The Reaper (Eastward Prison)

Chapter 4

CHAPTER

FOUR

JACK

“We’ve been here before,” he said.

She startled. She startled easily, he noticed. She sat by the bed, on a chair. The curtains were drawn around his bed, bright blue hospital curtains. He couldn’t see the rest of the infirmary, but the room was quiet.

“Are we alone?” he asked, not moving, watching her. Unable to believe his luck, he couldn’t help but watch every little movement that crossed her face. He couldn’t decipher it. It looked complicated. A cocktail of emotions and he didn’t have a clue where to start.

Hannah bit her lip. “I, yes, I think so… I thought you were asleep.”

He tried to snort but it hurt. His nose was numb, they’d re-set it.

“You should rest. They’ve requested specialist neurologists to come to assess you, they will be writing a report-”

“I know, they asked about a thousand questions and I couldn’t answer any of them,” he said, wryly. “You could though, couldn’t you? Who am I, Hannah?”

She shook her head. “You know I can’t answer that, they’ve said you need to remember under your own speed, you’ve had a massive head trauma-”

He felt a surge of hot, white frustration shudder through him. It scared him. It was strong and powerful and he hoped he’d never lashed out at anyone, acting on that frustration. At her. He didn’t like her not telling him the truth.

She looked at him, and tucked the blanket closer to his body. The tender gesture from her took him by surprise. Took the air from his bruised chest and cooled the anger in his blood.

“I know we’ve been here before, you and I, in a bedroom together, alone…” His voice was deep, but quiet. His throat hurt. He turned so he was now facing her directly. “How is it that I know this, and yet I don’t know who I am?” he asked her.

She hovered, looking down at her nails.

Something wasn’t right. She was hiding something, she was avoiding his questions, almost trying to duck out of his eyeline, trying to hide in the shadows. What was it? He didn’t like it.

But he noticed something else. She was afraid.

And it hurt him. He didn’t want her to feel afraid. He wanted to fix it for her. He hoped to fuck he wasn’t the reason she was afraid.

He took a breath and changed tactics. “How the fuck am I lucky enough to have you as my girlfriend?”

She smiled gently, but didn’t say anything. Why was she being so damn cagey?

“Why can’t I remember? I surely would have remembered you.”

She pursed her lips and replied quickly, “You have amnesia. You had a very bad head injury. They are keeping you here at Eastward-”

“I do remember you,” he said simply.

She paused, wide eyed. “Really? What-”

“I remember you finding me, I remember seeing your face, hovering over me, you looked… terrified. You said you were my girlfriend. You said your name was Hannah. I do remember that.” He was speaking quietly now.

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Maybe that’s why I’m sure we have been here before, we’ve been in a bedroom, together, alone, before, right? Not just here, as in this hospital room, but together, alone, this… us-” He brought up a hand and gesticulated between them. She smiled again. Yes, he felt something between them. It was the one true thing in this maelstrom of a mess he’d found himself in.

“Us,” she repeated.

He simply nodded.

“I think I can remember… a moment…” he looked at her, unsure. “Perhaps, a feeling, of being with you…” He wasn’t sure he could articulate his erotic flashback yet. He wasn’t sure he could do it without getting a raging hard on at best, and at worst, losing his load in whatever hospital gown he had on down there. Neither were appropriate for this first, but not first, meeting with his beautiful, glowing girlfriend. His girlfriend? It felt… too good to be true.

She nodded though, unaware of where his thoughts had gone. Right in the dirty gutter.

“I don’t remember anything else though,” he sighed. “How in the hell did I get caught up in all of this?” He knew he sounded defeated, his voice was a mere whisper. His eyes moved to the window and she looked, too.

“Did they catch the people who did this?” he asked. “I’m guessing it was a mugging, or a car accident or something?”

She frowned. “No, nobody knows who did this… everyone was hoping you would know.” She said it was a smile, she tried to joke. It echoed in the silence that followed. He felt the hairs on his neck rise. Something was off.

“Hmm,” he growled. “Why don’t you know what happened? I mean, we’re together, right? We sleep together in the same bed, live in the same house-”

She opened her mouth to speak.

He blinked. “We don’t. We don’t live together, do we?”

She pursed her lips and shook her head. She looked down, plucked at the blankets a little.

