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I trust that I will. What I feel for him is more than just a damsel in distress response. It has to be. I still can’t quite put a name on the pull I feel toward him, but I know he feels it too. That has to survive even after I get my memories back.
Right?
I close the distance between us, and slide my arms around his waist, pulling him to me in a hug, pleased when he doesn't resist. I rest my head against his chest and close my eyes, breathing in his scent. Lemongrass and iron. His arms enclose around me, and for a moment we stand there, unmoving and unspeaking. It is one of the best feelings in the world. “We can’t just take it back,” I say gently.
“I know,” he whispers into my hair.
“What if we take things slowly? Set a hard limit for now, but leave our options open to explore our feelings?” I’m a genius, really. One day they’ll write books about my brilliance.
His hold on me tightens, “I’d like that.” I look up at him, and as the glow worms begin to shine their light once more, I close the distance and kiss him again.
Oz will learn. He can’t get away from me that easily.
When we return to the house an hour before dawn, I want to run an idea by Oz. I am thinking about going down to the lake, to the car, and seeing if that sparks any of my memories. It has been almost a week since the accident, and I still have no real memory to hold on to, and since breathing isn’t necessary.
“It will be extremely uncomfortable,” Oz warns. “I can go with you if you like.”
He presses his forehead against mine. Our limit is pretty much just sex. Hugging, kissing, and intimate moments like this are all well and good. He needs a firm line to feel better about the whole thing, and if it means we can continue to explore the feelings that are developing between us, I am happy. “I’d like that.”
Kissing me softly, he lets me go up the stairs alone. Truthfully I hope he will want to do the whole 'We’re adults and can sleep in the same bed without sex,' thing and then fail miserably at it, but he refuses and stays downstairs.
Smart man, being wise to my scheming.
But also stupid man, because I hunger for his touch.
Thepavedroadhasonly the faintest skid marks from feeble attempts to stop the car. The most evidence that something has happened is in the bent shape of the guard rail and the bits of fiberglass that litter the edge of the road beside the hard rock of the mountainside. I close my eyes, breathing in, willing the sounds and smells to bring anything back to me.
Kneeling, I grasp pieces of the broken car and let them slip through my fingers. I remember my distress, my rage. I can taste the salt of my tears and feel the crying blocking my nasal passages. The rain that pounded on the windshield was almost loud enough to mask the booming thunder overhead. Lightning tears through the sky, ripping into the world as if it shared in my anger.
Nothing before.
Where were we going?
Why was I crying?
Why was I so enraged?
Who is the man that was with me, and where is he now?
Answers escape me as I eye the edge of the rail, where the car began its descent. It ought to be longer. I glance down the hill. Steep. The only reason it isn’t blocked is because the curve has ended. The mountainside becomes more level in this area, more forgiving of mistakes. Four, maybe five more feet of rail would’ve likely saved my life.
Oz and I travel the path the car took, but at my request, he remains silent for this part. I want to see it all and try to put myself back in my head that night. Broken limbs of trees surround us, and a side view mirror lay shattered nearby. I am surprised a tree didn’t stop the car entirely. I try to remember why, but the accident happened so fast, faster than my human mind could keep up with. I try hard to concentrate.
Moving further down, I see this area is surprisingly sparse with trees. Some bushes and shrubs, but the few growing trees are small and pliable. A large rock juts out of the earth, solid in its form. The tip looks chipped, as if something larger hit it with force. I imagine the car falling from above, the rear swinging, moving the vehicle to turn until the passenger’s side lined up with the rock. The force of the impact had sent us flying in the air.
Further down still, we are near the water now. More fiberglass litters the ground from where the car touched down. It leads me to the water’s edge. The car had landed on its bottom but flipped onto the hood as it rolled into the water. Sliding in far enough that the bank gave way, that the depths began pulling it down with me inside.
“Where did you pull me out from?” I stare into the water. Much like the cave, my eyesight allows me to see quite a bit better than a human, but the darkness is so thick I can only see so far down.
Pointing out about twenty feet from the shore’s edge, Oz says, “You were about fifteen feet below the surface of the water when I got to you.”
Damn, I’d been so close to making it.
I feel a flutter of nerves in my stomach as I kick off my shoes. I need to go down there. I have my bag and my ID, but there may be other personal items that could give some idea of who I am. Turning to Oz, I warn, “I don’t care if you look, but there’s about to be a naked lady here.”
I see his smirk, but he turns his back on me to give me my privacy. Smiling, I remove my clothes and stand before the icy water. I try to remind myself that I don’t need to breathe, that it is purely out of habit that I do.
“Any advice to help me not panic down there about the breathing thing?” Oz isn’t going with me for this part. I am glad he is willing to be my moral support and isn’t pushing to be more active in the process.
