Page 27 of Asylum (The Wellard Asylum #9)

C onsciousness.

I’m awake, but everything feels strange.

Unfamiliar.

My head aches like I’ve been hit with something, and as I bring my hand to my forehead, the skin is tender, and sore. My limbs are weak, heaviness blanketing my entire body. The quiet is suffocating as I search my mind for answers, a gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Who am I?

Where am I?

Do I have amnesia?

Panic rises in my chest, nausea churning in my belly. Was there an accident? Where are my memories?

My eyes slowly open, a soft light filling the room but it’s still too bright, causing a piercing pain in the front of my skull.

My gaze tracks the details of the room, but nothing rings a bell.

I’m lying on a soft bed, surrounded by gray walls, dark wooden furniture in the corners of the large space.

Confusion leads to terror, and tears spring to my eyes. I have no idea what’s going on, and nothing makes sense. Words and thoughts come easily, but they’re the only things I have. Trying to recall a single memory from any part of my life is proving impossible.

There’s nothing.

A dark void raising more questions than I already had upon opening my eyes.

Turning my head to the side, the source of light comes from a small lamp sitting atop a nightstand. As I look to the other side of the bed, a man sits in a chair, his eyes closed, sleeping. My body flinches.

Who is he?

Have I been kidnapped?

Has he hurt me?

Is he going to hurt me?

My chest tightens, fear and dread shooting through me so forcefully, I’d fall if I weren’t already lying down.

Bracing my upper body on trembling hands, I push myself up, leaning against a cold, iron headboard. The man stirs in the chair as the bed squeaks, his eyes snapping open. He doesn’t move a muscle as his dark gaze pins me to the spot, intense and assessing.

“You’re awake.” His deep voice is raspy from sleep, and it sends a shiver down my spine.

“Who are you?” I whisper, my throat dry and scratchy.

He leans forward, propping his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped together in front of him. “My name is Andrew Chambers. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Tears form in my eyes, his face becoming blurry. “Why can’t I remember my name?”

He gives me a sad smile. “Your name is Lilly. You were in a car accident. You suffered a head injury which caused memory loss. You were recovering well in the hospital, and I brought you home. Unfortunately, you had a fainting spell. I took you back to the hospital, and they checked you out, but the doctor couldn’t find anything.

Only time will tell if your memories return. ”

His response has me spiraling into despair, but one word caught my attention above the others. “Home? Do w-we live here together?” I clear my throat to relieve the hoarseness, but it makes me cough, a throbbing pain piercing my head between my eyes.

He stands from his chair, pouring a glass of water from a pitcher on the nightstand.

He holds the glass out for me to take, and I notice a wedding band on his ring finger.

I hesitate for a moment before reaching for the glass, gasping as I see a matching band on my own finger.

“Are we-” Words fail me as true panic settles in, paralyzing me.

He takes a seat in the chair. “Lilly, look at me.”

This can’t be real.

Wake up, Lilly.

My own name sounds foreign in my head, and the tears I’d been trying to hold back fall freely.

“Lilly.” He tries again, and this time, I force my eyes to his. “Your name is Lilly Chambers.”

The sob that leaves my chest is soul shattering, and I shake my head back and forth, denying the words before he speaks them.

He takes the glass of water from my hand, placing it on the nightstand. “We’re married, Lilly. I’m your husband, and you’re my wife.”

“No!” I shout, my entire body shaking uncontrollably.

I rip the blankets off my legs, moving to stand from the bed.

My knees buckle, but he bolts from his chair, catching me before I hit the floor.

Trying to push him away, he won’t let go, and I slam my fists against his chest, sobbing until I finally collapse in his arms. He sits me on the edge of the bed, kneeling on the floor in front of me.

He grips my hands, holding them tightly as I cry. “It’s going to be okay, little doll. I’m going to take care of you.”

He doesn’t speak for long minutes, allowing me to mourn a life I don’t remember.

As the last of the tears fade, he stands, moving around the room.

He returns a moment later with the glass of water, holding it out to me like a peace offering.

I take it, appreciating the cool liquid as it slides down my parched throat.

Once I’ve finished it, he takes the glass, placing it next to the pitcher.

“W-will you t-tell me everything?” I stammer through the hiccups racking my chest.

“Of course.” He reaches for my hand, and I don’t pull away. “Rest, and we’ll talk when you wake up.”

I want to know everything now, but in the ten minutes I’ve been awake, the little bit of energy I had has been depleted. I’m asleep before the door latches when he leaves the room.