I Do, Don't I?

Chapter Twenty

Sorry for the hang up for so long. I still do hope you enjoy this. I think by far, this is the most climatic chapter you'd ever encounter. ;)

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I opened my eyes only to find myself lying on the soft white sheets of the cottage's double bed. I sat up with a pounding head and noticed a bowl of water on the bedside table with a white towel floating above it.

"You passed out."

I looked up to see John coming towards me with a glass of water.

"I...I've been here before," I said as I took the glass and looked around the room.

There was silence. I looked at him and waited for him to say something helpful to make me remember when was the last time I've set foot on this place.

"Of course you were," he said, his face was indecipherable. "You were with your husband and your colleagues, remember?"

Great. That was very helpful. Thank you very much.

"No!" I replied birsely.

He flinched in horror then, I realized that I acted too fierce.

"I...I've been here. Before...before I was with Jude and the others," I wondered to myself.

There was a brief silence before he asked, "What do you remember?"

I tried to recall my dream but it was too fuzzy. "I...I dont' know. I just...I just know that I've been here before and...I knew you before." I watched his face but there was no change of expression.

"How do you know me?"

There was a tense silence. I felt a bit of fear that he was someone I should'nt know. "I...I don't know."

"Rachel, you must remember," his tone was getting persistent.

"But, I--I don't remember!" I stuttered.

"You've been here before, how could you not remember now?"

"I don't know!" my hands are on my head, trying to make the spinning stop.

There was a sharp silence.

He stood up, furious, then, stormed out.

Is he someone I should really remember?

**********

When he didn't come back for what felt like an hour, I've decided to go after him. He was standing before the wide field. I thought that he had gone far but no, he was just outside the cottage I was staying in.

"I'm sorry about what happened earlier," I began.

He turned, his expression soft and penitent. "No, I should be the one who's sorry. I shouldn't have forced you--"

"No, no, no, it's fine, it's fine," I cut in. "It's actually something I wanted to talk to you about." I shifted my weight from foot to foot as I braced my arm over the other. I met his eyes and took the courage to ask, "Who are you?"

"I'm John Dawson."

"No," I paused. "Who are you...in my life?"

I could hear his breath, I could see his chest pumping air in his lungs as he looked away. "Why do you have to know?"

"Because I wanted to remember," I replied exasperatingly, tired of people who aren't helping me with anything. Like, there's a secret behind everything they tell me about my past.