“Would you rather be rich and feel somewhat content, or poor and be extremely happy?”
“That’s easy. I’d rather be poor and happy.”
“Me too. You make me happy, Ryder.”
Love. Lust. Passion.
My hands are pressed flat against his chest, his hands still gripping my waist. I inhale, his scent perforating my overstimulated senses.
His kiss is like standing on a beach in the middle of a violent thunderstorm. All pulsing, electric energy.
“Don’t stop, Ryder.”
My mouth is ravenous for him as it licks and kisses along his neck and face. My body is slammed up against a wall, his body following, pressing closely against mine. I hunger for him.
I gasp and grab at his shirt yanking at it. “Off. I need this off. Right now.”
My hands mold to every inch of his chest, mapping every muscle and dip. This man is absolute perfection.
“I’ve always loved looking at you, but this is so much better.”
Heartbreak. Desperation.
“No, no, no, Elizabeth. Please, baby. Please. You’re going to be okay. Please don’t leave me. Please, Elizabeth. I can’t live without you. I love you so much. So, so much, Elizabeth.”
I whisper back to him, “I love you.”
Fear. Hate. Pain.
A shadow rises from the darkness.He’s here.
Invisible tendrils snake around my arms and legs. I can’t move. The evil darkness hovers over me.
“Shh, Elizabeth. My sweet Elizabeth.”
Blue and brown. Silver and red.
My body spasms in pain.
No! Stop! Why are you doing this?
Slice. I can’t breathe. Slice. Evil has come to take me.
Red and pain.
“Do you see now, Elizabeth?”
I wake screaming, my trembling body drenched in a thick, sticky sweat. No, this wasn’t a dream. I wasn’t asleep. Was I?
After running out of the student center, I managed to drive myself to my apartment. I don’t remember anything after that, I realize as I lift myself up off the living room floor. Avoiding stumbling over two boxes I left that still need to be unpacked, I race to the bathroom. I make it to the toilet just in time for my stomach to heave and empty its contents, which isn’t much. Once my stomach settles, I peel off my shorts and top that are stuck to my skin and climb directly into the shower turning the handle to cold. Cold is what I need right now to help clear my head.
I step under the icy spray and let it do its work until my teeth start to chatter. Feeling more alert and capable, I turn the shower handle to hot and grab the liquid soap bottle, desperate to remove the sticky, gross feeling from my skin. As I shampoo my hair, I try to piece together and make sense of the memories. Most of the images are fuzzy and unclear, like my amnesia is staking claim to them all, refusing to let go, leaving me in purgatory. An image flits across my closed eyes and my hands still, the soap I lathered into my hair running down my face. I grab hold of the image, not allowing my mind to steal it back and take it away from me.
Ryder.The guy from the student center. The guy who said he knew me. The guy with the gorgeous dark hair, tanned skin, and intense light brown eyes. My body reacted strongly to him, feelings so powerful and overwhelming, I ran. It was too much. He was too much.
I rinse my hair, turn off the water, and step out of the shower. Standing naked in front of the counter mirror, I touch a broken butterfly on my side and follow the path of the other butterflies up to my breast. Heterochromatic blue and brown eyes reflect back at me from the mirror and I startle, almost falling over into the base of the tub. I think of Ryder’s warm amber eyes. His are not the same as the eyes that haunt me like a dual-colored nightmare.
Piling my wet hair on top of my head in a loose bun, I slip on clean clothes, sleep shorts and a tank top, and walk to my closet. My fingers hesitate over the door handle. Am I ready to face my unremembered past? I can hear the boxes I shoved in the back — the ones that contain my old life — taunting me, mocking me, daring me to take a peek. It feels too much like Pandora’s box. Boxes filled with secrets to my old life that appear innocuous and full of promise, but in reality, are cursed with nothing but trouble. My hand drops away. I’m not ready yet. This is something I’ve avoided for almost a year now. So many questions. Too little answers. There is one question, however, I want answered, and I know exactly who to ask. Before I can chicken out, I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and call Daniel.
