9. Valentina
VALENTINA
Diego leaves and despite my best efforts, I fall back asleep after popping a couple of painkillers and chasing them with some cool, clear water.
I don’t dream.
What rest I do get is like turning off the power to my mind and time passes in a blink. A blink that ends up leaving me somehow more exhausted than before, in the same amount of pain, and just a different light outside the window.
Hunger wakes me this time and I roll over in the bed, biting back a wince as every aching muscle and healing laceration tugs at their stitches like they’re threatening to tear themselves open.
Tiredness aches tight across my temple after a simple movement, and the urge to give in to that tiredness and sink back to sleep is painfully tempting.
But I need something to eat and my hunger pangs are on par with the rest of my pain.
Groaning, I throw back the covers and pull my aching body from the bed, borrow another of Diego’s shirts, and wander slowly through his apartment to the kitchen.
Choosing a microwavable burger from the fridge, I toss it in the microwave and lean back against the kitchen table while it cooks.
Round and round it goes, spinning without a care in the world. The longer I watch it, the more a sense of urgency develops in my chest. It’s similar to the urgency I felt when we were back on that road and I remembered some of what I felt when getting into Diego’s car.
Urgency.
Like I’m supposed to be somewhere or doing something.
I just can’t remember what.
After the microwave pings and I retrieve my meal, I make it back to bed, but the urge to go back to sleep has faded. Diego’s already done so much for me. I need to do something. I need to be proactive in working on who I am, what happened to me, and how to fix it.
I bite into the burger and wander Diego’s room, studying the various old school sports awards, his framed first dollar made, and a poster of an old werewolf movie.
His laptop rests near the window, so I take it and return to the bed with it in my lap.
Opening it, I locate the browser and after another bite of my burger, my fingers hover over the keys.
What do I search for?
I stare at the screen, hoping that the very act of searching will be enough to unlock something in my mind, but I’m wrong. Nothing comes. I stare at the search bar until my stomach gurgles for the rest of my food.
There must be something—wait!
Those rings.
Leaning over the side of the bed, I open the bottom drawer of Diego’s bedside cabinet where he stores my things and retrieve the two wedding rings from the stash. These are the only names I have, so they have to mean something.
“Ruslan,” I read out softly as I type. “And Ivy. Wedding in New York.”
Ivy is a popular name and countless weddings, past and future, pop up in a list. I click on every single one and only click off when I find the man's name.
David. Adam. Chris. Bert. Walter. Ignacio. Freddie. Barry. Welt.
No Ruslan.
“Who are you?” I murmur, spinning the rings around in my palm. There are no other identifying markers on the rings. They’re simple gold bands with swirling designs on the outside and engravings on the inside. My search for a wedding band with swirls yields so many rings that I get cross-eyed.
“Damn.” A deep sigh sends a twinge across my ribs, and I groan, straightening my back and rubbing at my breastbone. “Who are you, Ivy?”
Wait a second—
That card. Diego found something else in my pockets, didn’t he? A credit card of some kind. Returning to the drawer, the sleek black card rests at the bottom where Diego placed it after deeming it useless.
It’s lightweight and thin, slightly bendable between my fingers, but Diego was right.
There’s nothing on it. Just a strange, credit-card-sized piece of plastic.
My lips press together as I turn it over, then I grasp the bottom and as I’m lifting it to the light to see if I can see through it, the face of it flickers.
“What the…?”
One side of the card blooms to life just above my thumb and gold words sweep across the screen.
The Suit.
Queen.
Valentina.
“Valentina?” I repeat.
Suddenly, pain shoots through my mind and an echo of countless, unrecognizable voices all burst to life, saying that name over and over. It’s yelled at me, screamed at me, delivered with laughter, and just as soon as it starts, it’s over.
“Valentina,” I say again, studying the strange card. “Is that my name?”
The screen goes blank as soon as I set the card aside and return to the laptop. “Valentina. The Suit.”
No results.
“Hmm…” My attention drifts from the card to the rings. “Valentina Wedding.”
No results.
“Valentina Ruslan wedding.”
No results.”
“Valentina Ivy wedding.”
No results.
“Fucking hell.” I tuck my hair tightly behind my ear while frustration builds. “Valentina Ruslan Ivy The Suit.”
