16. Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Fifteen
Allie
A month. That's how long it's been since I escaped that basement, and it's the first time Jax and I have been out in public. Really in public. Drive-thru places were all I could handle before now, so being out and exposed makes me nervous. But he assured me the appeal of me being back after seven years has worn off. I know he lied the moment we step foot in the bar, but I have to admit the lie did its job. It got me here.
We sit in a booth in the back, something he called ahead and requested, and I let him order for me. I've been racking my brain to try and figure out how to get my memories back. To know who I am and what I like. Tonight, I decide to let Jax take the reins and bombard me with things I would find familiar. The location, the food, the music, the company. Maybe if I overload my senses, it'll do something. Anything.
I can’t help it. Every person in here looks at me like I’m a freak show attraction. And I look into their eyes hoping to see if they jump out at me. Although, I didn’t see my captor’s eyes, I can’t help but feel as though I’ll recognize them the moment I see them. Really see them. But no one looks familiar. No one looks like the person who would have a reason to keep me locked away for years, and I force myself to stop and focus on Jax.
"So... my favorite bar in town is the only bar in town?" I ask as the waitress sets the light beer he ordered for me down.
Smirking, Jax nods. "That was always your joke. Like how parents with only one child would say something ridiculous like my favorite kid . The irony wasn’t lost on you."
"And I like light beer?"
His tongue runs along his lips. "You do. You always entertained me with your drink choices because you'd pick it based on your mood, or what you wanted your mood to be for the evening."
"What?" That makes no sense.
He drinks his own beer, some Mexican sounding brand, and he seems to like it based on the face he makes. "If you were looking to just have a fun time, you'd order beer. But light because you can't drink fully leaded, as you put it. If you felt sophisticated, you'd order wine. But only white wine because you have a tendency to spill, and red was very difficult to get out. You also would always wear white when drinking red wine. Or eating pasta with a red sauce."
"Naturally," I say with a smile.
I like the way he looks when he talks about me. And how he gazes when he thinks I'm not paying attention. I know that people still think he had something to do with what happened to me, but I know it's not true. It can't be true. If it is, this makes no sense whatsoever.
"If you were angry or irritated, the vodka came out. So would the angry monster you'd turn into, who we named Amy, and we had to make sure you didn't start a fight. And then if you wanted to get a little frisky, you'd order tequila. "
He’s recently started referring to me in the past tense when he talks about memories I’ve yet to recover. It's kind of a nice differentiation between Old Allie and New Allie. Like he’s recalling details about an old friend I've just met rather than about myself. It feels kind of fitting considering the circumstances.
"And I like a beer cheeseburger with sweet potato fries and a side of ranch? That sounds... disgusting."
Jax laughs and shakes his head. "The burger comes with fried pickles, and you always said you'd sell your firstborn child for a good pickle."
"That answers my question about whether or not I like pickles."
"Love them."
Something nags at me about what he said. "Firstborn kid. Did we ever talk about having kids? Were we waiting to get married to have kids?"
His face falls, and I worry I've said something wrong. "We talked about kids a lot."
"If it's too much—"
"You have a condition that makes it difficult to get pregnant. We were prepared to spend the money on a surrogate to have a baby."
I can't get pregnant? "Oh," I say.
"We thought you were pregnant right around the time we bought the house, and we were so excited. You made an appointment with the doctor," he says, his eyes falling to the table, "and they identified you have endometriosis. The scarring is so significant he said the chances of being able to get pregnant, let alone carry a baby to term, would be nearly impossible. You had eggs frozen to have ready when we decided we wanted to move forward with it."
Tears sting at my eyes, and I can't understand why. I hadn't even thought about having children until just now, so finding out I can't carry my own shouldn't be so upsetting. But for some reason, it is. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry," he says, taking my hand on the table.
"I don't know why I'm crying," I say and wipe my eyes with my free hand.
"Because deep down you know how much you want to be a mom. The one benefit was that you said you didn't need to worry about birth control anymore."
Letting out a chuckle, I look at him. "I have a strange suspicion that I thought it might be possible. That we might defy the odds. I don't know why I feel that."
Jax's eyes widen. "That would be something you'd think," he says with a surprise laugh. "I never thought about that."
Moments like this give me hope that I'm still in here somewhere. That the memories will come back because I'll say or do something that feels familiar, and I can tell by Jax's reaction it is. Everything is in here, it's just a matter of figuring out what trigger will bring it all flooding back.
The waitress sets a basket of fried pickles in front of us, and she smiles warmly. She knows me. I don't know her, but she knows me . Granted, the town is already small, but my return has made the news and made me known to even the newest in the population.
"And I like fried pickles?" I ask.
"Love them. But give it a few minutes. You're going to burn—"
"Ow! Hot," I say after biting into one and burning the roof of my mouth.
“The roof of your mouth," he finishes. "Never did learn. Never will, it seems. "
Grabbing the beer, I drink it, letting the cool liquid soothe my scalded mouth. I have to admit, though, everything he's ordered is spot on. I like it all. Especially the pickles, even if I can't stop rubbing my tongue along the rough skin on the top of my mouth.
"These are good. Hot, but good."
I eat half the appetizer and almost moan. "Good?" Jax asks with a smirk.
"I understand the comment about my firstborn child now. Pickles are a must in my life from now on."
"I'm glad you like them."
I push the basket away, my stomach feeling full already, even though I've started putting some weight back on. Some of the clothes fit better now, which is a plus. "So, what else can you tell me about us? Or me. Whatever."
