Deceitful Page 2

  And while Nate seems wonderful, just as I remember him before the breakup, and Jake is as helpful as ever…I can’t help but wonder why my conscience won’t rest. Nate was always a perfect gentleman to me, he helped me more than he probably should have, but my disdain for him in this moment feels very real. Where it originates from, I can’t be too sure.

  I may be out of my mind currently and removed from all reality but I sure as hell am not stupid. Or naïve. It feels as if my memory doesn’t want me to be privy to intricate details of my life. I cannot, for the life of me, shake the feeling that there is something more to this than what I’m being told.

  TWO

  I wake up again, in the same big unfamiliar bed that is only vaguely less unfamiliar than it was a few hours ago. I feel like I only nodded off but judging by the color and location of the light streaming into my windows, it’s been a few hours at least. My headache is persistent and still throbs, only slightly less now. My blood swooshes around in my head and I feel a tiny, annoying pulsating sensation. Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump. I hear voices coming from somewhere outside of my room that I am determined to listen to. I slowly and carefully sit myself up in bed, hoping the dizziness doesn’t return. Every bone in my body aches as I stand for what feels like the first time in a long time. I creep quietly to the edge of the room, lingering just inside the doorway. I notice the long, skinny piece of metal, causing a lip where the wooden floor of the bedroom meets the wooden floor in the hallway and make a mental note not to fall over my own feet. My gaze trails to what I assume is the bathroom, the door open just slightly to reveal tiling and what I think is a teal shower curtain.

  The voices stay distant, but I can hear the words clearer from my new angle. Nate and Jake are talking, and their voices sound so similar. I would think Nate was talking out loud to himself but there are questions among statements, leading me to believe two men are conversing somewhere in this cabin.

  I tilt my body, so my head is just shy of being out in the open in the hallway, balancing on one foot as I extend myself as close as possible to the sound.

  “So, what does that mean? Do you have any idea if the memories will come back or if this will be the new normal?” one of them says, I assume Nate. His tone is worrisome, his voice cracks and quivers, going up and down in octaves. I really need a fucking cigarette. I wouldn’t know where to find one in this damn cabin.

  “For your sake, I really hope she doesn’t remember any of it. But we obviously have no clue. It’s never been tested until now. This is completely unknown territory. You know it as well as I do. All signs point to good outcomes right now.” Clearly Jake. Formal as ever. “You need to figure out how to dodge the questions you don’t want her knowing the answers to, buddy. Just follow my lead, watch how I am with Jada.” I hear what sounds like Jake patting Nate’s back as he says it.

  How he is with Jada? He probably doesn’t have to be any certain way with her because she follows him around like a puppy. Why would Jake hope that I don’t regain my memories? Panic consumes me, and I stumble backwards knocking into the nightstand and sliding onto the floor. I hit the back of my head against the pointy corner of the furniture as I fall down, and everything goes black.

  -

  When I come to, I am lying in this damn bed again. Waking up here is starting to feel normal despite it being so strange and off-putting at the same time. I jump, my heart rate quickening when I see Nate sitting at the end of the bed staring at me. It brings me to attention quickly and I feel extremely awake now. The way he sits so still gives me an eerie feeling and chills creep up along my skin on my arms, the tiny hairs standing straight up on end.

  “I was wondering when sleeping beauty would finally wake from her slumber.” His lips part, his tongue peeks through his top and bottom teeth. I remember why I fell in love with him, even as I doubt him. His face really is the most beautiful thing my eyes have ever seen, I can’t deny that. It’s just so perfect. It’s annoying. I immediately shake the thought. I don’t want those feelings to re-surface, not when I am so unsure about everything.

  “I heard you.” I tell him this with a straight face. I don’t smile back at him and he looks genuinely confused.

  “Come again, darling?” he questions, a sour look taking shape on his face.

