Valentina
Diego’s absence makes the room smaller. Quieter. The temptation to get more sleep was strong for a while, but the wound I reopened yesterday refuses to settle. The more awake I become, the hotter it burns, with every threat seemingly pulling in different directions every time I breathe.
Diego did his best to patch me up and I don’t blame him, but lying down quickly becomes uncomfortable so I end up sitting back up and gazing around the room.
The shabby dresser, worn entertainment unit, and the heavy-back television all look like they belong in another decade.
Several decades, in fact. Everything is old and worn, with chips and scrapes that signify not only their age but also the rowdy activities that have taken place in this room and contributed to it.
None of it is familiar.
Did I ever stay in a place like this before? Gazing around, hope builds in my chest that the sight of something in here, or my disgust toward how they look, will trigger a memory within me that would be the key to unlocking everything.
Nothing works.
No flashes of what my own home is like, or places I’ve visited or stayed. Not even flashes of someone else’s home like a person I may have called a friend.
Nothing.
Was my life empty before this? Void of love and family, with no one to look for me and no one to care other than the people who brutalized me?
Why they want me back so badly is a mystery, but maybe it will work in my favor.
If we run into a worse situation than Diego and the cop, maybe my lack of memory will help me and they’ll let us go.
I purse my lips and gaze down at my hands.
Foolish thinking.
These people are intent to kill.
But I have that skill too. The way I moved yesterday to protect Diego from that man was the most comfortable I’ve felt in this body since I woke up with no memories.
It was like instinct, but refreshing in the way that I knew exactly what to do without having to think about it.
I just acted. I was fast and powerful and I saved Diego’s life.
Someone must have taught me that.
Someone must be putting my skill to use.
A slow, painful trip to the bathroom derails my thoughts for about twenty minutes since every single movement, no matter how small, aggravates that freshly torn area across my ribs. It’s ridiculous. How can one part of my body be so connected to every other part of me?
“I hate it,” I grumble to myself, speaking out loud so I feel less alone. “I hate it. I hate being in pain. I hate not remembering anything. I hate it.”
Returning to the bed, I ease myself back down with a low gasp and rummage through my pockets until I find the mysterious black card.
Once again, it activates with my thumb against the screen and the same info flashes up.
The Suit.
Queen.
Valentina.
Unlike last time, there’s no jolt to my mind and no flash of memory to give me new information. Just silence.
But why me? This card didn’t light up when Diego was touching it so it must be connected to me in some way. Staring down at it, I switch out my thumb for every other finger, but the only one that brings the card to life is my right-hand thumb.
My fingerprint, maybe?
Why would I need something so mysterious? Diego’s jokes about my being an assassin or a spy suddenly feel a lot more real and I quickly shove the card back into my pocket. That’s not something I need to worry about right now. If I can’t remember, then I shouldn’t dwell.
Except I do.
I mull it all over until I can picture the details of that car crystal clear in my mind, and I’m so focused that when Diego hurries back into the room, the sight of the door opening makes me flinch in fright.
“Ow!” I cradle my ribs with one hand and lean forward as hot, tight pain radiates through my torso.
“I’m sorry!” Diego’s at my side in an instant. “Are you okay?”
“Mmhmm.” I nod quickly, gritting my teeth with my head bowed. “Yeah. Yeah. Fine. Just caught me by surprise.”
“I’m sorry,” he repeats, combing his hand through my hair. “I should have knocked and not just barged in like… wait, what’s this?” His hand pauses in my hair.
I try to lift my head, and Diego’s hands move around to the side of my head, then he fully pushes my hair away from my ear and gently pulls down my upper lobe.
“What’s what?”
“You have a tattoo.”
“A tattoo?” My heart jolts through my chest. “What is it?”
“It’s a… a crown.”
“A crown?”
“Yeah, like uhm…” He clicks his tongue against his teeth. “Like the Queen on a chess board.”
“A Queen…?” My stomach twists into knots. “Show me?”
