There is so little I remember, and yet there is much that I know.
A strange
mindset to stew in. It’s hard to explain, but take right now, this very moment.
I’m sat up against a stack of feathery pillows, a thick duvet blanketed over my
legs, the bed under me cuddles me like a cloud, and I cup a steamy mug of rich
coffee in my slender hands.
Yet I’m on
a hospital bed.
In a
hospital room.
And I have
no memory of how I got here.
Curiously
though, I do know that hospitals aren’t supposed to be like this… Accommodating,
catering… luxurious?
The bed
should be thin and lumpy, the duvet a coarse blanket, the coffee watery and
burnt, and the pillows reduced to one flimsy thing. I certainly shouldn’t have
a whole private room to myself, either.
Strange
that I know what a hospital should be.
But I have
no idea who I am.
No memory.
No memories. I didn’t even know my own name until it was read out to me
from a chart.
The doctors
have been wonderful, given the circumstances.
And so has
he.
I turn my
head on the pillow just as he pulls open the weighted door. It gives a moan of
protest before his costly leather shoe steps over the threshold.
My tired
eyes lift up his body, over his black cashmere trousers, up to his white shirt
whose sleeves are rolled up to just beneath the elbows, and then finally to his
face, one I should recognise, but don’t.
For a
heartbeat, I try to remember him—his features, at least. Blond hair that curls
around the frame of his face, a light shade of sawdust, medium lips (not too
full, not too thin) with a perfectly symmetrical bow, and eyes like windows to
the ripples that run over oceans.
There’s no
one feature that makes him handsome, but all of them combined with his air of
power and indifference. There’s a laziness in his movements, no real sense of
urgency, but I wonder if I’m misreading him, and he’s only trying not to spook
me.
I decide
that, to get his attention, I must be a short-skirt, high-heeled, and
lipstick kinda gal.
The door is
slow to shut behind him. Beyond it, a bare bulb glares into my room, but it’s
blocked by his broad frame, and the white light glows around his head like a
halo.
Is he my
saviour?
I only know
him as Dash—
My fiancé… So he tells me…
I liked the excerpt.
ReplyDeleteThe cover art is gorgeous and the synopsis and excerpt have intrigued me, Gaslight Her sounds like an exciting read and I am looking forward to it. Thank you for sharing the author's bio and book details
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