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He stalked me for days. My faulty memory wouldn’t wipe him away. I remembered him every morning. By the seventh day, I expected to see him upon reaching the dining room. Each meal, he appeared and, as though invited, sat down next to me. I ignored him. Well, as much as anyone can ignore a silent, hulking, dark shadow at the elbow.
In the yard, he followed me. Forcing me to move to avoid his oppressive looming, he trailed behind like a self-satisfied bodyguard. I moved and “exercised” with the rest. He was relentless until the daily drug therapy and testing sessions began.
After a fortnight, which I strangely remembered, the questions grew too loud in my head. I had to voice them before they consumed me.
“What am I to you?” I demanded the moment he sat on the bench and placed his tray next to mine.
He arched an eyebrow in surprise. “Finally couldn’t bear the mystery, eh?”
I scowled at him.
“I was wondering how long it would take you. Normally, you would have been questioning me blue by now.” His eyes softened. “They have changed you.”
My gut did a strange flip before tying itself in a knot. “How?”
“Your hair.” He reached out as though to touch me, but dropped his hand at the last moment, flexing his fingers like before. He retreated a step. “You’re thinner, weaker, more worn, and subdued.” His eyes compared me to a woman I doubted ever existed.
I adjusted my shoulders. “Superficial stuff.”
“True,” he admitted. “But it goes deeper. What can you remember?”
I recoiled. That was one area I refused to share, especially with him, a disconcerting stranger. He represented just the sort I didn’t want to expose myself to. One who would point out the insanity of not remembering anything before his appearance.
“Go away.”
“No.” The rumble of his voice gentled. “Myah, I won’t go away.”
“Who is Myah?” I demanded. Frustration and fear made me foolish. I confronted him full in the face.
“You are.” His expression changed. Emotions smoothed lines and creased others. Some of them I identified: hope, amusement, sadness, and longing. But longing for what?
The klaxon announcing exercise period blared. I broke my study and tried to distance myself. Per usual, he wouldn’t let me. However, once out in the overexposed sunlight, he didn’t push for conversation, withdrawing within himself instead. More questions than answers jumbled about my brain, but I squashed the urge to ask them.