Diego fumbles for his phone and snaps a quick picture, then he sits beside me on the bed as he shows it to me. “See? It’s like those online chessboards. Or those really fancy card decks that use the symbols? I’m pretty sure that’s the Queen.”
The small black crown is nestled right in against my ear, pretty hidden unless you look for it or discover it by chance. If it is the Queen, then it matches that card, but what the hell does it mean?
“I really hope you’re royalty,” Diego teases. “I’m gonna make bank for keeping you safe.”
In an instant, my worry eases slightly and I nudge him with my shoulder as I smile. “I’d pay you everything I have for keeping me safe.”
“I don’t need that much.” He smirks. “Maybe a couple of mil.”
“I can do that.”
“Excellent.” His smile suddenly fades. “Speaking of… I’m out of cash. Manager’s kicking us out.” As he talks, he unloads several packets of candy and chips from his pockets, then a bottle of neon blue drink. “But first, a feast.”
“Oh, wow. This is… nutritious.”
“You’re so picky. You have to be royalty.”
I roll my eyes and reach for the drink, immediately cracking the seal. It’s chilled but overly sweet, and the sugar rush is almost instant. “Holy shit.”
“Good?”
“Better than the water from the tap.”
Diego grimaces. “Yeah, I definitely wouldn’t drink anything from the tap.”
“Like this will last us.” Another gulp, and then another. The sweet drink is oddly hard to put down, but I manage and reach for some chips. “So, where should we go?”
Diego wanders to the bottom of the bed, then he turns to look at me and winces. “I have no idea. But you need meds. Proper meds. Proper food too. And clothes. You’re wearing mine, which I don’t mind, but you need something decent.”
“I’m fine in yours.”
“I know, but I want you to be comfortable. I’m just…” His brows pinch together and distress flickers across Diego’s face as if he’s debating something he can’t voice.
It’s difficult to tell which side of his thoughts are winning, given his silence while he paces, so I don’t interrupt and focus on calming my hunger that’s suddenly swelled up at the taste of food. I demolish both bags of chips without thinking so I leave the candy for Diego.
He doesn’t notice, though, because after ten minutes of pacing, he comes to a decision. “I have to go.”
“You’re leaving?”
“Not leaving, no.” He comes around the bed and sits beside me, then cups the side of my face with his warm, rough palm.
“I’ll be back. I swear. I know how to get some money, and once I get it, you and me can go far away from here, and we won’t have to worry about anything or anyone.
We can just be together and work on getting your memories back. Okay?”
I nod slowly, but something about the shadow of pain in his gorgeous eyes unsettles me. “What are you going to do?”
“I have to talk to a friend. Listen, don’t open the door. Keep it locked. I’ll make sure the manager doesn’t kick us out yet, so you just rest and eat.” He plucks a packet of candy from the bed and presses it into my lap. “You need to keep your strength up.”
“With candy?” I smile slowly. “Isn’t there anything I can do to help?”
“Rest. Heal.” His fingers slide up to the edge of the gauze on my forehead. “Maybe get the memories of your bank accounts back?” His smile turns cheeky, then he kisses me on the lips. “I’ll be back.”
As he pulls away, a sudden pulse of desperation surges through me so I grab him by the collar of his T-shirt and pull him back in for another series of slow, gentle kisses. “You'd better come back.”
“I will. I promise.”
After Diego leaves, I close the door and lock it, then slide on the chain and return to bed. He says he’ll come back. I want to believe him, but something’s not sitting right with me and I can’t put my finger on it.
Is it the card?
The tattoo?
The mystery?
No… it’s something else.
Ten minutes later, it reveals itself, and I’m hugging the toilet while throwing up the blue drink in painful gags that aggravate the pain across my ribs. That drink definitely didn’t agree with me, and I’m forced to drink from the faucet to wash away the acidic taste of vomit.
The sugar crash and exhaustion from throwing up are enough to send me right back into an unsettled sleep, amplified by Diego’s absence.
