Page 25 of Unapologetic Obsession
He maintained a stoic expression. “Why do you want to return if you don’t even know who you’re running from?”
I couldn’t argue with the logic and weighed my options. As much as I wanted to find out about my past, whoever tried to hurt me was still out there. Until my memories returned, I was at the mercy of the universe.
With reluctance, I admitted, “You’re right. It isn’t safe out there.”
His eyes finally softened. “You’re safe here as long as you’re with me.”
There was no denying it. Until yesterday, I was on the verge of death. I probably wouldn’t have made it past the week. If the hunger hadn’t killed me, the untreated injuries would have. I was grateful to him more than he knew.
I glanced at the doctor to find him watching me. “When will we return to New York?”
“In a couple of weeks.”
I sagged. I could do a couple of weeks. It would give me a break from the constant survival mode. I could spend the time recovering physically and trying to remember the unnamed man’s face.
“Have you remembered anything else?” he asked, placing another slimy bite of Jell-O on my bottom lip.
I shook my head.
“Did you know you had stitches here?” He tapped behind my ear. “I took them out last night. It seems you were recovering from a recent surgery.”
I frowned, touching my ear. I had felt them but couldn’t remember what they were called until now.
“You likely suffered an accident, perhaps a fall,” he continued.
“How can you tell?”
“You were treated for internal bleeding. A fall would also explain the memory loss, as the impact would’ve damaged your hippocampus. You seem to have retained a great deal of your semantic memory, such as your name, and general knowledge, like reading and writing. But you’re having difficulty with episodic recalls. Of course, I can’t confirm any of this without a CT scan.”
I let his words seep in, focusing on the important ones—semantic memory, name, reading and writing, and episodic recalls.“Real-life amnesia,” I mumbled.
He gave me half a smile. “It’s not as dramatic as they make it out to be on TV.”
“Will I remember who I am? Will I remember my past?”
“Perhaps with time.”
“So, it’s possible that I’ll never remember?”
“Yes.”
“Oh.”
A calloused hand rubbed my shoulder. I barely noticed when he rose to settle against my pillow, and he wrapped an arm around me. I sank into his hold, feeling the weight of exhaustion pressing down on me. His presence brought a natural sense of peace.
It was abnormal to seek comfort from a stranger while on the run from an unnamed threat. I was fully aware of the danger men posed. Believe me. A faceless man was trying to kill me,and every man I had come across treated me like a piece of meat. Even the authorities, the guards at the pier, had scared the crap out of me. Compared to Dr. Maxwell, they might as well be prepubescent boys. Dr. Maxwell was the largest, most intimidating man I had encountered. How was it that this mammoth of a man made me feel safe, and the tiny guards at the pier still gave me the creeps?
It defied logic. The elementary concept of stranger danger didn’t exist with him.
“Where’s this boat taking us?” I asked out of the blue.
His eyes moved over my weary face. “To the Bahamas.”
It sounded like a warm destination. “But I don’t have anything to wear.” Or any worldly possessions for that matter.
The slight quirk of his upper lip told me he was amused. Reading his body language was the best I could do since he was stubbornly inexpressive. It was crazy, I had to predict his moods from a minimal lip flicker. I suppose it was comical to be worried about inconsequential dilemmas, such as clothing, given my other predicaments.
“Everything you need will be provided for you,” he assured. “The boat is stocked with essentials for guests.”
