Page 90 of Bring Me Your Midnight

I stare at her. All the heat drains from my body. “Mortana?” The word sounds harsh, but I don’t mean it that way.

“I’m sorry, have we met?”

I search her face and stumble back when I realize she has no idea who I am. My chest is on fire. I can’t get enough air.

“I apologize if I’m being rude. I meet a lot of mainlanders at the shop, and sometimes I forget.” She waves her hand through the air and smiles. Polite. Professional.

She apologizes too much.

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “Don’t apologize. It’s nothing.”

She nods and looks relieved. “You can find your way back?”

“Yes.” The word barely makes it out, and I clear my throat.

I close my eyes and cover her in a veil of magic. I can feel a memory loss spell working inside her, hiding every memory, every fucking moment, in darkness.

My god, she doesn’t remember.

I look away. My eyes are burning, and it feels like there’s a boulder lodged in my throat. I can’t breathe.

“Well, have a nice day,” she says, walking away.

I don’t respond. I don’t move. I just look at her, watch her perfect face as she offers a small smile and passes me by.

She is so close, an arm’s length away, but nothing lights in her eyes, not even a ghost of recognition.

I clutch my chest because of the pressure, the pain that’s building there. It isn’t normal, pain like this. Fuck, it feels like every one of my ribs has fractured and lodged itself directly in my lungs.

I want to know if she took the memory eraser willingly or if it was forced on her. Ineedto know. But if it’s the former, I don’t think I’d survive it.

She walks up the beach and onto the road, stopping when she gets there. She slowly turns around. I hold my breath as she watches me, her eyes on mine convincing my heart to start beating again. Is there the hint of recognition?

I almost walk right up to her, take her face in my hands and tell her she knows me, that whatever she’s sensing in her gut is real. But she shakes her head slightly and turns back to the road, walking away from me. I stand still, watching her until she rounds a corner and I can’t see her anymore.

I stay where I am.

It’s over. But it can’t be over. It can’t be.

Would it be wrong to see her again, to try to make her remember me if she willingly chose to forget?

I know that it would. I know it, but I can’t let her go.

Then we can burn together.

I pick up a rock and heave it into the ocean, yelling as I do. The pain in my chest gets worse, and my yelling gets louder, but it doesn’t fix anything.

God, I’m falling apart. There’s no way I’ll survive this.

You will be the end of me.

Mortana is gone, and she doesn’t remember.

I gasp at the fire in my lungs.

She doesn’t remember.

thirty-two