Page 15 of Possessive Doctor

As I dress, my mind drifts back to just what it is that I’m getting ready for. In an hour or so, I might just remember who I am. As exciting as that is, I worry that what I find might tell me I don’t belong with Andrew. That maybe, we belong to different worlds.

Maybe that’s why he stopped. Maybe he’s worried about that, too. For the first time, I realize what a difficult position I’d put him in, and I hate that it took this long for me to see it.

He really cares for me even if, at any moment, I could just turn into someone else and he’ll become a stranger. A heaviness settles on my chest as I consider that sobering thought.

No, I don’t want that to happen. It can’t happen.

I want to stay with Andrew. Just because I want to remember my past doesn’t mean he has no place in my present and, more importantly, our future together.

7

AMY

Ican barely sit still as I watch the miles on Andrew’s GPS tick down.

Ten miles, four miles, one mile.

He pulls into a quaint neighborhood with streets lined with flowering trees. Children playing on the narrow street wait until the last second to move out of our way. I peer out at them, hoping to recognize their faces. Maybe I babysat for these kids while I was in high school or something. No, they look like every other random kid.

“We’re here,” Andrew tells me as he makes a left into the driveway beside a white two-story house.

He kills the engine and turns to look at me, “Anything?”

“Nope,” I say, straining my neck to take in the full picture. This is my house? Just a couple of weeks ago, I knew that I lived here. Now, I wouldn’t have a clue.

Andrew gets out of the car and walks to my side, opening my door for me. He takes my arm and helps me to my feet. He’s always careful when he touches me, like he’s scared I might break any time.

“Are you ready for this?” he asks me.

“I don’t know. I guess I have to be, right?”

“No. If you aren’t ready, we can turn around and go back home.”

“I thought this was my home,” I whisper.

“I have your keys. I borrowed them to get your clothes,” he tells me as he unlocks the front door. We step inside and the stench of old trash assaults my sinus. Oh god, he wasn’t kidding.

“I’ll take that trash out,” Andrew says, rushing to the kitchen.

“You don’t have to. That’s not your job,” I argue but he insists. I’m learning this one about him. If he wants to do it, no force on earth can stop him. Is it weird that I find it a turn-on?

I walk into the living room and gaze at the photographs on the fireplace mantel. There’s one of me—probably around four years old—wearing a green velvet dress and seated on Santa’s lap. I smile at the image but have no memory of the event.

There’s a picture of me in a pink gown standing in front of an arch made of white roses. “Must be prom,” I mumble. “No date? Hmm.”

I pick up the gold-framed photo to the left of the prom picture. “Mom and Dad,” I whisper and run my finger across their faces. They’re gone and I can’t even remember them to mourn them properly. The thought devastates me and I begin to cry.

Andrew, returning from outside, sees me and asks, “Amy, do you remember?”

He walks to me and I fall onto his chest, loving the way his arms wrap around my small body. “No, that’s the problem. I look at them, and they look like strangers.”

“It’s okay. You’re alright and I’m sure that if they were here, they would understand. They would just want you to get better. We all do.”

He holds me, stroking my hair as I weep. He’s so patient with me that I think he would stand here like this forever, but he notices the prom photo on the mantel and picks it up.

“Is this prom? Where’s your date? Was he camera-shy?”

“I don’t think I had a date. Why else would I be alone in the picture?”

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