6. Valentina
VALENTINA
Diego remains kind and considerate as the days begin to tick by.
He brings me food and water, keeps me stocked up on painkillers as I need them, even helps me into the bath, and he spends two hours politely averting his gaze and aiding me when washing grows too difficult.
Not once does he complain, nor does he try to do anything other than insist that I eat full meals when we’re together.
When he leaves for work, I sleep.
When he sleeps, I sleep.
Rest becomes an integral part of my recovery and the safer I feel with Diego, the deeper I sleep.
Smaller wounds heal and turn into faint pink memories on my skin, bruises turn yellow at the edges, and the discoloration on my skin brings me a beat of satisfaction that my body is slowly piecing itself back together.
I just need my mind to follow.
“Y’know, you would have been back on your feet a lot faster if I’d taken you to a hospital,” Diego remarks one afternoon, after I’ve walked four laps of his small living room without losing breath.
“Doubtful,” I reply. “I can’t… fathom what it is about hospitals that scares me, but if it’s anything like those men from the car, I wouldn’t have survived long enough to recover.”
“But who would do that?” He taps his fingers against his thigh. “Who would harm someone in a hospital?”
Reaching him, I tap his shoulder and smile proudly. “Probably the same people who would chase down an innocent man like you.”
“They chased me because you got in my car. My life was perfectly normal before you came along.”
“It’s weird, isn’t it?” Moving past him, I bite the inside of my cheek and ease down onto the couch. “My being here.”
“Weird isn’t a strong enough word.” He brushes his fingertips along my shoulder as he moves through the arch and into the kitchen.
“I mean, you broke into my car and threatened me. Most people wouldn’t want to be anywhere near someone who did that to them.
Then I had to kill people to save my life and yours, and it’s weird. ”
When he returns to the archway, phone in hand, there’s an undercurrent of shadows in his eyes despite the smile on his face.
“Should we… talk about it?” I ask.
“How can we when you don’t remember?”
“But the men you killed…”
“I can’t put that on you when you don’t even know your name,” Diego replies, and his tone remains soft despite the quick way he speaks.
“I can’t tell you that I haven’t slept properly since, or that sometimes, I still smell that weird tang of blood, or that every knock at the door, creak of the floor, or customer I don’t recognize at work makes my heart jump out of my chest because I’m scared that I’m either about to be arrested or someone’s come for revenge. ”
A loud silence follows his sudden revelation, and I stand slowly, then close the gap between us.
“You just did tell me,” I say softly. “I wish I could tell you that you did the right thing, or that I remembered enough to explain everything, and then you wouldn’t feel so guilty.”
“Well…” He takes a deep breath. “That’s why we’re going to the scene of the crime, right? To unlock that head of yours?”
I nod and Diego brushes past me, but he stops near the couch and sighs deeply.
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to sound so harsh. You can’t control it any more than you can control what happened.”
“I might not remember, but I know enough to know I caused this. I put you in this position.”
He turns and looks at me, and despite the shadows passing across his face, I still find comfort in his eyes.
“I saw you that night,” he says. “The way you looked when you threw yourself into my car? I think that’s why I drove.
I didn’t run because you… you were terrified.
I tell myself that what I did is justified because anyone who put you in that kind of condition deserves to die.
Anyone who does that to anyone deserves it. I’m just… out of my depth, that’s all.”
“I never said thank you.” My hands come together at my abdomen. “You saved my life. You’ve patched me up. Fed me. Clothed me. You know nothing about me and you’ve done all this… Thank you isn’t enough.”
“You'd better be rich,” Diego remarks, slipping back into his gentle humor. “When you get your memories back, you'd better be some rich heiress with a father so incredibly grateful that he pays me millions for keeping you safe.”
“Oh, it’s guaranteed,” I reply. “I feel rich the same way as I feel scared.”
“Feelings are so reliable in that regard,” he says, then he holds out his hand as his phone buzzes to life in his palm. “Taxi’s here. Ready?”
“Yeah.” Taking a deep, steadying breath, I cross the room and loop my arm around his elbow. “I’m ready.”
Being outside for the first time since the accident is surreal. Everything is familiar and yet… different. Cool, crisp air fills my lungs, the late evening skin warms my forearms as we walk arm in arm, and each step amplifies the rising alarm in the back of my mind.
