CHAPTER 6
KATE
"Well, this is it,” Liana cooed as she opened the front door and led me inside. “Home sweet home."
I had been worried all morning about finally going home. As I had no memory, the hospital had become my home over the last few days. As sad as it may seem, that bed was the only one that I had ever known. The walls were the only ones that I was used to waking up and seeing. Heck, even the terrible breakfast and lunch they fed me had begun to taste like a home cooked dinner.
I had no recollection at all of my actual house, and my biggest fear was how strange it was going to feel when I did finally set foot in it. I knew it wasn't going to feel like my house, and I knew I wouldn't feel comfortable there. It was terrifying.
"So, what do you think?" Liana asked as I stepped around her, into what she claimed to be my apartment. My home.
As much as I’d been afraid that my apartment wouldn't feel like a home, I was also worried about what kind of home I lived in. Liana had already filled me in on what it was that I did for a living. As low as that was, I couldn't even imagine what kind of place I would be able to afford on such wages.
Although I was a writer, or dreamed of being one, in order to pay the bills, I had gotten a job waitressing at a strip club. I didn’t have to take off my clothes or dance, at least that was how Liana told it anyway. But I did have to dress in skimpy outfits. Liana was a stripper at the club. She’d hooked me up with the job as a favor, apparently, although it didn’t exactly feel like a favor now. Once I got my life back on track, I would look for another job that didn’t require me to work in little more than lingerie.
I struggled to find the words as I looked over the hovel that I called home. "It's quaint."
The place was a dump. And that was being kind. It was a studio apartment, which meant that I could see the bathroom, living room, kitchen, and bedroom all from the convenience of the front door.
And if it was just that, then maybe I would have been okay with it. But it was also so damn run down. The paint peeled off the walls, rusty water stains marked the ceiling, and the carpet in the bedroom frayed along the edges. And I wasn't even going to get into the smell.
"You're a struggling writer, what do you expect?" Liana said dismissively as she closed the door behind the two of us. "I'm a goddamn actress who hasn't worked in months. What do you think my place looks like?"
It was a humbling experience, finding out just how low my life had sunk. I had no memory of it, and yet, I couldn't believe that this was what I had made of myself. If there was one positive to be taken from my accident, it was my new-found sense of drive and purpose. This may have been me, but it wasn't going to be for much longer.
"I don't know what your place looks like,” I said as I walked around my apartment. “For some reason, I imagine that you have a lot of fuzzy pillows and decorative shit on the walls?"
One thing that stood out above anything else was the lack of wall hangings, pictures, or any sign that a person actually lived there. It looked almost like a squatter’s apartment, one I had rented with the express purpose of leaving as soon as I was able.
"Hey, maybe your memory is starting to come back?" Liana beamed as she made her way into the kitchen. "Now, how about we have a drink and—"
"Actually, I was wondering if I could be left alone?" I asked, doing my best not to sound rude. "It's just that it's my first night, and I don't know, I guess I wouldn't mind a little time to myself? To settle in."
"Say no more," Liana replied, not looking in the least bit put out by my request. "I totally get you." She made her way to the front door, sashaying her way across the room as she walked. "My number is on the fridge and on your phone if you need anything. Anything at all. Okay?"
"Sure thing." I gave her a grateful smile as she waved goodbye and closed the door behind her.
And then I was alone.
I spent the next few minutes walking silently around the apartment, taking everything in, trying to see if there was anything that would jog my memory. It was a very small apartment, and I had very few possessions, so that didn't take too long. Looking over my clothes, through my books, and rifling through my cupboards yielded nothing of interest.
It wasn't until I found my laptop that a sudden wave of excitement washed over me. Surely, I would find something on my laptop? A written piece? A journal entry? Anything that might help me better understand who I was.
Opening it up, I immediately spotted a folder titled “Writing." My heart beat faster as I clicked it open. Inside the folder were a dozen more folders, each labeled with titles I didn't recognize and that meant nothing to me. Some were of people's names. Others were clearly titles of stories that I had written.
I opened one called "A Tale of Two Lovers," and began to read. It was a romance spy thriller about a young woman, a school teacher, on holiday in Prague. While on holiday, she became embroiled, by accident, in a deadly game of international espionage. It would have seen the end of her, too, were it not for the handsome gentleman spy who soon came to her rescue. As he helped her escape, the two became romantically engaged, eventually falling in love.
I read the story from start to finish. It was enjoyable and decently written, but it didn't ring any bells. It may as well have been written by a stranger. The only detail I could glean from the story was that I was clearly a half-decent writer, most likely in search of the right story. One that would help me break out of this hell hole.
