Babysitter Cougar [COMPLETE]

Epilogue page 2

"You're Saint's dad?" I ask nervously.

He laughs at my presumption, feeling relieved that I manage to mention the name 'Saint'.

"I am Saint," he declares, flashing the prints on his customised T-shirt, 'I'm Saint & I'm Sofia's Husband' as though this conversation is so repetitive that he came prepared.

I gape at him speechless. This information is too much for me to digest. How had he grown so fast when I remember just yesterday I was helping him with his school project? Did my injury knock off my 20 years span of memory in one blow? How am I to keep up with my current life and everything around me? Feeling overwhelmed with the abrupt changes that an uncontrollable sensation pulsing through my nerve system, causing me to have cold sweats, heavy breathing and sudden dizziness.

He is alarmed by my dramatic reaction, gently commands me to take a few deep breaths and to remain calm. He informs me I had the same reaction a month ago which I ended up having seizures. I do as told, and gradually I feel the warmth in my face reinstate. He assures me that everything is alright and briefly explains about my head injury from falling off a 20ft overhead bridge the simplest way possible.

I was rushed to the hospital and have been in a coma for a couple of months when they placed me in intensive care. He doesn't put in too much detail about the condition of my brain or how I got on that bridge and what triggered the accident. He only informs what the doctor had spoken to him, that my health is improving and this memory loss is something temporary. Maybe some of it will be restored along the recovery process but it's too premature to say. I just need to undergo several therapy sessions after this.

I pull the strength to concur to his clarification with slight contentment because somehow at the back of my mind, I'm already aware that this guy is the adult Saint, I'm not currently in my teens and I have a baby. It's just that there's a boulder in my mind obstructing that piece of information from transmitting.

I'm eyeing the texts on his shirt and mustering a smile. He's married now, what a lucky bastard. I wonder where Sofia, his wife is.

"You are Sofia," adult Saint prompts carefully when I asked.

I cast an astonished glance at him, trying to register this name into my head like an old forgotten friend. Oh yeah, he just told me that we had a baby together. I always feel that my name is Rafina, Merduwati or anything exotic that my parents could think of, but it doesn't occur to me that my name is Sofia. I must have disliked myself in the past too much to overlook such important detail.

Adult Saint lifts the back of his right hand up to my chest to show a platinum diamond wedding band on his ring finger while reaching for my right palm, stroking the diamond studded gold wedding ring that securely wrapped around my ring finger, just to prove his words. Then, he pulls out a slim, metallic rose gold coloured handheld device from his jeans pocket before pressing its side button to switch on the screen display.

Part of my consciousness is bemused by the sight of the device's screen display to animate like a TV screen when he slides it upwards and left to right. But the other part of me is already aware that such technology exists today. Then, he taps one of the bright coloured icon images to pop open wedding photos of his gorgeous self in white baju melayu and songkok (black coloured fez-like hat) with a lady next to him looking stunning in her makeup under the wedding veil, donning a simple mermaid style vanilla-laced baju kurung. She looks more like Mom but of a younger version. It takes some time for me to recognise that the lady is me.

I cannot help but to have this scintillating sensation that he stayed true to his word to marry me. How long has he been trying to achieve this? I bluntly ask his age and he reveals that he is 27. Impressed, I thought he's in his early 20s but what does that make me? Mid 30s?

"You're nothing but a beautiful 30 something," he confirms.

I wonder if my current self is as beautiful as his claim, so I ask him for a mirror. He mulls over and then returns to the bag, rummaging through its contents before fishing out a palm size mirror for me to use. I draw the mirror close to my face to see my reflection, similarly to the lady in the photos except for the weary lines, fatigue bulging eyes and dull complexion that set it apart.

As I tilt the mirror slightly upwards, I notice a clean cotton bandage wrapped around the right parietal side of my skull with an inch-long hair spurt to cover the shaven spots around it. I'm sad by how unattractive I look.

I click my tongue at this distasteful sight. Adult Saint however, acknowledges my dismay and tells me that I still look beautiful regardless. He elucidates that there are some celebrities who used to rock this kind of side-shaved hairstyles like Skrillex, Rihanna and Ellie Goulding. These names ring in my head like I knew them.

You're almost done, don't stop now. One more part to go!

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