Mated by Amnesia

Chapter 7 - Going Home

The next morning, I’m told I can leave the hospital wing.

A nurse helps me into a simple, black, loose dress. Better than the hospital gown, but still foreign. My body feels strange inside it, as if it belongs to someone else.

My arms are thin, my steps unsteady. Every time I catch my reflection in the window glass, my breath stutters.

I don’t recognize the woman looking back.

Mateo waits for me at the door. He smiles when he sees me, and though it’s warm, I notice the stiffness in it, like a mask he’s practiced. He offers his arm.

“Ready to go home?” he asks.

Home.

The word feels heavy, almost mocking. But I nod, because what else can I do?

The halls are dim and quiet as he leads me out. Every person we pass stops and stares. Their whispers trail after us like smoke. A few bow their heads, others just…watch. My stomach twists tighter with each glance.

I don’t recognize even one face. A part of me feels like the way they look at me…they don’t recognize me either.

“Why are they looking at me like that?” I whisper, feeling self-conscious.

Mateo’s grip on my arm tightens ever so slightly. “Because you’re important to them. They’re relieved you’re finally awake and walking around.”

Finally awake...I still don't know how long it's been. It's getting to the point that I almost don't even want to know.

We leave the medical wing, and he leads me to the largest house on the street.

It’s impressive, with tall stone walls, long polished halls, heavy doors carved with patterns that feel ancient. The scent of pine and smoke lingers in the air. It’s beautiful, but unfamiliar.

“This is the packhouse,” Mateo says, guiding me up a wide staircase. “Where our family lives. Where you live.”

Our family. The word catches, and I open my mouth to ask about this family I don’t know, but get distracted by a group of excitedly chattering young women rounding the corner in the corridor.

I attempt a timid smile at them, but they fall silent as we pass.

One bites her lip, her eyes flicking from Mateo to me with something sharp. Envy? Hatred? I don’t know. But it makes the hair rise on the back of my neck.

Mateo ignores them, and we continue on until we reach a large bedroom at the end of another corridor.

Sunlight filters through gauzy curtains, falling across a massive bed. A fire smolders quietly in the hearth. It should feel comforting. Right? Instead, the air is too still, too quiet.

“This is your room. Ours.” Mateo says softly, brushing a strand of hair from my face. His touch is tender, almost reverent, but I can’t shake the unease curling inside me. “I'm so happy to have you back here with me.”

I run my hand on the dark mahogany dresser, completely void of framed photos, knick-knacks, or any clutter, trying to find familiarity, something that feels like me, something to jog my memory.

Nothing.

Have I truly ever been in this room before? It's so tidy...so...not me. Or is it?

My chest tightens. I want to ask a hundred questions, to voice all my concerns out loud, but my tongue feels thick, my head foggy.

Mateo leans closer, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “It's okay. You don’t need to remember right away. I’ll remind you of everything, piece by piece. Trust me, Jo. You’re safe here. With me.”

My smile feels forced as I sink onto the bed, my fingers gripping the luxurious material of the crimson blanket.

My bed…my room…

But I don’t like crimson…I prefer lighter, calmer coolers, like greens and blues…don’t I?

“Would you like something to eat? Something to drink?”

Mateo’s forehead creases as he watches me, clearly trying to gauge my reaction.

“I…I don’t know…” My fingers massage my temples as I glance around the room, trying to will my memory back.

What I want is to understand. To remember something...anything.

There’s a faint buzzing sound and Mateo reaches into his pocket and glances at his phone, his shoulders tightening for such a brief moment, I wonder if I imagined it.

“I fear I have to take care of something, it won’t take but a few minutes.” He looks hesitant, as if unsure whether he should leave me alone.

“Go. It’s fine. I’ll stay here.”

He looks unconvinced, but his phone buzzes again, and he finally nods.

“I’ll be back shortly.” He drops a soft kiss on my forehead before he leaves, his lips leaving a warm impression against my skin.

Is that the mate bond?

For some reason, I thought it would be more…intense.

Must be the amnesia.

The moment the door closes behind him, I get up to search the room, looking for clues to who I am, needing to remember.

Opening the drawers of the dresser, I find drawer after drawer of Mateo's neatly folded clothes.

Moving on to the closet, I gasp when the door swings open.

It's bigger than I had thought, incredibly neat and organized, with perfectly spaced matching hangers that hold Mateo's clothes on the left, and what must be mine on the right.

Lightly brushing my fingers against the fine clothes, I try to imagine myself in any of them, but I can't. They're all so formal, so dark.

So new.

Even the built-in drawers of all my underthings look like it could be a display from a luxury lingerie store.

That gnawing, twisting feeling in my gut makes me back out of the closet, firmly closing the door to it.

Those aren't mine. This isn't my room.

This is not my life.