I don’t sleep.
Again.
But this time it’s not confusion keeping me awake.
It’s him.
The way he said it.
You were obsessed with me.
The way my body reacted when he touched me.
The way I didn’t say no.
That scares me more than the missing memories.
Because desire doesn’t lie.
And I felt it.
---
The memory comes the next morning.
Not triggered by him.
Not by touch.
By coffee.
I’m standing in the kitchen, staring at the espresso machine like it’s foreign technology.
Adrian moves around the space with ease.
Familiar.
Precise.
He doesn’t speak.
He just places a cup in front of me.
“No sugar,” he says.
“How do you know that?”
“You say sweetness should be earned.”
The words hit something.
A faint flicker.
A kitchen.
Different lighting.
Smaller.
Less glass.
“You didn’t
