Remembering You

Humor in the Darkest of Nights

I brushed away the tears, and the medicine started to kick in again, relaxing me and pushing away the panicked thoughts like a lazy river washing over me. I tried to keep my eyes open to watch my husband, but they quickly became heavy, and I was out before I could recognize that I was asleep.

This time, my sleep was much more peaceful, and I felt content the next time I woke up. The memories of the last encounter were hazy but still there. Clearly, the anterograde amnesia wasn't present anymore, and whatever had caused it had fixed, whether it was just the shock of what I went through or my mind's coping mechanism to deal with things.

I opened my eyes, looked around, recognized the room, and took pleasure in that realization. Perhaps soon, my retrograde amnesia would fix itself as well, and I would remember my past.

It was just my evil husband and I this time. He was sleeping in his recliner, his glasses falling off his nose a bit, his book still in his lap. I disconnected the I.V. line and catheter, the knowledge of how to stick with me past the memory loss from my doctor status.

I went to the bathroom, relieved to be able to fully empty my bladder, something the catheter seemed to prevent. I stopped by the mirror to take a look at myself. I couldn't be much taller than 5 feet, maybe just an inch or two. I didn't look old enough to be a doctor, but perhaps I just aged well.

My skin was light, and my hair was long and blond in a natural way. I supposed there had to be prettier women, but I could have been stuck with far worse also. I wasn't skin and bones, which was good since I hadn't eaten in forever, so my body no doubt would have been feeding off that fat quite a bit after the accident.

My arm was heavily bandaged, but that seemed to be the main injury I had. My chest was decent-sized for my build and hurt strangely as if maybe I had bruised it during the crash. The pain also was strangely familiar. I just couldn't place it.

I took off the hospital gown to look at everything more closely, but the only bruising I had was my side. I noticed a few angry red scratch types marks that looked healed. Stretch marks? I had clearly either gained a significant amount of weight previously or lost a large amount. I had no idea, but it intrigued me to find out about my past.

I put the gown back on and trekked out to my supposed husband. He looked peaceful sleeping and not quite as intimidating as before. His glasses were falling down his nose, and his book was still open in his lap with papers everywhere on the hospital table he had taken over with his research.

I looked at the papers quietly, trying not to disturb him. His notes were detailed and plentiful on some sort of obscure virus he was exploring. He was clearly brilliant, even if he was terrifying.

I gently took his glasses off his face and folded them up on his table. He could be considered handsome without them in the dark yet brilliant way. I quirked my head, taking in his appearance curiously, wondering why I married him. I touched his face, wanting to feel his cheek to see if it brought back any memories, but his hand caught mine, stopping me.

My breath hitched, fear mounting at being caught and alone with his temper. He didn't seem to be fully awake, though, and he pulled me onto his lap, his hand threading through my hair thoughtlessly.

"Anna," he breathed. His eyes were only partially open, his breath tickling my cheek. I tried to get away from him, but he was significantly stronger than I was, even mostly asleep. He pulled me flush against him, and I felt a sudden warmth flood through me with the lustful way he caressed me.

When he pulled me in for a kiss, I only half-heartedly protested. Too much of me was curious about why I married him and also curious about his earlier comment about us in bed together. I couldn't recall ever being with him, and yet earlier, it didn't seem like we had any sort of connection...now though...now that he was relaxed and his inner instincts played out...now I could see why.