drink deeply, not stopping until I hear a loud slurping sound coming from the cup. This man, my savior, chuckles and takes the cup from me, setting it aside. “Better?” I nod, and he kneels before me. He places his hands on the bed, one on either side of me, caging me in. Attraction cuts through me to my center, and my nerves flare to life. He is so close, closer than a stranger usually would be. I can smell lemongrass and iron. Is he mine?
Images play in my head, a man with a friendly face and graying beard. A woman with smile lines on her face, grinning, laughing. Children. So many, too many. A man with a brooding stare and a tense jaw. Each of these images fills me with emotion. Until the end, that emotion is warm and happy. The last one feels like a punch to the gut. I shake my head. I don’t want to think about that one. Is this my family?
My fingers rise to my temple again. I’d hit my head hard. Did that take it all away? Every memory before the accident is just gone.
“I’m Oz,” his voice soft and smile warm, welcoming. “I pulled you from the lake and brought you to my home.”
Oz.
Sparkling red shoes. Singing. Dancing.
Then the flashes are gone as fast as they’d arrived.
Not mine.
Disappointment washes over me. If Oz is introducing himself, then he doesn’t belong to me. I had hoped he could fill in the blanks of what happened. I raise my eyes to meet his, “I don’t know who I am.” Tears begin to form with my admission.
Immediately his smile falls, and he cups my face in his hands. The skin of his palms is rough and calloused, but his grip is gentle. Eyes search mine, he is looking for answers I don’t have. “You don’t remember?”
I can’t stop the tears that escape. “Not really. I remember flashes. A car, water, and… you. You saved me?”
Nodding, he uses his thumb to wipe away my tears. “I know little about you, but I know your name. You’re Wren.” He gestures to a bag sitting on the side table. “Your bag as well.”
It sounds foreign to me.
Wren.
A little brown bird dances into my mind before taking flight.