What a punch in the gut. His visions of them pottering about together in a cosy flat had scrunched up in his face. Maybe this was the missing piece, the thing she was hiding from him, why it felt like she was lying. He hadn’t really been around all that much. Really, it didn’t sound like they had been boyfriend and girlfriend, a committed, serious relationship. It sounded like they’d been casual, it sounded like he’d been distant, thoughtless, selfish. He didn’t like that. That’s why he felt he could do better, that it was time for a change, he didn’t like this feeling, he was beginning to realise, and he wanted to change it.

She cleared her throat. “You worked a lot, you have your own place. I don't know why, I suppose we haven't got that far yet.”

He frowned. “Frankly, I’m confused why I haven’t put a ring on your finger, yet, Hannah, why the fuck don’t we sleep in the same bed each and every night?”

Her eyes went wide, she wasn’t expecting that. “We were just happy seeing each other occasionally-”

“How often, like a few times a week?”

“Er… sometimes.”

“Fuck’s sake,” he muttered bitterly.

She grimaced. “I’m sorry, I-”

“Not you,” he snapped tersely. He closed both eyes and took a breath. “But were we thinking of living together, I mean, of taking that step?”

She looked out towards the window, at the dusk unfolding outside, through the bars. His second night behind bars, without her lying next to him. He didn’t like it one bit.

“We haven't talked about it,” she said quietly.

He had a vague sense of bewildered panic. He put his hand over hers, trying to reassure himself vicariously by reassuring her. “I get the sense I was a bit of a dick sometimes, maybe I should have been there for you more. I feel it… something you want to keep from me about how we were before, like I’d disappointed you at some times in the past-”

“No, it’s not like that-” She tried to placate him, but he kept talking.

“Why was I such a fucking cock?”

She shrugged and looked down, her body language negating everything her lips were saying. “You weren’t.”

He was probing hard, but she wasn’t giving him much. He breathed in and out, shifted himself to a more upright position, and reached for her hand. Her small, gentle hand. She let him take it. He was aware his hands were still bruised, scratched. His knuckles split. Tattoos. Her’s looked like doll hands in his.

“I’m sorry,” he said, turning back to her, in his clear, honest voice.

He held her hand tenderly now, she held his hand back. And that felt good. A part of his chest felt like it was instantly healing. Not a physical part that was bruised, another part that he didn’t know very much about.

“It’s okay, we’ll get through this, it will be okay. You are strong, you will heal, you will remember,” she said, trying to sound confident.

He gave her a little smile and sighed. “Are you okay? I mean, are you holding up okay, this hasn’t been easy for you, either?” he asked.

Her eyes widened. Fuck, hadn’t he ever asked her if she was okay, before his accident? Who the fuck had he been?

“Yes, I’m doing alright. I slept most of yesterday… the shock, I guess. They’ve reduced my hours on the ward. I went for a walk, then slept again. The only thing I had in the fridge to eat was scrambled eggs.” She smiled.

He smiled back at her, that easy, familiar smile. It felt familiar anyway. “Eggs?” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“I know, I know, not really proper food, I’ll do a food shop on the way home.” She waved her hand to wave away his concern. She was brave, he could see she was scared, that this had been an ordeal for her, but that she was determined to rise to it. He knew the slightly blue-grey tinge under her eyes wasn’t normally there. He knew she wasn’t used to danger, whereas he was. He knew that, he felt that within him.

“I was going to try to make a joke about how you like your eggs in the morning… but I actually have no idea.” He laughed.

She smiled with him. Which felt incredible to him, to share a small joke like that.

“Get yourself plenty of food Hannah, you have got to keep your strength up.” His eyes skimmed up and down her body. His eyes lingered, her body was delicious.

“I will, don’t you be worrying about me now, I can take care of myself,” she said, more breathily than he’d heard so far.

“Hmm,” he grunted and flicked his eyes up and down her body again. He ached to touch her.

“Hannah, I… I’m glad you are here,” he said. He went to raise his arm again, and reached for her. She stood closer to him, and extended her arm out, too. He took her hand.

“It feels good that you are here. It feels right.” He gazed at her, unreadable. “Come here,” he said quietly and patted the space beside him on the bed.

So she perched on the side of the bed next to him. She stroked his forehead, gently, lightly tousling his dark brown hair. It felt so fucking right.

“I hope finding out about the rest of my life is this good, too,” he said, closing his eyes at her touch on his forehead.

He was getting tired. He felt it. The darkness coming up to take him. His vision blurring, his hands flopping down onto the bed. His hearing going, too.

Harder to make out words. But he did hear her response.

“So do I,” she said.