19
1019 Words
“What are you doing? Stop!” I gasped for air as I started laughing. “Get off of me.” I tried to push his hands away as I laughed hysterically. “Rob!”
When he started laughing at my pain, I took the opportunity to retaliate. “Oh, it’s so on!” I said and tickled his side.
He barely even flinched. It was like he was a tickling aficionado. He climbed on top of me and grabbed my arms to pin them down.
“Stop!” I yelled through a bout of laughter as he tickled me with his free hand. “I can’t breathe.” I tried to squirm away from him, but I was trapped underneath of him. “I surrender!” I said through a giggle. But I didn’t actually want him to stop. I couldn’t even remember the last time I had laughed so hard. Probably before meeting Austin. And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like his hands on me. Or him on top of me. God, did I have the hots for my husband’s brother?
Suddenly the sound from the TV disappeared. The living room was quiet except for the sound of my incessant laughter.
“What the f**k are you doing?” James said.
Rob’s hand froze on the side of my ribcage. His smile immediately disappeared as he looked up at James. “Okay…so this looks…bad. But she started it.” He tried to stifle another laugh as I squirmed beneath him.
“I did not, Robert,” I protested. “And I said I surrendered. You can let me go now.” I was very aware of his body pressed against mine. But I was also aware of the edge in James’ voice. He was clearly pissed about this. Couldn’t Rob sense that? I avoided looking at James. Could he tell how much I liked this? Could he see through me?
“Ugh, back to Robert, huh? Don’t make me tickle you again.”
I laughed. I couldn’t help it. He was funny.
“Get the f**k off of my wife. And out of my house.”
Rob slowly climbed off of me. “Lighten up, man. She was upset. I made her laugh.”
“If I ever see you touch her like that again…”
“We were just messing around, James. Chill.”
“I don’t care what you said were doing. I asked you to leave.” James stepped to the side to let Rob pass.
But Rob didn’t move. “Yeah, I’m not leaving right now. She’s scared enough without you acting like this. Can’t you see that?”
“I think I know her better than you. And all I could see was you taking advantage of her because she doesn’t remember…”
“Oh my God, stop.” I stood up. “Both of you. Don’t talk about me like I’m not in the room. What is wrong with you?”
“Penny.” James stepped toward me but I put my hand up for him to stop.
“Honestly, I’m not interested in talking to you right now.”
Rob laughed.
“Either of you,” I added and glared at him. “You’re treating me like I’m some delicate damsel in distress. So clearly neither of you know me at all. I can take care of my freaking self. So you two pussyfooting around by not telling me the truth isn’t helping me at all.”
“Pussyfooting?” Rob laughed.
“Laugh at me all you want. But I’m not talking to either of you until you’re ready to tell me what happened to me. I need to know why I’m not allowed to leave this apartment. And what pictures were removed from the walls. And why there are locked doors upstairs. And why I freaking look like I’m pregnant.”
James placed his hand on the armrest of the couch. He looked exhausted. But I didn’t really care. How was I supposed to help him if he didn’t let me in? How was I supposed to remember anything if pieces of my life were being hidden away?
“So, if you’ll excuse me,” I said and walked out of the room. I wasn’t sure where I was planning on going. I couldn’t storm out of the apartment. Running upstairs to my room was the best option. I just hated that it was James’ room too.
Friday
“Why haven’t you shown her the book yet?” Rob asked. “It'll jog her memory.”
I didn’t even have to eavesdrop. Rob and James’ heated discussion easily drifted upstairs. But I still climbed off the bed and settled by the side of the door to hear them a little more clearly.
“I want her to remember. I don’t want her to be told what and how to remember it.”
“They’re her words. She has a unique opportunity to hear about her life through her own eyes. Not many people with amnesia get that.”
“But it’s a work of fiction. The memories are blurred. It’s not like experiencing it for the first time.”
“It’s not that much fiction.”
Did I write something? The thought made me smile. I loved reading. I always wished that I could articulate a story that was as good as the ones I read. Was that my job? Was I an author?
“James, I get that some of it is hard for you to think about, but she needs to remember it. The good and the bad. This is the easiest way.”
“Haven’t we had enough bad?”
“You can’t expect her to remember anything if you’re hiding pieces of your lives from her.”
“I just…I don’t want her to read about loving me. I want her to fall in love with me all over again.”
“Why? When all she has to do is remember how much she loved you in the first place…”
- Writer
