Page 16 of Come Back To Me
He backs up, hands falling away enough for me to turn halfway around. He has more color in his cheeks, the gray coloring hardly noticeable, and his eyes are bright. They still don’t look like his, though. I can’t explain it, but Gareth’s had a warmthstemming from them, and this man in my kitchen, well, the way his eyes pierce into me is unsettling.
“You clean up well,” I chirp, squeezing past him with my plate in my hands.
He pats my ass lightly, looking back with a stiff smile. “I’d hoped you’d think so. Thanks for the clothes yesterday. And the hoodie. It was a very cold night. Rainy and wet too. Never was a fan of the rain.”
“I know,” I clip, sitting down at the table, my plate clacking against the wood.
“Some things never change,” he says flatly, walking in front of the small coffee station I had set up to make it easier for him to make in the mornings. “While others . . .” He looks to the basement door. “Do. More than we’re prepared for.”
“That man . . .” I pause. “Who . . . where did he come from?”
He turns to the espresso machine, checking the water level before hitting a button on the front. “He was delivering mail this morning, and I saw an opportunity I couldn’t pass up.” His nose wrinkles when he uses the fork inches away to shovel eggs into his mouth.
“Something wrong with your eggs?” I eye him warily.
“No.” His lips pull into a tight smile. “Nothing a little extra seasoning can’t fix.” Reaching into the front pocket of his hoodie, he pulls something free and sprinkles in on top of his plate.
Bile rises up my throat the longer I study what he considered to be extra seasoning. Two severed fingers, one with bone protruding through the flabby skin. I turn my face away, disgust leaving a sick feeling in my gut. Losing my appetite, I push my plate away and his face falls as he looks between us.
“I’m sorry, baby.” He shoves the fingers back in his pocket leaving a little blood behind on the plate and giving me a sheepish smile as he finishes making our iced macchiatos. “I caneat those later. I should have thought things through more. It’s hard now.”
“Why do you keep calling me that? Did you call him that?”
His brows lift. “Call who what?”
“Arkansas.”
His eyes grow more distant, lips twisting into a bow. “The state?” He carries the drinks to the table before rushing back for his food.
I let out a frustrated breath. “The guy you were seeing behind my back.”
His face pales. “Ah . . . I’m not uh . . . I can’t really remember everything from . . .” He looks around, pausing between the table and kitchen counter. “You know, from before. The memories slowly come when least expected.”
“You mean like your more tentative side? You’ve never left bruises on me before.”
“No, but maybe if I did you wouldn’t have grown bored with me.” He closes the distance between him and the table, sitting across from me.
My eyes blink. “I wasn’t. How would you even know?”
“It was the fourth memory I got after first waking up.”
“What was your first?” My words stumble.
His eyes hold mine in place, lips twitching as he says, “You.”
“Me what?” My throat constricts.
“You were my first thought. You’re smile. You’re alluring springy scent. Just you.”
“You’re first thought,” I mock. “The way you say it, it’s like you truly believe you’re you.”
“I am me.” His shoulders roll back.
“And who is me? It can’t be Gareth.”
“I am him.”
“You are Gareth?” I croak out.