  “I heard you and Dr. Michaels talking about me. I heard your buddy Jake say he doesn’t want me to regain my memories, that you’d be lucky if I didn’t. What is that supposed to mean, Nate?” I sit up straight in bed and look Nate in the eyes, signaling that I mean business with my accusation.

  “Darling, that simply isn’t possible. You fell asleep mid-sentence and Jake left straight away. He had somewhere to be. I haven’t left your side. I wanted to be here when you woke back up.” He challenges me by looking straight back into my own pupils, his voice unwavering. Nothing at all like the shakiness I heard in his voice earlier.

  So, it must have been a dream then, I think. But it felt so real. I look out at the floor in the hallway and see it is separated by the metal strip causing there to be a lip. Just as I thought. However, that is easily explained by my subconscious observing that detail earlier and inserting it into my dream. My thoughts are interrupted by Nate.

  “Well, what did you think you heard?” he asks. It comes out quick and a bit brash, but I want to ignore it and think I’m reading too far into things.

  “Nothing. I was dreaming,” I tell him, although I am not entirely convinced myself. “Listen, what do you think of giving me some time to myself? I need to wash up and put on some makeup. Maybe it’ll help me feel more like myself. I’ve had a strange day.” I need him to leave me alone for a bit, but I also really want to clean up and soak away this feeling.

  “Of course. Come find me when you’re ready.” Nate rises from the bed and steps toward me. Bending down, he takes my face in his hands and kisses me on the top of the forehead. A familiar feeling. He doesn’t ask questions and he walks out of the room, stepping over the metal lip without even thinking about it. I hear the echo of his footsteps fade down the hall.

  It slips my mind that I have no idea where I would go to wash myself up in this cabin. I don’t feel like calling back out to Nate, I don’t want to give him a reason to traipse back down the hall, so I stand up and decide to figure it out for myself.

  There’s a beautiful large armoire sitting on an angle in one corner of the room. My eyes have trailed to it multiple times since I first woke up. I walk to it and open its double doors. I gasp. A perfect, white wedding dress. The beaded detail is gorgeous, and it flares out at the waist. This is exactly what I always dreamed of. It is undeniably exquisite. I reach out and run my fingers along the lines of beading and I wish I could remember everything I have forgotten.

  I shut the doors and tune out the lingering sadness that accompanies finding this dress.

  I make my way to the most obvious place to find my clothing: a tall antique dresser that rests on the opposite side of the room in between two windows. Before pulling open the top drawer, I hesitate slightly, feeling like a thief, going into someone else’s dresser. It takes me a few seconds before I realize this is clearly my dresser, just not the one I had in my old place before I married Nate and we joined our things. My old dresser must have been something I had to part ways with. I run my fingers over the vintage white cast iron knobs and then pull the drawer open to reveal an assortment of undergarments. I pick a familiar bra and panties up from the pile and move on to the next drawer. An array of folded shirts occupy this space. I choose a casual white V-neck that has a sense of familiarity to it and continue examining the dresser to complete an outfit I feel comfortable with and then go in search of the shower.

  The hallway is home to three other doors and the first I try isn’t the shower, but it is a gorgeous space. I don’t have to guess what this room is, I know it’s my office. The cleanliness and the bright lighting and chic furniture inhabiting this room makes me feel right at home the moment my eyes fall up
on it. I know I was more than likely in here just yesterday before my memories abandoned me, but it feels like ages since I’ve seen the sights of all of my bookcases and my vision boards. I am giddy in this moment. Happy, even. It’s the first time I have felt pure joy since I woke up this morning in my state of terror. This is home. Not this cabin, or Nate or anything else. Just this room, this tiny piece of myself I haven’t lost. It feels right.

