Page 3 of Lust & Lies
NOELLE
I SPENT THE NEXT WEEK in the hospital. Most of the time, I didn’t talk. Only when someone asked me a direct question or when silence felt too suffocating. The nurses came and went with their polite smiles and subtle stares at Aiden.
If he noticed their attention, he didn’t let it show. The crazy thing was, I was hoping one of them would snatch him up and carry him away from me so I could be alone. The man never left my side.
Even when I was in the bathroom, I knew he was right outside the door, waiting for me, asking me if I was okay every five seconds. I couldn’t even have a bathroom break in peace.
Dr. Mercer checked my chart every morning. I kept hoping he’d find something wrong with me, a reason for me to stay. He never did. He only smiled and told me I was doing much better. Yet, I didn’t feel any better.
And then there was the therapist, a soft-spoken woman who talked to me like I was made of glass. Like I’d shatter into pieces if she said the wrong thing to me. She talked super slow, as if I wouldn’t be able to keep up if she spoke faster.
She visited often, asking questions I couldn’t answer and then giving me a sad look afterward. She wasn’t helpful at all. In fact, after her visits, I felt worse, like a failure. Like it was my fault I couldn’t remember anything.
Before I could be discharged, I had to do a few days of physical therapy to show that I could walk and lift things without assistance or too much discomfort. My body was fine, a little sore, scraped up, and such, but I was physically okay.
It was my head that was the problem. Follow-up visits were scheduled, and Aiden had to be present for each of them because I wasn’t allowed to be alone for the first few weeks. I was also instructed to see a therapist that the hospital recommended.
The man was currently out of the country on vacation and wouldn’t return to the States for a couple of months. But Dr. Mercer assured me he was the perfect therapist for me because he’d previously dealt with cases like mine.
In the meantime, the doctor wanted me to focus on my rehab and on relaxing as much as possible. Then, there was the dietician who came in to tell me what I should and shouldn’t eat. I took that as a recommendation more than a requirement. I was being treated like a child, but what could I do?
These were professionals saying that I needed these things, so I must need them. At least, that’s what I told myself as I nodded and listened to their instructions. I kept waiting to remember something, anything.
How could I completely forget things about myself? I wasn’t worried about remembering my husband. How could I not remember me? How could I not remember my parents? My best friends.... If I had any.
Right now, I had nothing. Only Aiden, who wouldn’t tell me anything helpful per the doctor’s orders. The memories had to return naturally. They couldn’t be forced. I’d heard that so many times that I was starting to dream those words at night.
If they truly needed to return naturally, why the hell did I need to see a therapist? What was there to talk about if I couldn’t recall anything? Then there was Aiden, who never left my side, who watched my every movement.
His presence both irritated me and made me feel guilty. I was irritated by him constantly telling me it would be okay because he would be there for me every step of the way. Those words weren’t as comforting and reassuring as he thought they were.
They didn’t soothe me. They smothered me. Guilt hummed through me each time he reached for my hand or tried to kiss my cheek. I always pulled back, even if I tried not to. Even if I told myself he meant well.
My initial reaction was always to shrink away from him. If I belonged to this man, shouldn’t some part of me recognize him? Shouldn’t I feel safe? I didn’t. To me, that was a sign that my body didn’t know him and wasn’t accustomed to his touch.
If it did, my instincts wouldn’t be screaming for me to flee him the first chance I got. But where would I go? Who could I run to? Aiden was literally the only person by my side. There were no other visitors.
There was no family calling to check on me. No friends sending me flowers and get-well cards. Nothing. When I asked about my family, Aiden said it was a complicated situation, and he’d prefer I start to remember on my own before he told me anything about the past.
I won’t lie, that pissed me the fuck off because I could have parents out there worried sick about me. However, if Aiden really was my husband, he would’ve told them about the accident by now.
So, maybe I didn’t have a family. And that thought left me feeling sad, lonely, and completely lost. I was stuck with Aiden Park, the man who watched me much too closely, and whose words felt like they had a double meaning.
Especially when he held my hand and said, “I’m here for you. I’ll be with you every step of the way. I will never leave your side, Noelle.”