Closing my laptop, I moved to the drawers of my bedside table, realizing that I had yet to rifle through those. It was in them that I came across my journals for the first time. As with my laptop, my heart began to race. Surely, I would find something in these.
I picked up the most recent one from almost a year ago and flipped to the end. It seemed that I used to write in them all the time, only to stop for some reason. Maybe I could find out why?
The third to last entry, written in pen, was smudged, as if I had been crying when I wrote it. I read the entry twice. It was sad in a way that I couldn't imagine. It seemed that I was once madly in love.
To quote myself “my love ran deeper than any ocean.” But, despite how deeply I’d been in love, my lover broke my heart. His name had been Liam, and after three years of unbridled romance, he broke up with me. Although he tried to get back with me the next day, I refused. It seemed that he had hurt me too much for forgiveness.
I closed the journal, biting my lip as I thought on this. It was so frustrating, but even with a written account of my past, I still couldn't remember a damn thing. The only part of that journal that rang a bell was the name Liam, and that was because of my doctor, more than anything else.
Ah, Liam Morgan. There was a memory worth having. With him in mind, I dropped the journal on the floor and laid back in bed. I didn't want to confuse him with the man from my past. I didn't want to taint his good name. I was sure that if I ever had a Liam to myself, one that I could remember, I would never let him go.
He was just so perfect. Forget about his physical attributes, even though those were hard to overlook. It was his personality which made me as hot and bothered as I currently felt. Where everyone else had so far treated me like a social experiment, he was the only one to treat me like a human. He spoke to me as if he actually cared. He looked at me like no one else had. He held my hand and asked me out.
I could feel my body getting warmer. More thoughts of Dr. Liam Morgan swirled in my mind's eye. I pictured that smile of his and those broad shoulders, those deep eyes. My breathing intensified. I suddenly became very aware of how alone I was, the first time I had been, for as long as I could remember.
The hospital had given me some old clothes from the lost and found for me to wear home. Just an old pair of jeans and a plain white t-shirt. Right then, they felt restrictive.
One thing that I was proud of was my body. You could call me pretty and that would be fine, but it was my actual body that most would desire. I wasn't tall, but I had long legs. They were strong and muscular and ran up to a firm, round ass that I was surprised to find belonged to me. Top that off with a flat stomach that was indicative of time spent at the gym and small, supple breasts. I knew that I wasn't being modest in thinking that I had a killer body. One that I knew Liam would delight in.
Lying on my bed, I quickly slid out of my jeans and top. I wasn't wearing a bra or panties, either. I loved the feeling of lying naked on my own bed, where no one could disturb me. My breathing continued to intensify as I ran my hand slowly down my stomach, creating goose bumps over my skin as I stroked my torso.
I bent my knees up and stroked the inside of my thighs as I did. My body began to shiver as my long fingers ran their tips over my moist, warm lips. Every time I touched them, an electric pulse surged through my body. And every time that I touched myself, I thought of Liam.
I imagined Liam on the bed in front of me, on all fours with his head buried between my legs. His smoldering eyes would gaze up at me while he licked his lips, until they were nice and moist. Then, his tongue would plunge inside of me, parting me open to taste me.
As I imagined this, my own fingers finally slid inside of me. I gasped softly as they dipped into my warm wetness. I moaned as they slid in and out, in and out. I pressed on the inside of my pussy, pulled them out, and ran them over the head of my clit. As they touched my clit, my knees shook. My entire body followed suit.
I stroked my clit softly, feeling it engorge under my touch. Every few moments, when the sensation became too much, I would dip my fingers back inside of myself, getting them nice and wet again before going back to my clit. As I rubbed it, it grew and grew, and I could feel the warmth growing inside of my body.
Like a fire, that sensation grew. It started at my legs and worked its way up. Once it reached my torso, it spread, engulfing the rest of my body. Although it was a fire, it felt cold as ice. My body began to shiver and shake as I continued to rub myself. I kept thoughts of Liam in the forefront of my mind. He was inside of me now. He was punishing me. He was penetrating me and making me his.
I worked myself harder and faster. I could feel the delicious pressure building inside me. It was so close. It was brimming on the edge. My entire body quaked. My breathing was destructive. I was about to blow.
And then I did.
I came hard and fast. As my body erupted, I slid my fingers inside myself, keeping them there. I writhed and kicked on the bed, turning over and biting into the pillow. The sensation was amazing. So great that once it was over, I felt literal tears dripping down my cheeks.
And as I lay in bed for what must have been hours afterwards, my thoughts were always with Liam. That was one of the most explosive orgasms I’d ever had, and that was just from thinking about him. I could only imagine what it would be like if I ever had a chance to make him mine. I could only hope that he wanted it as much as I most certainly did.