Chandra
I’ve been laying here staring at the ceiling since he left.
I’ve gotten myself into a mess, that I don’t even remember ever being a part of.
All I know is that from the way I feel my boyfriend is into something terrible, and I took whatever punishment he was supposed to take.
I just wish I could remember. A knock sounds in the room, a few seconds later the door opens.
“Why are you knocking if this is your room?” I ask as I look to see Buzz enter the room. He shuts the door behind him then leans up against it.
“Wanted to make sure you weren’t naked,” he replies with a smirk on his handsome face.
“When am I allowed to leave?” I ask and he crosses him arms over his chest.
“Not until you heal and we find the person responsible for this,” he explains and I slowly sit up, positioning the pillows between my back and the headboard.
“Have you found anything?” I ask as he strides over to the bed, sitting on the edge.
“Not about what happened, but did find out about your amnesia. It’s not connected to your head injury,” he explains, and I lay my head back against the headboard.
“Then why do I have it? Did the doctor tell you why?” I ask then wait for his answer. The urge to remember what happened so that I can help him find whoever did this to me. My life can’t stop because I got hurt, I need to get back to living
“It is your brain keeping you from remembering. You’ve been through something traumatic.
The doctor explained that your memory will come back a little at a time,” he states and I finally look at him.
He’s telling me that my brain is protecting me.
Whatever happened to me was traumatic enough for even my brain to want to protect me from the horrors that happened.
“What do I do now?”
“Get rest and wait. I also need to know if you remember where the warehouse is that you were taken to,” he replies, and I try to think back to remember anything that would potentially help the Cajun Gypsy find out what is going on.
“I remember it was on the pier, not exactly sure which one though. I wasn’t paying attention,” I tell him, and he nods.
Why is he helping me is the question. We don’t know each other, so it’s not like he has to do this.
I remember hearing stories around town about the previous members.
, Most of the stories are about them being vigilantes, taking down the bad guys, but they are the bad people.
“We will do some recon and see what we can find,” he states, then stands up, heading towards the door.
“Why are you helping me?” I ask as his hand touches the handle and he turns his head, looking at me.
“It’s what we do,” he replies, opening the door before exiting the room. I stare at the spot for a few minutes after he leaves, then my eyes slowly close, taking me into a deep sleep.