"Em… I'm not joking. I've had this for at least two years." Cal's grip tightened on my hand. "Baby, what day is it?"
"I… they said it was after new year’s, so maybe the third or something?"
"But what year?" Collins asked from beside Cal, her face pale.
"Twenty-fifteen."
Cal collapsed into a vacant chair, shoving fingers into his hair. Beside him, Collins gasped, covering her mouth, her eyes wide as she stared at me.
"What? You guys are scaring me."
"Baby," Cal whispered, his voice rough. "It's twenty-twenty."
Nick and a nurse chose that moment to enter the room.
"Mrs—er, that is—Emily!" The nurse said brightly, walking immediately to the bed. "The doctor is on his way. Let me just check you over."
She began the tests, fussing with my blankets and asking me questions as I tried to process her reactions.
It was as she lifted my hand that I realised something.
"Wait," I said, pulling my wrist away from her and holding it up to my face. I stared at the faded tattoo on my wrist, unable to remember when I’d sat for the artwork.
This isn't my hand.
Panic ballooned in my chest, my heart crashing against my rib change as my stomach took a dive.
This isn't my hand!
I thrust my arm forward, gulping for air as the limb followed my order.
This isn't my arm!
I scrambled, pulling and pushing at the bedsheets, frantically ripping at the hospital gown, pulling it up my legs to stare unbelievingly at the pale limbs which trembled with my shock.
Pale? I’m never pale!
"Oh my Gods,” I whispered, gaze locked on the pale skin gracing my skin. "Oh, my Gods.”
Voices were calling my name, the sound a background to my panic attack. Hands touched me, but I didn't have the ability to register them.
This isn't my body.
My body was tanned and strong with zero tattoos and long elegant fingers that knew how to play the violin with dexterity and talent.
I flexed my fingers again, feeling the stiffness in their movement.
What the fuck happened?
One voice cut in. Deep, abrupt, unfamiliar.
"Emily!"
My gaze shot up, resting on Doctor Jenkins.
"What happened?" I croaked, my voice broken. “This isn’t my body. This isn’tmybody.”
"You have amnesia."