He meant it as reassurance, yet it felt like a leash. Like handcuffs. Like I was being forced to remain at this man’s side no matter what. Naturally, when the day arrived for me to go home with Aiden, I was a nervous wreck, yet I pretended to be calm.
However, I wished I could spend more time in the hospital. There was even a tiny voice in my head that said if I hurt myself, they’d be forced to keep me. That thought had frightened me. No matter how bad things got, I refused to harm myself.
Others, maybe.
Never myself.
And that told me something about myself. I was a fighter. So, I mustered up all my courage and allowed myself to be wheeled out of the hospital to Aiden’s sleek vehicle. I could walk just fine. However, the wheelchair was a hospital protocol.
Aiden helped me into the car. He was gentle with me as he buckled me in. My eyes remained on him as he worked, part curiosity, part caution. This man hadn’t left my side once since I’d been in the hospital.
I hadn’t asked him much about himself. I avoided talking to him unless necessary. I let him do all of the talking, listening for slip-ups, anything that could prove he was lying to me. So far, there hadn’t been any.
Sometimes, he excused himself and stepped out of the room to answer calls from work. From trying to listen in on his calls, I assumed he was a CEO or something like that. It seemed he was called on to make the important decisions.
When had I met and fallen in love with a CEO? I couldn’t remember much about myself, but I didn’t feel like a CEO's wife. I didn’t feel like a wife at all. The seatbelt had just clicked into place when he turned to stare at me.
I was in. All buckled up. That should’ve been the end of it. But he didn’t step back. Instead, he stayed there, half of his body still in the car, close enough for his breath to mingle with mine.
Close enough for me to feel the warmth of his body. Close enough for the scent of his cologne to wrap around me. Close enough for me to notice just how broad his shoulders were. Damn, he smelled good. But he was too close.
The closest we’d ever been, at least since I woke up without my memory. I didn’t say anything. Just stared, waiting for him to move, to close the door. He didn’t. He leaned in, eyes locked on mine, like he was searching for something.
A spark of memory in me. A flicker of hope. A reason to believe I would one day remember this amazing love he said we shared. He wouldn’t find any of that in my eyes. I couldn’t give him what he sought.
The silence between us was starting to stretch too long. He wouldn’t look away. Neither would I. I had no reason to cower before this man. Even so, this was starting to feel weird. Not knowing what to do to ease the awkwardness, I spoke up.
“Thank you,” I whispered. “For buckling my belt.” Now get out of my face and drive the damn car.
He remained silent, just staring at me. His gaze was intense. I wanted to break eye contact but refused to let him win, even if that thought was irrational. When his lips finally parted, his response surprised me.
“Thank you, Noelle,” he muttered, voice low, deep.
Thank me? Why? I frowned, head tilting to the side as I studied him.
“What are you thanking me for?” I asked. “I haven’t done anything for you.”
“For surviving,” he whispered.
Those two words nearly shattered me. Tears sprang to my eyes. A tight ache bloomed in my chest, sudden and unexpected. For a second, I couldn’t breathe.
“Thank you for surviving and not leaving me here alone,” he whispered, growing a bit choked up on that last part.
I swallowed the lump in my throat as he kissed my forehead, then pulled away from me. Blinking rapidly, he closed the door and walked around the front of the vehicle, heading to the driver's side.
My gaze followed him, noting how he used the back of his hand to wipe his eyes before climbing into the car. I looked out the window once he was seated, not wanting to be caught staring.
Those tears in his eyes, had they been real or fake? I didn’t know. But he was right about one thing. I was a survivor. And I’d keep surviving, no matter what. I clung to that truth like it was the only solid thing I had. The car ride home was silent.
Seated in the passenger seat, hands curled into my lap, my mind teetered between exhaustion and unease. I was really going home with Aiden. My husband. This felt unreal. Like a dream I couldn’t wake up from.
I gazed at him from the corner of my eye, trying not to be obvious. I was still trying to understand this man who claimed to be my husband. I’d hoped he’d turn the radio on, thinking his musical taste would give me some insight into him.
Nope. The radio remained off. He drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the console between us. His sleeves were rolled up, his forearms exposed, his shirt neatly pressed. Everything about him was put together. Neat. Controlled. Mr. Perfection.