HIS FORGOTTEN VOWS

DIANA’S POV The first time Cassian forgot about me, I told myself it was the medication. When he stared at me with such cold eyes, devoid of it’s usual warmth and love, I lied to myself that it was because he was drugged. Because I could not accept the fact that he had forgotten all about me. That he had forgotten his love for me. The second time, I put the blame on the trauma. Third time came, and frustrations had gotten the better of me. It can’t be. He can’t just forget me like that. I decided he was pulling a prank on me and that I’d play along for as long as he stopped it soon. But by the forth time, I stopped making excuses and lost it. “How many times am I going to explain to you that I am your wife because you loved me and married me! Five times?! Ten times?! Twenty times?! When are you going to stop looking at me with such contempt each time you wake up?!” “You are not my wife! I don’t know you!” I grabbed the wine bottle and threw it against the wall. It splattered, its red content spilling about. Cassian flinched and I immediately regretted my brash action. “I’m sorry,” I said, walking over to the piano and playing it. It was what I did any time I wanted to calm down. My fingers were moving across the keys, muscle memory guiding them through the Nocturne in E-flat major. Three days since the last reset. Three days had passed since Cassian had woken up and looked at me with his grey eyes, squinting in confusion and asking; “Who the hell are you and why are you in my bedroom?” Again. “You’re playing that piece wrong.” My hands stilled on the keys. I flinched upon his voice and looked back. I had not heard him coming at all. He stood at the doorway, barefoot, wearing the orange pajama pants I got as a Christmas gift for him last Christmas. He probably doesn’t remember it. He didn’t remember how he had kissed me below the tree, told me I was the best gift he’d ever received. He didn’t remember either, how afterwards, he had yanked my clothes off, pushing me onto the table, kissing and biting my bare back, his hands caressing every part of my body, squeezing my breasts, diving between my legs, covering my mouth from moaning too loudly so our family downstairs would not hear us f*****g. Flashback- Last Christmas 18+ “You naughty boy,” I had said, giggling as he slammed his lips onto my body. “Shhh, they’ll hear us downstairs. You don’t want your parents coming up to see what we are doing right?” He teased. I laughed. “Why not?” Then I took out my breasts. He stared at me as I took out my big breasts out of my loose clothe. He drew closer to me and grabbed it, squeezing it. I moaned. He kissed the midpoint between my boobs, before moving to the left breast and sucking it. He licked my n****e and then sucked it, his hand clutching the second breast. “Urgh!” I cried, gasping. He ravished my breasts before moving downward where he found my stomach, kissing it and sucking my belly button. His rough hands moved to my warm thighs, rubbing them softly before he found my coochie, which lay beautifully between my legs. He caressed it and I trembled under him. His mouth was still on my belly, but just as he was about to explore my p***y more, I stopped him. He looked at me with confusion. “Not yet,” I whispered. I didn’t want penetration just yet. He understood and withdrew his hand from my legs. I sat up, my hand reaching for his d**k. I took it and placed it in between my breasts which had his kiss and bite marks on them. He flushed red as I pleasured his d**k with my breasts, moving expertly. “Do whatever you want with me. I want it rough,” I said and winked. “Really?” “Yes. f**k me and f**k me right. You can be a little rough with me.” He accepted the gesture pushing me against the wall and devouring my mouth. I squirmed in delight under his kiss. He held my waist and pulled me tightly against his body. His movements were rough and impatient and I could feel the pressure of his body strongly against hers. Then he broke the kiss again. Flashback ends. I laughed as the memory ended. It was only I who remembered. He won’t remember how he had f****d me so hard we had ended up breaking down the table and our parents had thought we were fighting. A tear ran down my cheek as the distant memory floated to my head. That was five months ago. Before the accident. Before everything shattered. “Why do you say that?” I asked him. He came closer, his eyes not leaving me. “The tempo’s off.” Disheveled hair with dark strands cascading his lovely face. A man six foot tall of sharp angles and carefully controlled power. My husband. My stranger. “You’re rushing the third measure.” “I know,” my voice was hoarse. I hadn’t spoken to anyone in days except Rose, my sister, and that conversation had ended with me crying into the phone while my sister made soothing noises and promised to visit tomorrow. “I always rush that measure.” “Then why not fix it?” Because you used to say you loved how I played it wrong. Because you said my imperfections made the music more human. Because three weeks ago, before your memory reset again, you sat beside me on this bench and guided my hands through the correct tempo, your breath warm against my neck, and I thought maybe, finally, you were coming back to me. “I like it this way,” I said instead. Cassian made a noncommittal sound and moved to the windows overlooking Manhattan. Dawn was breaking, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold. Beautiful. Empty. Like everything else in my life these days. “Did I wake you?” I asked, even though I didn’t particularly care. Part of me….a small, petty part I wasn’t proud of….hoped I had. Hoped he’d spent the night as restless as I did, wondering what the hell was happening to us. “Did I wake you?” “I don’t sleep well.” He looked up, and I could see the despondency and despair in his look. “I haven’t slept well since I woke up from the coma.”