  I make my way first to my bookcases. They are as beautiful as ever. The wood is white, and each corner bears a tiny engraved design. I bought eight of them from an Amish man who makes a living crafting and selling furniture. I thought the piece was gorgeous and I ordered eight custom made to order bookshelves. Every square inch of space is used. I have hundreds of books that fill the shelves. Everything from paranormal fantasy to mystery to autobiographies and nonfiction. But my journals, my safe space, the place that I write my daily triumphs and woes, they aren’t here. Anywhere. I feel my pulse rate quicken and my stomach immediately does a flip in my stomach. I would have never left my journals behind in the move.

  I make a mental note to find my journals, to bring this up to Nate and see what his answer is. Besides my books, my journals are one of the most important things to me. If he tells me something happened to them, I’ll be devastated.

  I try to push it to the back of my mind, telling myself that surely there is just as logical of a reason for this as everything else Nate gave me earlier. I run my hands over the colorful spines of the books as I walk through the room and over to my vision boards that take up one half of a large bright white wall. I create a board for each novel I write and send out into the world. I keep each board to remind me of the process each character’s story went through and see the progress of the world and lives I made unfold. I count just to be sure and am delighted to see seven boards hanging on the wall. One for each of my seven novels. I write romance novels to compensate for the lack of romance in my life. Nate and I were engaged, we are apparently married which is news to me, but romance was never something that was deeply rooted within our relationship. The two of us have always been better friends and teammates than lovers. I write stories in which the couples have exciting sex lives as well as meaningful conversations. My characters sit in coffee shops and talk over classics like Jane Austen and Wuthering Heights and then go home and fuck their spouse’s brains out. I pour everything into each character in every novel I write. I spend more time cultivating my craft and making people up in my head than living my actual life.

  My books are my pseudo-children. I put every ounce of love, blood, sweat, and literal tears into these projects. I often compared them to my babies which I had a feeling people thought that it was pathetic, but I meant it.

  I breathe in deeply and relief floods through me again. The feeling of having my safe space, knowing it’s here, is a feeling I can equate to being tipsy on my favorite red wine. It’s a rush of comfort I needed today. I am so glad to see that this room is here in the cabin and that it is exactly how it was in my apartment. In this moment, I am grateful beyond measure. I feel like although I lost a part of me, this is my safety net. The spot I can just be. I spot my black purse, it’s familiar to me and I need all the familiarity that I can get right now. I grab it and carry it with me.

  I leave my cozy nook and head back out into the hall and peak my head in the same room I saw in my dream. I should have known this was the bathroom. I close the door shut tightly behind me and vacillate before I flick the lock into a vertical position. I assume we don’t lock the bathroom door while we are showering but I don’t feel like figuring this out today. I want my space, my privacy. I want my memories.

  The bathroom has a woodsy theme to match the cabin. My eyes are instantly drawn to a beautiful claw foot tub. It is the definition of perfection. I know I must have picked this detail out. I can tell it’s a new tub, it definitely did not come with the cabin. I inwardly give myself a pat on the back for my good taste. I smile at my own humor. This was something Nate has always made fun of me for. I laugh at my own jokes. I understand why he thinks this is a flaw, but my jokes are damn good, I’m a writer after all. I know how to string words together like it’s nobody’s business. I can think of and deliver a pun faster than I can tie my shoes.

  I take my time while showering and my body aches are back in full force. It feels like extreme growing pains. My muscles are stiff and movements rigid. The warm water and steam feel good on my skin. I lather myself up until I am a mess of delicious smelling suds. My body wash is new, from Lush, a favorite store of mine that I like to indulge in. I let my thoughts linger and imagine this life of mine the way Nate and Jake have spelled it out for me.

  Nate and I are married, I tell myself. We were wed at the courthouse. We honeymooned in Greece. I repeat the words that were given to me earlier. It isn’t like I woke up here with a stranger, it’s Nate. I try to make myself feel better, reasoning with my logical brain but the feeling of dismay still haunts me, lingering.

  I imagine Nate and I standing together and staring up at the Parthenon, one of the famous landmarks I always dreamed of seeing in person. The two of us hold hands and look at the ancient former temple in complete awe of its meaning and beauty.

