The bruises on my throat tell a story I'm too ashamed to read out loud.
I'm sprawled across our living room couch, trying to find a comfortable position that doesn't make my head throb. Every movement sends a dull ache radiating from my temple, where Emily's makeshift nursing job has left me with a gauze patch taped to my skin. The TV drones on mute in front of me.
From down the hallway, Emily's voice rises and falls like a storm tide. She's been in her office all morning, working from home to "keep an eye on me" after yesterday's incident. The irony isn't lost on me, the same office I was punished for entering is now her fortress, door wide open so she can monitor my every move while she works.
"That's completely unacceptable!" Her voice cuts through the house, sharp and commanding. "Those farmers knew exactly what they were doing when they planted those crops!"
I wince, not from pain but from the intensity in her tone. It's the same voice that screamed at me yesterday, right before my head met the wall. Yet somehow, that memory sends an inappropriate tingle through my body that I immediately try to suppress.
My fingers drift to my throat, tracing the dark purple marks her hand left behind. The bruises are shaped perfectly like her fingers, a possessive necklace I can't take off. I press lightly, feeling a ghost of yesterday's pressure, and sigh at the confusing mixture of fear and arousal that floods through me.
What the hell is wrong with me?
"I don't care what their lawyer said!" Emily's voice grows louder, closer. I turn my head to see her storming out of the office, phone pressed to her ear, face flushed with anger. Despite everything, she looks stunning, blonde hair pulled back in a messy bun, wearing yoga pants and an oversized t-shirt that somehow makes her look both casual and intimidating.
Our eyes meet, and something in her expression shifts. The hard lines of her face soften slightly as she approaches the couch, though her voice remains razor-sharp for whoever's on the other end of the call.
"We'll discuss this later. I have to go." She doesn't wait for a response before hanging up and tossing her phone onto the coffee table.
Without a word, she lifts my head gently and sits down, placing my head in her lap. Her fingers immediately find their way into my hair, massaging my scalp with surprising tenderness. I should pull away. I should be terrified of those same hands that caused the injuries I'm now sporting.
Instead, I melt into her touch like I'm starving for it.
"How's your head feeling?" she asks, her voice now honey-sweet, completely transformed from the corporate shark of moments ago.
"Fine," I mumble, but my eyes slide away from hers.
"You don't sound fine." Her fingertips gently trace the edge of the bandage. "I'm worried about brain swelling. Maybe we should go back to the hospital."
I shake my head slightly, wincing at the movement. "If it was going to swell, it would have happened already."
“I guess.”
For a moment, we just exist in silence. I stare up at her beautiful face, watching the emotions play across her features like clouds across the sky. Despite everything, I can't deny she's breathtaking. The light catches her blonde hair, turning it almost golden, and those green eyes that can switch from rage to tenderness in seconds hold me captive.
A question bubbles up from some hidden part of me, something I should have asked days ago.
"Did we have a big wedding?" I ask suddenly.
Her expression shifts. She looks down, a frown tugging at the corners of her mouth. Something flickers behind her eyes, hesitation, maybe even regret.
"We got married in a courthouse," she says softly, her fingers still moving through my hair.
"Why?" I press, watching her face carefully.
"Because we were both very busy," she replies, her voice carefully measured. "I had just made partner, and you were..." She trails off, then continues, "We didn't have time for a big ceremony."
I nod slowly, processing this. The courthouse part rings true somehow, feels right in a way I can't explain. But the excuse about being busy strikes a false note, like a piano key slightly out of tune. I can't put my finger on why, but it doesn't fit with the Emily I've come to know, the woman who seems to have built her entire life around me.
"No family there?" I ask, pushing a little further.
Emily's hand stills in my hair for just a moment before resuming its gentle rhythm. "Just Mark," she says. "He was our witness."
"Nobody else?"
“Nope.”
I try to imagine it, the three of us in some sterile government building, signing papers to formalize a marriage I can't remember. It seems so cold, so unlike the passionate woman currently cradling my head in her lap.
"Do you want to have a ceremony?" Emily asks suddenly, her eyes brightening with unexpected hope. "A real one this time?"
I blink up at her, surprised by the suggestion. "It sounds like I don't know anyone besides Mark who would even come."
A soft smile spreads across her face, transforming her features.
"It can just be the two of us, you know," she says, twirling a strand of my hair around her finger. "Something intimate, just for us."
"But we already got married," I point out, though the idea is starting to take root in my mind.
Emily cups my cheek gently, careful to avoid the bandage on my temple. "But you don't remember it. Wouldn't it be fun to make a new memory? One you can actually keep?"
Heat rises to my face as an unbidden image flashes through my mind, Emily in a flowing white dress, her blonde hair crowned with flowers, those green eyes locked on mine as we exchange vows. Then the fantasy shifts, and I'm peeling that dress from her body, revealing the perfect skin beneath, her gasping as I take her against a wall, wedding dress bunched around her waist...
"You're blushing," Emily says, her voice dropping to that husky register that makes my stomach flip. Her eyes narrow slightly, a knowing smile playing at her lips.
"Sorry," I mumble, embarrassed at being so transparent. "I was thinking about ripping a wedding dress off you."
Emily's eyes light up, her smile spreading across her face like sunshine breaking through clouds.
"If you want, I can probably order a wedding dress to get here tonight," she says, her fingers still playing with my hair.
I laugh, the sound escaping before I can stop it. The idea seems so absurd, an overnight delivery wedding dress just so I can fuck her in it.
"No, I'm serious," she insists, her expression earnest. "If this is something you want to try..."
I consider it for a moment, the fantasy still vivid in my mind. But something about rushing it feels wrong.
"No," I say softly. "It has to be on the night of a wedding. A real one. The anticipation is half the fun."
Emily's smile turns predatory, her eyes darkening slightly as she looks down at me. "So you're open to the idea?"
"Yeah," I admit, feeling heat crawl up my neck again. "I think I am."
We sit in another comfortable silence for a few moments, her fingers continuing their gentle exploration of my hair.
"Hey," I say suddenly, a question forming that I've been afraid to ask. "How do I compare to the Charles you used to have? Like, do you miss him?"
Emily goes still. Her eyes search mine with an intensity that makes my breath catch. Then she reaches down, her palm warm against my cheek as she rubs it gently with her thumb.
"How you are now," she says, her voice thick with emotion, "is making me the happiest I've ever been."
I smile, feeling a strange sense of arrogance toward my lost self. Whatever version of Charles existed before the accident, he clearly had other priorities.
It's a twisted thought, feeling superior to myself, a self I can't even remember. But as Emily's fingers trace the line of my jaw with such tenderness, I can't help but think that maybe this amnesia was the best thing that ever happened to us.
You can read early chapters here.
https://subscribestar.adult/astrolust
And a link to my Discord
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