I dream of strangers kicking down the door and fighting me, dream of Diego’s head turning up outside the door with a threat that it’s all my fault, dream of tall buildings and gigantic men with deep voices whose words don’t make sense.
By the time I wake up hours later, I’m drenched in sweat and burning up. Every brush of fabric against my ribs feels like an open flame against my skin, and I wince.
God, it hurts.
It’s dark now. No more sunlight peeking in through the holes in the curtain. Distant noise rises up from one of the other rooms in this block, a television turned up too loudly and barely muffling the argument it’s meant to hide.
No sign of Diego.
Did something happen to him?
What do I do if he never comes back? Where do I go? I have nothing. I know no one. He’s the only person I have who can help me.
I should have gone with him.
Just as my panic rises, the lock clicks and the door opens, only to get snagged on the chain.
Diego grunts as he bumps into the door. “Val? You good? You awake?”
The relief that floods through me is dizzying. I scramble from the bed and make it to the door, then unlatch the chain while dragging the door wide open.
“About time,” I snap as he walks past me. “I was really worried.”
“I’m okay, I promise.”
“Are you? Because I was here, worried that something had happened to you and I would be left all alone, and then what would I do? I know no one and nothing and I would just be drifting and—”
“Hey, hey, hey…” Diego’s hands cup my face and he hums softly, cutting off my panicked rush. “You’re okay. I’m okay. We’re okay. I’m sorry I took so long, but I had no way of contacting you. But I’m here now, okay? Are you okay?” One of his hands moves up to my forehead. “You’re warm.”
“I feel hot.”
“Sit down. I got you some meds.”
As I return to the bed, Diego closes the door and locks it, then he’s by my side, pressing painkillers and antibiotics into my hand.
“Here,” he says. “Take these. It’s two of the painkillers and one antibiotic, I think. And this…”
It’s only when he’s rummaging through them that I realize he’s brought bags with him and a sudden warm, bakery smell hits my nose.
“What is that?”
“Water.” He passes me a bottle. “Croissants. Some salad packets. Sandwiches and these…” He straightens up and holds up some clothes.
“I think these are in your size. I also got you this.” Diego sets the clothes down and pulls a small phone out of the last bag.
“So we can stay in touch if we’re ever separated. ”
My eyes widen. “You thought of everything.”
“It’s more like I panic-bought everything I could think of. And we have cash now, so we can stay as long as we like, maybe another night or two until you’re feeling better.”
I pop the painkillers and chase them with mouthfuls of water, then repeat with the antibiotics. Once they’re down, we share a croissant while I undress and then hesitate when I find the new underwear he bought me.
“Lace?” The new bra dangles from my fingers. “Where’s the practicality?”
“You’re telling me you can’t save my life in a lace bra?” Diego asks innocently.
“You’re such a dog.”
“Sue me.” He grins around a mouthful of sandwich. “Plus, I thought maybe it would help you feel more like yourself if you dressed like…”
“Hot?” I cut in.
“Womanly,” he corrects. “But hot works too.”
“What if I’m a tomboy?” I ask as I slip into the fresh bra and panties. “Or a Goth?”
“Well… we can go shopping together next time.”
Surprisingly, he’s right. The fresh bra and panties feel good to wear and by the time I slip into the black jeans and navy blue shirt, buttoning it only halfway, I do feel more human.
“Well?” Diego grins up at me. “How do you feel?”
“The painkillers are working,” I admit, smoothing my hands down the shirt. “And I suppose this feels okay.”
“Really?”
“Mmhmm.”
“Good. I have better medical stuff too. I want to change some of your bandages and clean some—”
A sudden, rapid knocking at the door cuts Diego off, and his eyes narrow. Then a shadow passes over his face as the knocking turns into pounding. He stands and glances at me, then he approaches the door.
“We’re kinda busy,” he calls. “Come back later!”
“Diego!” yells a familiar voice that makes my heart sink as low as Diego’s shoulders. “Open the fucking door!”
Diego has no choice but to oblige and he rips it open with barely constrained anger.
“Mindy? What the fuck are you doing here?!”