Diego had the taxi drop us off a few blocks away from the accident site so we could casually walk there posing as a couple out for a stroll. Despite the smile on his face and the polite, pleasant way he greets anyone who walks by, his arm is as tense as a rock under my hand.
Every time I try to voice my fear about what we will find, the words catch in my throat, and I’m left with nothing more than a bubble resting beneath my tongue and another knot in my gut.
“It was here,” Diego murmurs. “Down the end of that road. I remember thinking it was strange that there were no other cars. It was late, sure, but I didn’t even see a taxi or anything.
Just empty, dark road and then…” He trails off as the sidewalk grows narrow.
“They clipped the back of me once, and we skidded. And then they slammed into us so hard that everything shook. I thought my teeth would come out. The car flew and landed on the roof. I don’t know how I got out. Suppose they dragged me, but…”
Diego stops again. We halt in the middle of the street, and a ripple of tension moves through him in a wave that flexes under my hands.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, glancing around.
There’s nothing around us, and an empty road stretches in both directions. Above the subtle noises of insects rising from the trees and bushes lining the road, the only other noise comes from a couple and their two kids walking the opposite way on the other side of the road.
“Is it much further?”
“It was here.” Diego’s head twists back and forth. “It was right here. We crashed here because when I stole their car, I used that embankment to help me turn and drive back. It was here, I swear it was.”
The road is empty. There’s no police tape, no evidence of any kind of crime, no stains on the road, and definitely no bodies. It’s only been a few days, but surely, the police wouldn’t have cleared a crime scene and reopened it that quickly? Not the scene of a murder, at least.
But the road is completely normal.
“I don’t understand,” Diego murmurs. His face twists with confusion and he steps out into the street, freeing his arm from my grip. “It was right here.”
It’s all gone. The tarmac remains mostly smooth with only a few scrapes here and there, but it’s impossible to tell where they came from. Diego walks into the middle of the road, turns, and then walks back while his jaw works back and forth as if he’s having a conversation with himself.
Reaching me, he steps forward and a subtle scrape reaches our ears. Glancing down, Diego moves his foot and reveals a small crystal of broken glass caught near the curb. He leans down and picks it up, then balances it in the palm of his hand as he stands and shows it to me.
“I think I’m going insane,” he whispers. “How is there nothing here?”
Studying the glass, I try to picture what this place could have looked like from Diego’s words. The car flipping feels familiar and a weightless sensation pulls through my gut, as well as a flash of too-bright headlights and a sense of urgency that makes sweat break out down the back of my neck.
“Amber?” Diego’s voice draws my attention back to his face. “You’re pale. Do you remember something?”
“Uh… not exactly.”
His hand closes over my elbow and he tosses the glass piece away. “Anything is good.”
“It’s just…” I flatten a hand to my abdomen. “Sensation. Feeling. When you mentioned the car flipping, I kind of remembered it. And I remember headlights so bright that they burned my eyes. And feeling like… this sort of urgency. Like I was desperate to get somewhere. But that’s…”
The fog remains, swirling around the painfully few memories I’ve managed to scrape together. Worst of all, it’s like every other part of me remembers and is trying to coax my thoughts toward something just out of sight.
“We should go.” Diego slides an arm around my waist and pulls me close. “I get the distinct feeling that whoever cleaned this up did it for a reason.”
Caught up in my thoughts, I only nod and allow Diego to guide me away from the street.
The taxi back to his apartment is as quiet as the first and I sit deep in my thoughts, replaying what little I have over and over. I have pieces that won’t fit together, sensations that clash, and injuries that barely feel survivable.
How am I here? Is there anyone out there looking for me? Did I deserve what happened, or is there something else I’m missing? Between the injuries, the crash, and the wedding rings, I’m utterly lost.
“I’ll order takeout,” Diego says as we climb from the taxi and he offers me his hand.
I take it and smile tiredly. “How prepared are you to discover I’m allergic to something?” I ask softly.
“Given everything that’s happened?” His smile turns cocky. “More prepared than most.”
“So it’s true!” A shrill, rough voice rises up from behind Diego and we both turn.
A woman with blonde hair pulls herself to her feet using the railing next to the steps leading up to Diego’s apartment.
“Ah, shit,” Diego mutters under his breath.
“You cheating cunt!” the woman screams, stumbling forward on unsteady legs. “I’m gonna cut your fucking balls off and feed them to your whore!”