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“I’m just concerned about you, Taylor.”
“You’re suffocating me, William. You treat me like a child, and I suppose I’m not one, even though you haven’t shown me a single one of my documents yet—because if I were a minor, you’d be committing a crime by keeping me on this boat.
“Keeping you?I’m taking care of you.”
“We’re friends, but everything has its limits.”
“We’re notfriends. You’re mine. You always were. I saved you and gave you space to recover, but you know what I want.”
Yes, I do, but I don’t bother replying as I walk past him toward the beach of this small island where we’ve anchored. He’s told me about his plans for a wedding, but how can I even think about something like that if I can’t stand so much as a hug from him?
I get that if we really were a couple, he’s being extremely patient waiting for me, but even without my memory, shouldn’t I at least enjoy being touched by him? That’s not happening. The longer we’re together, the more I feel like I’m living in a prison.
I may have amnesia, but I’m not stupid. I might not remember anything, but I can tell William’s trying to isolate me. I don’t have a cellphone or internet access, and even if I try to talk to the yacht’s crew, he butts in, as if he’s scared I’ll ask the wrong questions.
As I stroll down the marina, I see a bunch of other yachts and boats anchored. The moment I step onto the sand, I notice a big, dark-haired man watching me from one of them. It’s not the first time I’ve spotted him. If I’m not mistaken, this is the third island where I’ve come across his vessel.
I shrug. Maybe he’s on vacation, too.
Feeling awkward, I look down because he seems intimidating—not just physically, but in how he’s staring at me without looking away.
I glance back briefly to check that William’s watching me as I walk off. I don’t want to trigger his paranoia so that he starts forbidding me from leaving the yacht on my own.
Then, suddenly, I find the whole thought process ridiculous.
Leaving alone? I’m an adult, presumably of age—otherwise, he’d be a pedophile. I don’t need anyone’s permission to come and go.
Except you don’t have any ID on you,a mocking voice in my head reminds me.
Yes, I’ve got hundreds of hundred-dollar bills in my wallet, but only the word of a man who seems obsessed with me to verify who I am.
I hurry once I reach the main street and soon delve into the seaside shops. They sell a bit of everything: dresses, souvenirs, and lots of useless trinkets, too.
“Taylor Jarvis?”
My heart pounds as I turn around and see the same dark-haired man from the marina walking toward me. “Do I know you?”
“Not me, but there’s someone who needs to know you’re alive and well, so how about trying not to be so selfish and say hello to your friend?” he asks, practically shoving a phone at me.
I stare at him, astonished, having no clue what he’s talking about, but my intuition screams that I should take the phone.
“Press eight,” he instructs, at the same time grabbing my arm and leading me behind the shop, outside.
The call rings a few times before a woman’s voice answers: “Hello?”
“Hi, I’m not sure who you are, but there’s a man here saying we’re friends and that you need to talk to me.”
“Taylor? Oh my God!” She starts crying, and even though I have no idea what’s happening, I can tell she’s genuine in her grief. For the first time since I came out of my coma, I truly feel connected to someone. Her emotion stirs me more than living with my “rescuer” ever has.
“I’m sorry, but who are you?”
“How can you not know who I am? Jackie Alston.”
“I lost my memory. The only thing I know is that my name is Taylor Jarvis.”
I quickly explain about the coma and the man I’m with.
“You have to trust him!” she insists.