Over the Edge

Ch.37-Learning to Live Again

~Emmalyn~

"Come on, Emma, you have to come in eventually."

Despite Rhys's urgings, I stood nonplussed on the front step of what was supposedly my house . . . Though it looked more like a log cabin. "Do I really live here?"

The corners of his mouth twisted up in amusement. "Yep."

"It's so . . ."

"Weird? Odd? Like you're on some freaking camp ground?"

I swallowed hard, but nodded. "Yeah."

"It really wouldn't matter if it was a circus tent, would it? Now come on." He grabbed my hand, and though I didn't know him exceptionally better than when I woke up three days ago, it felt so distinctively right to wrap my fingers around his.

He led me into the house, a blast of vanilla hitting me like a slap in the face. "Whoa," I muttered. "That's a strong smell."

He chuckled. "You get used to it."

I stared around the house at what I could see standing by the front door. The layout was simple enough. It did have a homey feel to it, I supposed. "Where are my parents?" it still felt weird calling them that, calling people you felt no emotional or personal attachment to your parents.

"They'll be home later, and they're vigilantly entrusting you in my care." He tugged me farther along and I was helpless but to follow.

"It's so strange," I commented in a quiet voice. "Seeing all this . . . Knowing I should remember it but not being able to."

"I know." He squeezed my hand. I expected him to say something else but he didn't, taking me to a set of stairs and leading me up them. He strode down the hall to a particular room. He pushed the door open carefully. I was smart enough to guess whose it was.

"My room?" I questioned even so. I caught him nod as he flicked on the lights. It was decent enough. The bed was rumpled from the last time I slept there, the pillow hanging haphazardly off the bed. There were a few odd things scattered along the floor; articles of clothing, balled up papers. Nothing that struck a bell, nothing I deemed as important.

Rhys crossed the room and yanked open the curtains, letting in the sunlight that was struggling so hard to break through the white, puffy cloud cover. I spotted a backpack sitting against a desk and crouched by it, pulling out a book. "I'm in calculus?" I questioned, flipping open the large textbook to a random page. "Oh. This doesn't look that hard."

I heard a disbelieving grunt from the other side of my room. "Are you kidding me right now? You can't remember a lick of your life and yet you can still do math problems?"

I shrugged, but grinned. When he put it like that it was kind of ridiculous. "I guess so." I straightened up, extremely aware of the fact, alone in my room with him, that I hadn't had a shower in what was most likely a good-long while. 

"You should wash up," he stated, as if he read my mind. "Make yourself at home. I won't go anywhere."

I nodded without saying anything, needing to leave the room. The air seemed heavier, tenser, something unmistakable between us and it frightened me so my first instinct was to leave it alone. I escaped into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Immediately hot steam filled the room. I dropped the grungy clothes I'd been wearing since being holed up inside the hospital, looking forward to washing the anti-septic smells off. They seemed to cling to my skin, following me wherever I went. Faint trails of where I had been for so long.

I stepped under the hot stream, moaning aloud at how good it felt. I took my time, scrubbing at every inch of my skin relentlessly until I virtually sparkled. I ran my fingers through my hair, lathering it with all the shampoo I could manage. It felt incredible. And when I switched off the water and stepped out, it was damn good enough to have me feeling like a new person.