18. Amara
Amara
The air feels thick, heavy, like I’m submerged in water as I drift between consciousness and oblivion. It’s been like this for hours now. But I know I’m awake again as the scents around me swirl together.
Right now, the smell is floral, but it is still stinging my nostrils. It’s like someone was here with a perfume that lingered long after they left or a bouquet of wilting flowers.
Voices seep into the haze.
“...she is mine.” The voice is full of authority, deep and commanding.
The words slice through the fog, making me tense up involuntarily.
I try to open my eyes, but like before, they cling shut, as if they’ve been sewn together.
A throbbing pain radiates through my head, pulsing in time with my heartbeat. My body aches everywhere as every muscle screams out for relief.
“When she wakes, you’ll realize you’re delusional,” another voice scoffs. “I made her mine.”
“I’m warning you—” The other man’s voice has a deadly edge to it.
“I’m not scared of you, Dom. When this is over, I’m taking her away from here.”
Who the fuck is Dom?
“She’s not going anywhere,” Dom says. His voice is slightly gruffer than the other man. “And does Poppy know?”
Poppy?
“Don’t bring my daughter into this,” the first man snaps.
“Then leave Amara alone.”
My breath quickens despite the pain radiating through my chest and back.
Why are they here?
Who am I to them?
Who is Amara?
“I can’t do that. I’ve tasted her,” the other man goads. “And she tastes perfect.”
Who are they arguing about?
“And she’s tight as hell when I buried myself inside her.” It’s the deeper voice I hear this time. He finishes with a cruel laugh.
The other man growls low. I can hear an accent. “You didn’t.”
“I did.” The smugness dripping from the deep tone is like poison. “You’re not special to her.”
The tension thickens; I can almost feel it crackling in the air.
“I’m going to fucking kill you—she is mine.”
There’s a deep chuckle. “And I’m going to give you a warning right now, Caleb. Touch Amara again and I will kill you,” the deep voice hisses. Then I remember he was called Dom.
A rush of nausea rumbles in my stomach as I listen to Dom making his threat. Even if I could open my eyes, I wouldn’t right now. I can’t let them know I can hear them.
“Oh, I know you make good on your threats, Dom. And maybe it was you... Maybe it was you who tried to kill Amara,” Caleb replies.
I can’t listen to this. I don’t want to hear a man threaten another or worse. I certainly don’t want to know that one of them might have tried to kill Amara.
The door swings open with a creak.
My heart is pounding against my breastbone when footsteps press across a hard floor.
“Oh Dad! Look at her! She looks so bad!” a young girl’s voice quivers with sorrow as she bursts into the room.
I try to open my eyes to see who she’s talking about, but the thread holding them down keeps them shut.
Her sobs hit me hard in the chest, but I can’t move. Can’t speak. I feel like I’m stuck in this suffocating silence.
“She’ll wake soon, Poppy.”
Did Dom say Poppy was Caleb’s daughter?
He’s very quiet—Dom. At least, he and Caleb have stopped arguing since the girl came into the room.
Maybe I’m not awake?
Am I dreaming?
There is no way this pain could exist in a dream; it’s too real.
The world spins again as darkness threatens to reclaim me. I settle deeper into whatever abyss awaits me as her cries fade away…
A too-bright light pierces into my brain. It’s sharp, and I squint as a figure leans over me and into my eyes.
A man wearing a white coat writes something on a clipboard. Then he shines the light into my eyes again, and I flinch.
“Amara?” he asks, his voice steady but filled with concern. “Can you hear me?”
I want to respond, but words elude me. Instead, I blink at him.
He exchanges glances with someone behind him. “The results came back, and we have confirmation that the accident has caused post-traumatic amnesia,” he explains to the woman in the wide black pants and off-the-shoulder matching top who stands beside him.
Her sleek dark hair frames her face like a crown.
My heart races as she speaks, her voice trembling slightly. “When will she get her memory back?”
The doctor’s expression turns serious. “It depends on how much she’s been affected. She was unconscious for five days. Only time will tell if it’s short or long-term.”
“So, my daughter won’t remember any of us?” Her worry feels like a weight pressing down on me.
My daughter?
“That depends. We won’t know if she has forgotten her memories, if she can even retain new memories, or both.”
The woman I now know is my mother sucks back a sob. “When will you know?”
“We conducted tests because of her prior response to her sister,” he continues. “But you have to remember she has some swelling on her brain, and once this goes down, her memory may return. Only when the injuries begin to heal will we know.”
I have a sister? The realization strikes me like lightning.
“Oh baby,” the woman says again, moving closer as I look at her through narrowed eyes.
Another figure rushes into the room—she’s pretty, with rose pink hair that bounces as she approaches. She grabs my hand tightly and whispers urgently, “Who did this to you?”
A wave of recognition washes over me as I try to focus on her face, but it slips away just as quickly. My mind is a fog, but her presence is oddly comforting.
“We’ll find out,” that man—I think he was called Dom—says, his voice familiar yet distant.