No results.
“Am I a fucking ghost?”
Groaning, I flop back down against the pillows and gaze up at the ceiling. Am I doing something wrong? Maybe I’m not searching for the right thing. Given everything I’ve forgotten, maybe I’ve forgotten how to even search for things?
Diego would know.
But he’s working.
Bracing my hand on the bed, I push myself back up to sitting. He’s working but there’s nothing stopping me from visiting him. At the very least, he might know what the Suit is or how it relates to a Queen. Maybe even my real name will be something he recognizes.
Closing the laptop, I slip from the bed and raid his closet once more.
Choosing a T-shirt and some jeans that are too big for me, I wrap myself up in one of his hoodies and then immediately pause.
It’s soft and smells like him. I never noticed that he had a smell before, but now that I’m wrapped in it, I can definitely smell it.
Bringing the sleeves to my face, I breathe in the soft, woodsy scent that’s mixed with something subtly sweet, and my heart flips.
Should I use his house phone and call his mobile before I leave?
Maybe, but I decide against it, choosing to surprise him instead.
After breathing in his scent for another few seconds, I shove my feet into borrowed trainers and slip from his apartment, locking the door with the spare key he left me for absolute emergencies.
Hopefully, he won’t mind my using the emergency cash for bus fare, either, but in my defense, he did tell me I wasn’t a prisoner and could leave at any point.
I’m just going to go and see him, plus, the walk alone might do me some good.
Despite my high hopes for the travel or the walk to unlock something in my fogged mind, I’m left disappointed as I approach his bar thirty minutes later. It was around here that I first got into his car that night, but nothing looks familiar.
My heart begins to pound and a coldness wraps around my shoulders as I walk down the street toward the warm lights of the bar.
Was this a bad idea?
Should I have stayed home?
What if his shift is over and we’ve passed each other without knowing?
Laughter and cheers spill through the door as I approach, and the warmth of it is enough to send my heart racing faster even if it’s nice to hear.
Someone stumbles out the door and flashes me a wide smile that fades when they notice the bruises on my face and the gauze on my forehead. Thankfully, they don’t say anything.
Maybe I should have waited for him to come home.
Stepping into The Crown, I beeline for the bar and quickly scan every face I see working there, but none of them are Diego. Finding a narrow spot, I press against the bar and clutch at the edges of my sleeves.
“Excuse me?”
“Be with you in a sec, doll,” says one of the bartenders as he flies past with cocktails in his hands.
This place is nice. Warm. The soft light keeps everything cozy and nearly every table is filled with happy customers.
Sports play on one television while some sort of musical show plays on another.
Waiters dart back and forth with fries and burgers while others weave around with trays of beer and more.
It’s crazy to see normal life flowing past for all these people while I’m trapped in this fog.
Did I have a life like this? One where I sat in the corner of the bar with a drink in hand, maybe a book of some kind?
No, that doesn’t feel right.
Maybe I was something fancy like a lawyer. Valentina sounds like a lawyer's name or someone high up in a company that most people would be scared of. I could get behind that. Could a lawyer end up like this, beaten and left for dead without a single memory of her life?
If that’s my old life, I’m not sure I want to return to it.
What else could a Valentina do in life, though?
I toy with various ideas—something exotic like a dancer, or something sweet, like a woman who makes her own wine and jam and sells them at a market.
Neither of these feels right, either. I chase those ideas, seeking the same satisfying warmth that swept through me when I read the name Valentina, but nothing I can think of ignites anything close.
“How can I help you, doll?” The barman from before, slightly breathless, suddenly stands before me with a smile and a warm eagerness to serve. “Eating or drinking?” His eyes lift to my forehead. “Ooh. Maybe not drinking, actually.”
“Hi, I’m looking for Diego?”
“Diego?” The man looks me up and down, then turns and calls over his shoulder. “Anyone seen Diego? Oi, Mags, you seen Diego?”
A woman at the far end of the bar lifts her head from the drink she’s making. “Aye, he’s through the back talking to some cop,” she calls back.
My heart stops dead. A cop?
Oh, no.
The bartender turns back to me with a smile. “He might be a while, then. Can I get you anything while you wait?”