Particle mage? Hylomancer? Mattermancer? It all sounds like a joke.
I keep staring at the cup, anxious, tempted to do something, but I don’t try anything. I just… leave it alone, curl up on the bed,and close my eyes. I don’t even attempt to remember anymore. I already know it’ll hurt again.
???
Somebody brings me lunch while I sleep. When I wake up, it’s waiting under a glass lid, still warm.
For a moment, I just lie there, afraid my memory has ‘reset’ again, but what I’ve managed to recover this morning seems to have stuck, at least for now.
The other problem is… in a completely different realm.
It’s my erection. Really? Confined in a stranger’s house, saved from some hellish situation, struggling with a damaged brain… and I’m hard?
C’mon. This can’t be real. But it is. I glance down at my crotch, where an annoying bulge has formed. Yeah, I need to deal with that before anything else, since it’s driving me crazy.
I pull my shorts down, stroke myself for a bit, my hole clenching as if it’s craving some… extra attention, but I’m starving and really need to be done with this as fast as possible. I keep sneaking impatient glances at the food tray, so I make it quick.
The relief is shallow and brief, as the dull pain that’s been with me since this morning makes it difficult to fully relax, even after an orgasm. But it has to do.
Finally, I can dig in. For a few minutes, I focus on devouring the food, biting off big chunks and swallowing greedily. Then I climb out of my messy bed, noticing how my wet braid has left a long, damp trail across the sheets.
The lack of a proper nest hits me again, but what can I do? Search the house for nesting supplies? Use Nathaniel’s old clothes? Nah, I’m not in the mood. I want my own stuff, but that means going on a shopping trip with Lake. Am I ready for that? How would I even ask for it, forcing words out while squeezing through the pain?
After circling the room for fifteen minutes straight, I feel I’m going to go crazy. A strange energy is literally surging inside me, and I run to the balcony.
I need to let off some steam before something inside me bursts. I climb down the ladder and sprint toward the lake like a madman.
But I don’t hear the music I hoped for. I pause, calming my breath and listening carefully, before I start walking along the shore. The sand is hot under my feet, the sun hangs heavy in the sky, pouring heat down. I inhale and exhale deeply. God! I have to do something, release this excess, let it out.
I return toward the house and wander through the garden. It’s well-tended, lined with rows of plants, mostly fruit-bearing but also ornamental. Small white gravel lines the pathways, with flower beds running alongside them. The garden has plenty of shaded spots, almost romantic corners to sit and dream. The sunlight filters through the leaves, creating dappled patterns on the paths, and the faint scent of citrus lingers in the air.
As I circle the house, I notice a second building tucked among the bushes at the edge of the property, a tiny house of sorts. A mobile type. Someone must have opted out of living in the main building. I don’t go closer, just admire it from a distance. It’s modern, stylish, perfectly designed.
To the left of the driveway, a navy SUV is parked in front of a low, elegant garage that could fit several cars.
I continue along the west side of the house and notice a line of horizontal windows near the ground, all covered by blinds. I approach a thicket of high bushes growing along the wall, citrus trees, lemons, oranges, and limes. Peeking through the leaves, I see a small set of doors partially visible above ground level. Short stairs lead down to them, dug into the earth.
A sound makes me stop. Soft music drifts out from behind the doors, not a harmonica this time. A piano. Someone is playing beautifully.
I don’t recognize the piece, but it sounds like it could be by a talented, perhaps famous composer. It is intricate, jagged, and full of emotion. I stand there, spellbound, with my eyes closed and let the music wash over me, almost as if I’m making love to it.
Wow, what a funny thought.
Then it randomly hits me: I don’t know anything about my sexuality.
I have no memories of what happened in my past. I was in that ‘fortress’, what did it hold for me? And before that? I vaguely recall always being at home, isolated from people. But howsuccessfullyisolated? From everyone? Alphas too?
The upside of memory loss is that I don’t remember having any sexual trauma, which is an unexpected but positive side effect.
Feeling enchanted by the music, I slowly slide onto the grass, landing on my knees, swaying gently to the melody from side to side, and feel something inside me starting to stitch itself back together.
Tiny pieces reconnect, fit into place, and open up.
Bam.
Another memory comes rushing back!
32 h earlier
