Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 104185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
He kissed me, and I was sure it was meant to be passionate and seductive. His hands trapped my waist, pulling me against him, but my heart beat so fast and hard, it hurt. His kiss was disorienting and made me feel like I was coming off anesthesia.
Abruptly, he broke the kiss and stepped back.
“The doctor is here,” an unfamiliar and heavily accented voice said, causing me to jump in surprise. With my back turned, I hadn’t heard anyone come in the room. It was Plavko, the tall, intimidating bodyguard.
“Thank you,” Ryan said. “Please let her know we’ll be there in a minute.”
The man nodded and slipped out the door. He was large and imposing, and yet he moved without a sound.
“Do you pay him extra to sneak up on you?” I half-joked.
“No, but I do pay him to go unnoticed.”
Dr. Vorbusch was in her late fifties with a round face and brown hair that was cropped at her chin. She was already seated in a wingback chair in the library when we entered, a pen and pad of paper in her lap with a few notes scrawled across it.
“Dr. Vorbusch?” I asked.
“Yes.” She had a firm handshake and a smile that extended all the way into her eyes. “I understand you’ve had a relapse.”
I nodded, and she gestured for me to take a seat on the couch across the way from her.
Ryan remained just outside the door. “Please let me know if you need me.”
When neither the doctor nor I spoke up, he flashed a smile in farewell and disappeared down the hall. There was a weird sensation when he was gone, a mixture of disappointment and . . . relief?
The doctor studied my response, or better, my lack of one. “You would prefer he stay?”
“I don’t know. Does he usually?”
“No, but that doesn’t mean he can’t.”
“It’s fine.” I was anxious to get on with it, to see if she could help with my memories. “Do I lie down?”
“If you’d like. It’s however you’re comfortable.”
Lying down seemed awkward, so I stayed seated.
“Last time we met, I asked you to keep a journal. I’d like you to keep trying that and write at least once a day. I’ve found it helps organize your thoughts and can create a map back to the memories. How does that sound?”
I nodded, willing to try anything. “What do I write about?”
“Your thoughts, even if they seem strange or silly. The way you feel. Dreams you had if you remember them when you wake up.” She jotted something on her notepad as she spoke. “You can even make up a story. Stream of consciousness can help unlock parts of the brain and get you faster access to your memories.”
“Okay,” I said. “I can do that.”
“Excellent.”
And just like that, another memory bloomed inside my mind.
I was bouncing on a trampoline at my friend Stacey’s house and fell, breaking my wrist. Then another, where I was playing games outside in first grade recess.
I blinked, returning to reality, and it felt like I’d stepped out of a fog.
“You’re making great progress,” Dr. Vorbusch declared.
She slipped her notepad into her briefcase, the page now full of notes. When the hell had that happened?
When had I decided to lie down on the couch?
She pulled the bag strap over her head and rose from her chair. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Ryan appeared, crossing paths with her as she made her exit, and he came toward me.
She gave him a reassuring squeeze on the arm. “She’s doing much better this time.”
A lurking shadow stood in the hallway, and I watched as Plavko escorted her away. It left me alone with my fiancé.
He was quiet, gauging my mood, and seemed to be waiting for me to say or do something.
I sat up and stared at the floor. “I hate this.”
“Look at how far you’ve come, and it’s been one day since your setback.” The couch dipped as he sat beside me. “Less than a day.”
It was impossible not to be impatient. “I don’t remember anything important, like my parents’ deaths, or meeting you, or even your proposal.”
He moved unexpectedly to kneel in front of me, taking my hands. “I can fix that,” he whispered. There was gravity in his dark eyes. “Marry me.”
Icy fingers curled around my heart. “How many times have you done this?”
“Proposed? This would be the third.” He looked sheepish. “You turned me down the first time.”
Every nerve in my body prickled with uncomfortable fire and yet I shivered. Fingers clutched at my heart, squeezing tighter until I couldn’t breathe.
“What’s your answer?” It was a question, but it fell on me as a demand. The voice in my head was loud and powerful and impossible to argue against.
No other answer was allowed.
“Yes.”
As soon as it registered, Ryan yanked my legs forward, so I was slumped down on the couch while he loomed over me. His kiss was aggressive and consuming, and I worried I’d be buried beneath it. He pulled one of my bent knees up, so it was wrapped around him.