“She was running out of the club to avoid the police and was run over,” Dom explains while I squirm under the weight of their conversations, trying to piece together fragments of what happened.
“What the hell was she doing in there, anyway?” My mother sounds furious now.
I groan.
“Amara!” Mom says as she comes to my side. “How are you? I’m your mom and Milly is here, too.”
She points toward the girl who is clenching my hand. “As soon as you’re better, I’ll take you home.”
“She is coming home with me,” Dom states firmly. “Milly will be there to help her, too.”
Mom’s voice rises. “The hell she is! She’s in this hospital bed because I wasn’t there to keep an eye on her.”
“She is eighteen years old, Helena. Not twelve.”
“Don’t listen to them,” Milly interjects softly, looking right at me with concern etched on her face.
I close my eyes again, trying desperately to connect these threads of voices and names swirling around me, but find myself lost, swimming in confusion and pain.
My eyes flicker open, but the bright light above me makes everything blurry. I squint, trying to make sense of the faces around me.
The man, who is wearing a white coat and a serious expression, leans in closer. “Amara,” he says gently, “I need to ask you some questions.”
I nod.
“As her doctor, it would be better if I could speak to her alone.”
I glance past him, seeing a man whose face is taut, his piercing blue eyes never leaving mine. He looks tense, ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice.
“I’m staying with Amara,” he states firmly.
“Something to hide?” My mother snaps back, arms crossed tightly over her chest.
“I’m her father!” Dom yells. His voice echoes in the small room. “And someone might have deliberately tried to kill her. I’m not leaving.”
I swallow hard, the weight of those words settling like lead in my stomach.
Someone tried to kill me.
A startled gasp escapes my throat.
“Or scared of what she might say—” Mom shoots back, her voice coated in anger.
“Stop it, you two. You’re frightening Amara.” Milly keeps her voice calm despite her fists balling at her sides.
“I’m staying,” Dom says as he walks to the door, opens it, and hisses, “Everyone else, get out!”
But if Dom is my father, what does that make all those conversations about? What was that other man called? Caleb?
Argh, my brain aches from trying to piece this puzzle together.
The doctor glances between them and then nods at Dom. “You can stay,” he decides. I get the feeling it wasn’t really up for discussion.
As the door closes behind my mother, the doctor shifts his focus back to me. “Do you remember anything about the accident?”
I shake my head slowly and wince as pain shoots through my temples.
“Do you remember your name?” he asks next.
“Amara,” I reply hesitantly, but it feels like I’m saying someone else’s name—not quite mine.
“Did you know that before you heard it?” He studies me closely.
I grimace again and shake my head; a small flicker of panic runs through me as uncertainty coils tightly around my chest.
“Do you recognize anyone in this room?” His tone is clinical yet compassionate. “Or anyone who just left?”
Dom’s gaze locks onto mine; there’s something familiar there, but it doesn’t click into place for me. I shake my head once more.
Dom’s shoulders seem to relax at that.
I’ve just overheard that someone tried to kill me, and as I glance at Dom, I wonder if that relaxing of his shoulders was because I can’t remember a damn thing.
Maybe it’s a good thing I don’t remember a damn thing.
“Why does my head hurt?” My voice sounds hoarse as I try to make sense of my confusion.
“You were in an accident, and you’ve been unconscious for five days because of it.”
I lift my hand to touch my aching cheek and flinch.
My heart pounds in my chest as Dom steps closer, the worry etched on his face shifting into something more serious. “I found you on the ground,” he says, his voice low and gravelly. “I thought you were dead.”
His words hit me like a freight train. I swallow hard, grappling with the implications. Dead?
“Was it an accident?” I ask, my throat as dry as sandpaper. “Did someone try to kill me? Was it deliberate?”
Dom’s expression darkens, the shadows in his eyes deepening. “That’s something I’m trying to find out.”
Just the mere thought digs deep into my gut. My mind races with questions.
“Is my life in danger?” I manage to ask. The words tasting like poison on my tongue.
“Yes,” he replies without hesitation, his gaze unwavering as he meets mine. “But I will find out who.”
A shiver runs through me at his admission; something about the gravity in his tone sends a jolt of anxiety straight through my veins.
“That’s why my home is the safest place for you to go to,” he admits. “And it’s where you’ll have the space to find your memories.”
He wants me to go with him?
My mind spins at the thought as I glance around the sterile hospital room.
“What if I don’t remember?” I whisper, fear creeping back into my voice.
He kneels beside my bed and leans in closer, his presence enveloping me like a warm blanket amidst the cold thought that someone tried to kill me.
“You will,” he reassures me with a gentle touch of his finger over my cheek.
I want to believe him; I want to feel safe with him.
But does he really want me there because he wants me better or to finish what he started?
“Will you keep me safe?” The question slips out before I can stop it.
Dom’s gaze sharpens, an intensity flickering in those piercing blue eyes that makes my breath hitch. “Always.”