After the fascinating discovery of our matching tattoos, we spent the afternoon listening to the various genres of music I’d checked out from the library. We discovered that he preferred rock music and blues over classical or country. He’d cursed when I put on rap and crossed the room to turn it off, which was funny. He made me replay a particular blues song three or four times, saying he was sure there was something familiar about it, but ultimately he couldn’t recall anything specific.
Despite the lack of progress on producing any memories, the afternoon hadn’t felt like a failure. It had actually been sort of fun. Logan had lain across the bed, his eyes closed, deep in concentration as I played the music, skipping through songs, or turning it up based on his preferences.
He asked me to leave the books behind for him to read, that way I was guaranteed to return to see him, he said, at least to pick up the books. If only he knew I was already anticipating my next visit.
The smile on my face had not faded when I ran into Dr. Andrews in the hallway.
“Have you been here all afternoon?” He frowned, looking down at his watch.
It was amazing that several hours had passed without my noticing. “Um, yeah. We got a lot done.”
“Did he recall anything about the murder?”
Well burst my bubble. My stomach dropped. “No. I’m not working with him on remembering that.”
He scoffed at my direct admission.
“Dr. Andrews, you’re the one who diagnosed him with post-traumatic, or dissociative amnesia. You and I both know that he’s distanced himself from important personal information about himself and his life. His memory can likely be restored over time, but the events leading up to the trauma will likely be the last to be remembered. Or never remembered at all.”
Dr. Andrews shuffled his feet, still frowning.
“Besides, that’s what the police-assigned psychologist is for.”
“Listen, Ashlyn, I’m only trying to look out for you. He’s dangerous. You haven’t read the police file.”
My belly danced with nerves, both wanting and not wanting to know what the police records contained.
“They found him in an abandoned warehouse, covered in blood, a sledgehammer nearby and the dead body of another man lying beside him. He’d beaten the hell out of him. Gruesome stuff.”
My skin broke out in chill bumps. I just couldn’t imagine Logan being dangerous.
“He’s a young man who doesn’t even know his name, and though I appreciate your concern, I know what I’m doing.” I turned and strode towards the elevator, faking a confidence I so did not feel. I stabbed the down button several times for good measure, and when I turned around, Dr. Andrews was gone.
That night I lay in bed, looking over the curving script scrawled on my hip in the dim moonlight seeping in through the blinds. I ran my fingertips lightly along my skin, just the way Logan had. A low throbbing ache built between my legs, needing so much more. I let my fingers dance just below the waistband of my panties and imagined it was Logan’s palm that was laid flat on my stomach. I closed my eyes and let myself imagine what kind of lover he would be. Through our visits, I was able to read his emotions almost better than my own. He felt entirely alone and craved comfort and closeness. Feelings I couldn’t even let myself explore with him.
My fingers dipped lower, finding myself already wet. I stroked the swollen bud softly, as I imagined Logan would and moaned as pleasure rocketed through me. I never touched myself like this, preferring instead the efficiency of my vibrator, which quickly got the job done. But tonight as I daydreamed of Logan, I wanted to draw it out, to make the sensations last. To have his face in my mind and his name on my lips when I came.
Chapter Three
“The amount of time you’re spending at the hospital isn’t healthy, Ash,” Liz said, stepping forward in the line. “It’s not normal.”
I opened my mouth to respond, and she held up one hand, stopping me. “And don’t say it’s for your thesis. I talked to Clancy and he said you have plenty of outside material, and that your thesis outline is nearly done.”
I closed my mouth, unable to use the defense I’d been about to employ. I had a draft of my thesis outline complete. Logan’s situation was only a small part of it, a real life reference point in all the other data. It hadn’t felt right to make his case front and center, dramatizing his pain that way.
I followed Liz towards the counter, needing much more caffeine to even consider discussing my relationship with Logan with her.
“Tell me what’s going on, Ash. This isn’t like you to get so obsessed about a test subject.”
I swallowed hard. I needed to come clean about Logan. He wasn’t just some test subject. He hadn’t been from the beginning, and now after spending several weeks with him, talking music and literature, tasting all kinds of foods, I knew we had grown close. Too close as far as doctor-patient relationships went, even if I wasn’t a doctor yet.
I suppressed a grin at the thought of Logan, struggling to keep my game face on in front of Liz. She’d jump on me at the first sign that something was off.
Even though my visits hadn’t helped Logan to remember anything, spending time together brought him a sort of peace, he’d said. I provided a brief escape from his pain, and a break from the investigators who still questioned him, but were running into roadblocks as they tried to build their case.
I stepped up to the counter to place my order. “Small skim latte.”