  Perhaps we then ventured to Santorini and we make love on the beach in the middle of the night, newlyweds that can’t keep their hands off each other. That would be a good chapter for one of my romance novels, although it doesn’t sound like us at all.

  Before we leave our honeymoon destination I of course have to spend hours scouring the library at Alexandria. I try to soak up as much knowledge and inspiration as I can for potential new novels with Nate watching me do my thing, loving every minute of it.

  All of these beautiful potential scenarios sound like they would have made up the perfect honeymoon and then been memories of a wonderful life. A life that is probably a great one. I just can’t remember it.

  -

  I finish showering and dress myself in the clothes I chose from my dresser. I look long and hard at my reflection staring back at me in the oval, golden-rimmed mirror. My face feels fresh and my ivory porcelain skin is without wrinkles even at thirty-eight. I always assumed I would have more by now. I swoop my long dark brown hair up on top of my head and examine my green eyes. They have tiny silvery blue specks at the edges today. My eyes always look different. I get compliments often. My freckles are a bit hidden, like they haven’t seen the sun for a while. In the summertime, or when I am in the sun in general they grow darker, more pronounced, although they are always there, decorating my face and all down my chest.

  I open my purse to see if any of my cosmetics are hiding inside. I spot my red lipstick and slide the perfect, velvet stick over my lips. I instantly feel more like myself. The tiniest hint of a smile dances on my face. Just a little curl at the corners of my lips, but it’s enough.

  I head back out to learn more about the cabin and the rooms that occupy it. I find what I assume is a spare bedroom in the hallway and then make my way into the kitchen, which is small but very homey and comfortable.

  I bypass the living room with its large flat screen that hangs on the wall and set off down the next hallway in search of my husband. It sounds so strange to me when I say it in my head. I ignore my feelings of doubt as I push open another door.

  Nate is standing with his back to me but turns around slowly when he hears me open the door. I wish I could have stood here just watching him for a few moments, before he heard me. I’d like to see him move when he thinks no one is watching.

  “Come in, darling. I’m just working on a new focus project. I know I always say this, but—”

  “You’re excited about it?” I cut him off, knowing exactly what he was about to say. We laugh together at how well I know him.

  “Yes. You are correct.” Nate starts in on how messy his space is in comparison to mine.

  I take in his office. It is just about the same size as mine but ten times as messy. He has a large L-sha
ped desk that has papers scattered everywhere. The desktop isn’t visible at all, it hides underneath swarms of paper and research journals. His workspace has glass beakers and thermometers and other things I can’t be bothered to think of the names of. Just a bunch of nerdy science stuff. Nate is a research analyst scientist. He develops vaccines for a living to protect people like me who have no idea how to not get sick. If something is alive in the air, I catch it. It’s a curse.

  His room looks nothing like mine, but he probably feels the same way here that I do in my office. His passion for developing new ideas is obvious while standing here.

  “So yeah. This project I am working on now is very exciting.” He looks at me to see if I am going to crack another joke, but I don’t. I want him to finish.

  “I have decided I am going to be the man to cure HIV.” I stare blankly at him, my eyes widening at his lofty goal. I think about how wonderful it would be to just merely decide I want to cure HIV and then know I have the potential to do so. Nate is incredibly intelligent and once he sets his mind to something he almost always accomplishes the goal he intends.

  I watch Nate’s varying expressions as he talks about the career he loves. His passion for all things science inspires me. It is something we both have always loved about each other; we ignite the spark each other needs to drive the creativity that rests inside of us.

  My eyes dart around to the other things he has in his office. He has artwork ranging from a print of the moths found in North America to the anatomy of the human body. My eyes stop at his computer monitor as I see something flash across it. Nate notices my interest and shuts the monitor off and rests against his desk.

  “Why don’t you sit down darling? Here, use my chair.” He circles an arm around my waist and guides me to sit down. His hand feels right on the small of my back, familiar.