Nope, he read my file. That's so much worse. My insides tighten. Fuck! He's seen behind the curtain. He's seen my creation of Derek, his alter ego who loves me.
He sits, taking the wine he's poured and handing me a glass and lifting his. "I just wanted you to know, I looked because I was hoping for some insight into asking a girl like you out."
My cheeks are on fire from imagining him rooting through my bag-not that I have anything in there, but still.
"I crossed a line, and I know that, but I'm not sorry. I like you, a lot."
I swallow, lifting my glass to join his. "I don't know what to say." It dawns on me I am scared of him. He is the only thing I fear. He is the type of monster that scares me. He's the kind you marry and you love forever. He's the kind who breaks everything inside you when they die and leave you, so it's better not to be with one of them. One of those real monsters.
"Say you'll go out with me and you like me back and that you wish I'd kept my greasy fingers off your personal shit. Say you wished I hadn't stolen your handbag so I had a reason to come over and that you would like me to leave because I am an asshole for being so manipulative."
I shake my head, whispering, "You swore."
He smiles. "I swear all the time."
"You never swear. You say Jesus, but it's more like you're praying. And you say other Ned Flanders – like swear words. Gosh diddly dang and all of that."
He cocks an eyebrow. "I do not. Who's Ned?"
"From The Simpsons." I roll my eyes, clicking my glass against his. "I like you back. Stay out of my personal shit, weirdo. I'm glad you stole my purse, and I'm happy you're here."
"Then we don't need to talk about it anymore?"
I shake my head, praying we never have to talk about it again. He drinks, but his eyes are fixed on me. I cut into my chicken, moaning at the perfection of Emily's cooking. He moans when he bites his too. "Who made this?"
"My neighbor. She's awesome. The only family I really have in the world."
He nods, savoring the flavors. "Tell me how you figured out that you needed to take positive memories in with you, even if they were fabricated."
He's the doctor behind the science so I tell him, even though I'm sure it won't be nearly as fascinating as he's hoping. And all it's going to do is make me look like a psycho. We both know I am, a little-I wouldn't have qualified for the program if I weren't. "When I got inside the first person's head, my life melded with theirs. I wasn't prepared to share so much with a stranger. I know you don't know me super well, but I don't like to share. I don't like talking about things. It makes me uncomfortable, but you can't go inside without giving something away. Seeing how sad my life was, little orphan Jane Doe, I created a new one. I got Angie to hypnotize me, but I never told her who the real people were who made up the memories. She knew she was my boss in all things. Rory was my partner. But Derek, the delightful doctor I created, was a mystery. I never told anyone who he was." I narrow my gaze. "How did you know it was you?"
He shakes his head. "I just did. I saw the description of him and knew. I'm from the East Coast but look like I'm from the West Coast. I'm a fitness freak, or whatever you called it. I'm always trying to stay positive. I drive a silver Mercedes." He glances down. "And I think you must have known, deep down, how I felt about you."
I swallow hard.
"You must have known subconsciously that I was in love with you." He looks scared of everything he's saying. I know I am. My heart races, and my mouth feels like it's stuffed with cotton balls.
He puts his fork down, no longer looking at me but instead at the table in front of him. He swallows hard like I do and nods, looking brave. That's the word I would use, brave. "When you're under, I always talk to you, hoping I can reach you on another level and make you see that we should be together." He sighs. "And now I look like I should be the person on the table, not the doctor." He lifts his face, pleading with his stare. "I swear, I'm not some creepy pervert."
"I know everything there is to know about you. I know you aren't a pervert." I reach across the table, doing the thing I think I have always wanted to do, and take his hand in mine. I need to be brave like him. "You are the thing that gets me through. I think I hear your voice and know I'm okay. Somehow, you're able to find me in the dark and make it light for me."
"Please don't ever go back in." He nods, looking at me. "I hate what I made you do. I hate that you go in there and use science I let the military force down your throat. I don't want you to go in anymore."
I squeeze his warm hand, sending chills up my own spine. "I won't. I won't go back in unless it's an emergency. Angie says seven is a lot. But you should know, you didn't make me become what I am. I might have been a candidate in the beginning, but I could have walked away and declined the offer. No one can make me do anything. That's how I ended up here. I'm a survivor."
He smiles, and the air clears of the heaviness around us. "I know you are. I know everything about you too. That's sort of the problem being us, isn't it? There might actually be such a thing as knowing too much."
"No, I like that there are no secrets. I don't like secrets."
He squeezes my hand back. "I know that too." He lifts my hand to his lips, pressing his warm mouth to my skin. We sit, frozen this way for a second, not moving but trembling with the next ten steps we both already have planned out.
The moment I move he does too. As I jump up he grabs my body. Nothing is the way I have imagined. It's better. Our lips slide against one another, our tongues seeking out the loving caress of each other. His hands are firm, rough even. He slams me into a wall; my legs wrap around his waist as he kisses along my neck and cheek until he reaches my mouth. Everything is better. His lips taste like wine, but he kisses in a way that makes butterflies dance inside me. Our hands move in rhythm made by our hearts beating against each other. He lifts me again, carrying me down the hall. I grip him, nodding with my face as he kisses my neck. "This room here."
He carries me in, laying me back on the bed. I can tell he wants to look down at me and appreciate the moment, but I grab his shirt and drag him down onto my comforter covered in pink roses, my favorite.
The light from the hall is enough to see his body is far better than I imagined it to be. We are naked and writhing against each other, just as I always wished we would.
There is no way I could have been more wrong about every aspect of him. When he's on top of me, pushing himself inside, I swear I have never felt anything like it. He doesn't treat me like a gentle creature or pay homage; he's rough in the right way. He doesn't quite make love, and that's the way I like it. He thrusts, lifting my leg higher, so my calf rests upon his shoulder. It's a steady balance of thrust, pressure, and size, and it brings me to an orgasmic level of joy I couldn't dream of. We orgasm together, collapsing in a heap of awkward sweat.
He kisses my cheek, whispering into the brush of our skin, "I don't know if I should apologize or thank you."
I smile. "Do either and I will murder you."
"And we can't forget you actually know how to do it and get away with it."
"That is a fact you don't want to overlook." I turn my face, brushing my lips against his. "Can we just be who we are in this room and forget everything else in the real world?"
He nods. "And make up some story about how we met. Something plain and normal like your cat got out and I found him and we fell in love at first glance?"
"That's a good story, but who do you plan on telling it to?"
"Just in case we need a backstory one day." He grins, and I feel it against my lips. His discussing a future "one day," after we've had sex for the first time ever, makes me moan, which in turn makes him laugh. "Did I scare you, Agent Spears? I know how much you like the possibility that one day you might be a normal girl."
I shove him back. "You're mean, going for my weaknesses like that." He ignores my whining and wraps himself around me. I feel his fingers find my scars in the dark. It's like telling him my secrets, but with him I never have to explain. I don't ever have to say the words My entire family died in a terrible fiery crash. I lived, but I lost them in every way. I lost my twin sister, Andrea. I lost my father and my mother. I lost everything in a blink of pain and screaming, but then in a secondary way, I lost them again. When I woke from the coma, after six months, I was a blank slate. I was alone in the world. I was an orphan of the truest kind.