Taking a pickle, he pops it into his mouth. "Um, we started dating when we were seventeen. You were the youngest in the class, and I was one of the oldest, so we're almost a year apart. I was your first real boyfriend, and you were my second girlfriend. My goal was to make everything worthwhile for you, so I went above and beyond. Set a precedence that I never could back away from. Flowers and elaborately planned dates. That kind of thing."
"Who was your first girlfriend?"
"Maria Peters."
I lock eyes with him and tilt my head. "Did I give my virginity to you?"
Nodding, he flashes me a knowing smile. "You did."
"But you didn't give me yours, did you? Maria was your first?"
He looks away. "Yes, she was."
"Did it upset me?" I ask, trying to understand the pain on his face .
"No, but I wished it was you. I thought I loved Maria, but it was very different from how I felt when I dated you. I always wished I'd waited. You said you were glad I didn't, though," he says with a smirk. "You said it made it easier because I knew what I was doing when you'd finally given into your desires."
"I guess, in a way, if we sleep together again, it'll be like I'm a virgin. I have no idea what I'm doing."
My words seem to affect him, and he shifts in his seat. "You were always good when it came to instincts."
The waitress stops by with our food and saves us from having to say anything further on the topic. It strikes me as strange how he hasn't even attempted to kiss me since I came back. We sleep in the same bed every night, and it's obvious from the pictures in the living room that we were very much affectionate, but he seems to hold himself back with me. I can see his desire sometimes, and it's a heady feeling being with someone who clearly loves me as much as he does.
"Do we have a song?" I ask, biting into the burger and nearly moaning again. "Okay, this is amazing," I say with a mouthful of food. "So good."
He smiles at me. "I know you. I know it's weird considering everything, but I always knew you better than anyone. Even better than you knew yourself. You had little tells that would let me know what you needed or wanted, even when you weren't sure. And to answer your question, we have two, technically."
"Two?"
"Two songs."
"That's not normal, right? To have two songs?"
Laughing, he sets his knife and fork down after finishing the bite he took of his T-bone steak. "The first one is more of an Allie-song than an us-song. You had an obsession, and I mean obsession , with the movie Selena with Jennifer Lopez. The first time we made love, you put the song “Dreaming of You” on repeat, making it our song."
"That sounds almost cute," I say, taking a fry and dipping it in ranch. "Clearly obsessive, but cute... I think?"
"I was just thrilled you'd thought about having sex with me enough to have a song you wanted playing when we did. It kind of helped me know you were sure."
Moments like this really show me how much Jax cares. He's always cared, it seems, and I feel like he holds the key to my memories. "What's our second song?"
"You're a huge country music fan. I finally gave in, after being forced to listen along with you. It has to be the older stuff, though; I don't like much beyond 2007. Anyway, one night in college, we'd gotten into a fight. We were at a bar, and for some reason, when the song “I Can Love You Like That” by John Michael Montgomery started playing, we moved to the dance floor, our fight forgotten. You decided that night that it would be the song we danced to at our wedding."
I let his words settle over me, and we finish our meals in comfortable silence. It's overwhelming to learn this much about myself and my love, especially because it makes me want to know everything even more. Not just know but remember. Please remember , I beg to myself for the thousandth time today.
There's so much conviction behind Jax's love, and I want to remember. Remember us, but more importantly, I want to remember him. I want to share in the memory of our first time together. Did I enjoy it? Did it hurt? Was he gentle and kind, or did he rush it to get the pain over with as quickly as possible to make the rest pleasurable? Did I orgasm? How far had we gone before we had sex? Did we do everything but ravage each other like the horny teenagers we obviously were?
These are all questions I know I can ask and get the answers to, but I'd like to remember them. Know for myself, not know because he told me. That's what I desire more than anything else.
Standing, Jax holds his hand out to me, and I look up at him in confusion. What's he doing? "What?"
"Our song is playing. I'd like to dance with you."
I take his hand and let him lead me to the dance floor. He holds me close, our bodies swaying naturally to a song I know all the words to, even though I can't remember ever hearing it before. The words come out as a whisper as I rest my cheek against his chest, the same way I sleep. His lips kiss my forehead, and for a brief moment, everything feels normal.
"You know the words?" he asks.
"I guess I do," I say and look at him. "Don't know how, but I do."
"Probably the same way I can remember every lyric to an old-school hip-hop song but forget why I walked into a room," he says with a smile. "You still whisper the words."
Frowning, I continue to look into his eyes as we dance. "What do you mean?"
"You only sing when you're drunk. You hate your singing voice, but only after you've had hard liquor will you jump up and sing at the top of your lungs. When you're sober, you whisper the words."
"Is my singing voice really that bad?"
"It's not your best feature, but you can't be perfect," he says.
I laugh and continue to look into his eyes. Standing on my tiptoes, I kiss his cheek, our bodies moving to the beat. The look in his eyes tells me he wants more than a peck, but I think he's the one holding back, not me. For some reason, he seems hesitant, and I need him to be ready. I am, but he needs to go at his own pace.
The next song is another slow song, and we stay where we are, Jax holding me close. He moves his mouth to my ear, singing the words to me. His heart races beneath my palm on his chest, his hand over mine, and I know mine beats in time with his.
"I'm really sorry I don't remember you, Jax. I want to. I promise, I do."
"It's okay," he assures me. "I want you to remember, too, but we'll make new memories to share. Just like we would have been making memories this entire time."