Impassive

8| Carry

She wished she had a hobby or friends. Anything to keep herself occupied.

AVA

I sat, on the sofa in the living room, the soft fabric pressing against my skin like a lifeline, my headache still quite present. The room was well-appointed-modern, but not cold, with large pillows and tasteful artwork on the walls. It could belong to anyone, but it didn't quite feel like it belonged to me. Not yet, at least.

Footsteps echoed in the hallway, and the sound of a door opening pulled me from my thoughts. I looked up and saw a man walking toward me-tall, with messy dark hair. He wore a dark suit that looked expensive, but his demeanor wasn't cold or distant. His eyes, however, were unreadable. His face was the kind that could belong to anyone, but for some reason, it didn't feel unfamiliar, which unsettled me more than I cared to admit.
He stopped a few feet from me, pausing as if unsure whether he should speak or not. After a moment, he gave me a polite smile, but there was something guarded about it-formal, almost as if he knew me but I didn't know him. His gaze lingered on me a second too long, and I wondered if he was waiting for me to say something.

"Good morning," he said, his voice deep but soft. "I hope you're feeling better." I opened my mouth to respond, but the words wouldn't come. Better? How was I supposed to answer that? My mind was a mess, and everyone here seemed to have a place in my life except me.

"Sorry, I don't... remember..." I whispered, barely above a breath. I had no idea who this man was or why he was speaking to me so casually. Everything felt foreign, unfamiliar. And yet, there was something about him that felt oddly familiar.

He nodded, his expression softening just a little. "Of course. It's understandable," he said, as though this wasn't the first time he had encountered my memory loss. "I'm Fabio, by the way. I work with Matteo." The mention of Matteo made something stir in me. Matteo. My husband. That name felt like a thread trying to pull me back to something familiar. But even that felt uncertain. Who was Matteo really? What had we been?

I tried to smile, but it felt awkward. "Fabio," I repeated, stumbling over the name. "Nice to meet you." Fabio's gaze softened even further, though I could tell he was still studying me-searching for some trace of the woman he once knew. He hesitated, and I sensed he was weighing how much to tell me, or maybe how much I could handle.

"You don't remember anything from before?" he asked carefully, his tone kind but measured.

I shook my head slowly. "Nothing."

Fabio nodded, as if he had been expecting that answer. "It'll take time. These things, they do. But you'll get there. You're not alone in this."
His words were meant to reassure, but they made me angry, somehow. I wasn't alone, not really. I had Matteo, didn't I?
"I'm here to talk with Matteo about some urgent things," Fabio continued, his tone a little lighter now. "I know things have been... difficult. But don't worry, we've got everything under control. You focus on getting better, okay?" I nodded, though I wasn't sure what I was agreeing to. Fabio stood there for a moment, his gaze drifting toward the door, as if ready to leave. But before he did, he hesitated again.

"Matteo's in his office.", I said, harsher than I intended.
Before he could answer, I heard more footsteps approaching, these slower, more deliberate. Matteo. My husband. Just as Fabio glanced toward the door, Matteo stepped inside, his eyes immediately narrowing when he saw me sitting up on the sofa.

"Fabio," Matteo said curtly, his voice even but tinged with irritation. "I'll handle it from here."

Fabio shot me another sympathetic look, then nodded, a bit too quickly. "Right. I'll be in your office then." He gave Matteo a brief nod before turning and leaving the room.
The moment the door clicked shut, Matteo's gaze turned back to me, sharper now. The protective look he usually wore was edged with something more-frustration, maybe. Disappointment. The muscles in his jaw tightened as he crossed the room toward me, and I instinctively straightened up, a little unsettled by the tension radiating off of him. It was just the two of us, Matteo's gaze snapped back to me. His eyes were dark, no trace of the warmth they'd carried before. His jaw was tight, his posture rigid, like a coiled spring ready to snap.