“Exactly,” she agreed roundly. “The men will flock to us like greedy little bees around a honey pot.”
I swallowed a lump in my throat. Men flocking around us was the last thing I wanted. That was the other bizarre thing about me. I had a vague, explainable fear of men. Which was, quite frankly, weird, because no man had ever been anything except gentle and respectful toward me. And what was even more crazy, was a deep, unshakeable impression I had that I was waiting. Waiting for someone. Like the bride of a soldier that was waiting for her sweetheart to return from a war in a far-flung country. Sometimes I even felt a pang of longing. As if I was calling for my other half to come back to me.
Totally bizarre.
Once I went out on a date, and I had to pretend I had a headache and leave halfway through, because I felt guilty the whole time. As if I was cheating on this invisible, unknown man I was waiting for.
It was strange, very strange, but there was nothing I could do about it. My skin actually crawled when my date touched me. And that reaction was the same for any man who came on to me.
4
Caleb
-You will remember me for centuries-
“No, I wouldn’t recommend bringing up any recollections of the past you shared with her. Her mind has obviously shut out the entire period because it is too painful to bear. Telling her what happened between the two of you might even mean planting memories. That could cause her to get confused and start to distrust which memories are real and which are imagined. I cannot express enough what harm that could do.”
I stared at Dr. Aggarwal’s sallow-skinned, gaunt face. Behind his spectacles, his eyes looked watery and full of sorrow or exhaustion. It was as if he had absorbed all the troubles of his patients into his own body.
I glanced down at my hands, the complicated blue tats snaking up my arms. I was a kid when I had them done. They looked childish and cliché now. HATE on the four fingers of one hand and LOVE on the other. First came hate, then after I met Willow came love. I asked my next question. “It’s been more than twelve years since her accident. Isn’t that way past the norm for her to recover her lost memories? Isn’t there something we can do to help her regain her memories?”
He nodded. “You told me she was undergoing dialectical behavioral therapy to help process her trauma, but gave up on it due to its ineffectiveness?”
That was what the private investigator I hired found out. “Yes.”
“That’s the thing about dissociative amnesia,” he said. “Lost memories will return when they want to, and there’s little that any one of us can do to force it. It is an extremely frustrating thing not to be able to remember vast chunks of your life, but it looks like she’s accepted her own limitations in forcing them to come back and is allowing nature to take its course instead.”
“I don’t want to cause her any pain or discomfort whatsoever,” I muttered.
“No, of course you don’t. I can see you care very much for the young lady.”
I looked down at my hands curiously. They were trembling. All the fights, all the danger, all the pain I endured in prison and I’d never seen them tremble. “Is it possible then, she might never regain her memories?”
“Yes, I’m afraid you’ll have to accept that possibility. You were present during this traumatic time, weren’t you?”
I nodded.
“Then maybe your future interactions with her will trigger some old memories that will in turn help in her recollection. But it would be wise not to rush her, or force her. Don’t be the one to bring it up.” He paused. “Perhaps just seeing you might trigger something.”
“She was just twelve when we parted,” I explained. “I was fifteen, and now I’m almost twenty-eight. My appearance has changed a lot. It’s very likely that she wouldn’t be able to place my face at all.”
He was silent as he stared at me. “I thought you were very close back then?”
“We were, but like I said I was just a boy then. Even without the accident it would be hard for her to recognize me. Even I can hardly see any trace of that kid in the mirror anymore.”
“If you were as close as you’ve mentioned, then her recognition of you should go beyond just your physical attributes, unless you’ve done a complete 180° change in every single aspect of who you were. Mr. Wolfe, if she can’t recognize you through your face, perhaps she’ll be able to with her heart.”
Another thought occurred to me. “What about my name? Do I give her my real name? Will that cause any problems?”