My heart skipped with anxiety. “Don’t do that.”
For a whole variety of reasons, starting with the fact I had no idea who I was. Or what it was about him that made me want to give him everything.
Was it love?
And could I figure it out in the next three days?
“Will you miss me when I’m gone?” he asked.
“Since you’re, like, the only person I know? I don’t know, probably.”
His smile was sinful. “I’d like to kiss you now. This is your warning.”
The force driving me to him was immediate and strong, and I wasn’t sure how much more pressure I could take.
Dr. Vorbusch’s pen hovered over her pad of paper. “Did you write in your journal?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Did you find it helpful?”
I shrugged. No memories had surfaced since we’d last spoken, so I was anxious to start my session this afternoon.
“What did you write about?”
“Ryan, mostly,” I said. “How I feel conflicted around him.”
She lifted her gaze from the pad to focus on me, like this was unexpected. “Conflicted?”
“I don’t know how to explain it. It’s, like, when we’re together, I don’t feel in control.”
There was worry in her voice. “You feel out of control?”
“I feel like someoneelseis in control. Maybe the woman I was.”
“But wouldn’t that be a good thing? Your mind pointing you in the right direction?”
“I suppose.”
The room shifted abruptly, and I blinked, disoriented. My mother was bleary-eyed on the couch, still in her clothes from last night even though it was now morning. Kara and I watchedThe Sound of Music,but she was less interested and kept glancing at our mother. The doorbell rang.
Just the sight of the police officer’s uniform through the glass pane in the front door sent my mother into hysterics.
Dr. Vorbusch was gone.
I blinked, slowly returning to reality in the library. I brushed a tear off my face, wanting to push away the sadness of the memory.
“Was it your father’s death?” Ryan’s voice startled me upright off the couch. He hovered in the doorway, watching and setting me on edge.
“Yeah.”
“You want to talk about it?”
“Not really.” Why was I so anxious to get my memories back again?
He had dinner brought in. I watched him devour his food and drink a glass of wine and listened to him talk about his work while I’d been in my session with Dr. Vorbusch. I didn’t touch a bite of my food. Just the smell of it made my stomach churn.
I wanted to ask about my past, but my head ached whenever a question began to form, and he seemed either oblivious or purposefully unwilling to share information with me. Frustration built to a level I couldn’t handle, and as soon as the meal was over, I shuffled to my room.
