Richard's POV
Waking up with a jolt, I see sweat pouring down my face as my heart skips with fear lodging in.
A nightmare.
But I can't even remember what happened. Yet I can feel how scary it must have been.
Is it because of my memory?
These past few weeks, it has been so difficult to go a day without having a throbbing headache because of how numerous scenes race through my head.
The doctor mentioned it might be due to the fact that I was beginning to regain some parts of my memory, but I still can't remember anything.
Everything is blank.
With a finger running through my hair, I get out of bed with a groan. I reach the door, pull it open, and bump into someone.
I raise my head to see her.
Arabel.
A frown creases her face. “Are you okay?”
I remove my hand from my hair and shake my head.
“A nightmare again?” She demands with a tone laced with worry and concern. This is when I realize she is carrying a tray bearing my meal.
I nod and turn back in. She follows, shutting the door behind her.
“What is it this time? Do you remember?” She asks as I step back into bed, shutting my eyes in an attempt to remember.
The scenes race again, and I gasp out loudly.
“A shot,” I quickly say before I forget it again. Her eyes widen. “Did I ever talk to you about having nightmares before the accident?”
She shakes her head. “No, were you having nightmares before…”
“I don't know. I can't remember,” I cut her short, frustration setting in. With each passing day, I become frustrated and angry for not remembering anything.
“So you had a nightmare about a shot? What else?”
“Nothing. Someone shot me, but I couldn't see the person's face. It felt so surreal, and it seemed like this isn't the first time I am having this sort of nightmare. It felt so familiar…”
“Wait,” she interrupts again, this time getting up after placing the tray beside my bed. “Someone shot you?”
“Yes,” I look up at her expectantly.
“Where? Where exactly did you get shot?” She asks, terror crawling through her pupils.
I look down, unable to figure out where I saw in the dream. When my eyes fix on my chest, I suddenly figure it out. Quietly, I place a hand on my chest. “I think here.”
She gasps out, almost losing her balance, as tears spring from her eyes.
“Bella? What happened?” I ask, moving close to grab her so she doesn't fall down.
Instead of replying to me, more tears spring from her eyes, and she shakes her head, not saying a word. I know there is something.
Why is she suddenly teary? Why did she look so pale and shocked after I mentioned where I was shot? Did something similar happen in the past?
“What happened? Talk to me,” I insist, my brows etched in curiosity.
She looks hesitant, and I hold onto her arm, nodding to urge her to speak. Slowly, she opens her mouth. “I think you've had a similar dream. You mentioned something about a dream to me the same day I came to your house in Bristol unannounced. I woke up from a terrible nightmare and rushed to your place because I was worried.”
“What happened? You had a nightmare, too. What was it about?” My grip on her is stronger.
“I had a dream that Alex shot Daisy, me, and you. You mentioned you had a similar dream, and it…”
“Who the hell is Alex?” My stomach twists into knots as I grumble.
She doesn't answer, and it makes me curious to go over the peak.
“Arabel, who is Alex?” I ask again, this time, in a low tone.
“He used to be my friend, but he began to show some bad traits I never knew he possessed, so I cut off ties with him,” she explains calmly, even though she is avoiding my eyes.
“Was he interested in you?” I find myself asking, and her gaze darts up to meet mine. Slowly, she nods.
I let out a sigh and held her shoulders. “What else am I supposed to know about this guy?”
“Nothing more. Just that.” Her reply is quick and brief, as though she is avoiding talking about him at all. Her reaction suggests a deep fear for him, raising questions inside me about his character.
It is in times like this that I wish so desperately to regain my memory.
“Don't worry,” I try to assure her, my eyes locked on hers. “Nothing is going to happen. I am going to protect you and our child.”
She doesn't blink.
Her face is void of expression.
“Ok?” She jerks up and nods gingerly. Instead of letting her go, I keep my hold on her shoulder as a familiar heat runs through my body.
I must have done this before. Or perhaps I said those words to her before. Or she must have reacted this way under my intense gaze.
If we love each other so much, why aren't we together?
This is a question I have been asking myself so often that I haven't found an answer, no matter how hard I try.
Every bit of the puzzle has been fixed about our relationship. I understand everything except that.
Why are we not together?
I keep staring at her, scared of how much I must have hurt her in the past.
Abruptly, I demand. “Will you forgive me?”
Her eyes do not waver. But at that question, it falls to my lips, reminding me of how we kissed the other day.
It felt familiar. Natural. Amazing.
That kiss made me realize that I was in love with her, not Eve. The thumping of my heart whenever she was near was enough proof, but kissing her brought out another side of me.
My insides were gittering. My body relaxed into hers, like we were meant to be together. Our lips moved in sync.
It was beautiful until she pulled away.
When she nods, relief washes over me. “I already did.”
“Then why aren't we together yet? You already forgave me, but we are still not together. Is there anything I should be aware of?”
She shakes her head after a moment of hesitation.
I pull her closer to me. “Are you scared of me?”
“What?!” She exclaims with a short, nervous laugh. “Of course not.”
“Really? Then why do you avoid my gaze every time I ask you a question?”
“I don't.”
“You just did.”
“I didn't!” She snaps at me without looking straight into my eyes.
I love this. Even if I want to keep up with this and have her speak to me in a way that is normal again, I can't because of my next question.
“Will you date me now?” Her body stiffens, and she looks up finally. Her brown eyes bore into mine intensely, searching for emotions in me.
She doesn't need it.
I feel it in my heart. My body does the same. That is all that matters. I don't need to get back all my memories to know how much she means to me.
“Are you mine?” I inch my face closer to hers, my eyes going to her lips as she bites on her lower lip.
She shakes her head, shrugging out of my grasp. “I think now is not the right time for this, Richard. Let's take it slow, and perhaps when you recover your memories fully, we can revisit this topic.”
It sounds so much like a question, so I shake my head, not agreeing.
“No. Recovering my memories won't change a thing, will it? Let's just date already…”
“No, Richard!” She disagrees with a firm tone. “Right now, you are a new person. Let's take it slow. To ensure that you are not making the wrong decision, get to know me first. And I will also…”
“You hate me, don't you?” I interrupt her suddenly. This is the only reason she wouldn't want to be with me. Why wouldn’t she want to give me a second chance?
We have a child.
My heart beats for her.
Apparently, she loves me too. Then what is stopping us?
“You haven't forgiven me, have you?”
“Of course I have, and I don't hate you. If I haven't forgiven you or if I hate you like you are suggesting that I do, then I wouldn't be here,” she demonstrates with her hand going round in circles and making me look around too.
This house.
This was where we got married. We consummated our marriage and conceived Daisy. Everything happened here until the divorce.
But I don't care.
I don't fucking care if she did something bad to me in the past. Or if she is the bad person here.
I don't care about the past anymore. What matters to me right now is the present and a future with her in it, as well as our child.
I don't fucking care if I recover my memories or not, as long as she is with me.
Arabel and Daisy are the only things I want and need right now.
“Will you date me now?” I ask again, pretending not to have heard her clearly reject me a minute ago. “Let's start tomorrow.”
I turn around to grab my shirt and head out, confident that I am doing the right thing, not wanting to give her the opportunity to turn me down again.
It is time to make things right.
A new me. A new us.
A new chapter. A new beginning.