Remember Your Lies

Prologue

Blood fills my mouth and I can’t escape the metallic twang of it coating my tongue. My breath catches and I nearly choke on it as I retreat another step, my back hitting the door in the process. “Please you don’t have to do this,” I plead. “You don’t want to hurt me, not really.” My words don’t ring true in the slightest, not even to my own ears. But what else can I say? What else can I do?

My eyes keep flicking back and forth. From the familiar eyes showing through the slit of a black mask, to a worn hammer rusted and clutched tightly between smooth fingers.

“You know nothing.”

“I know you don’t want me with him.” Sweat beads on my forehead as I tear my gaze away from the hammer to look for something– anything to help me. If only we weren’t back here. If we were in the kitchen, I’d grab a knife. If we were in the living room, I’d grab the god forsaken floor lamp. Even in the master bedroom there's a baseball bat in the closet. But here at the end of the hall there's nothing. Just a single door down to the basement. “This isn’t really about me and you, it’s about me and him. And I’m trying to fix that. I swear, you just have to give me a chance.”

“You can’t fix it now. You’re too late, I already know.”

I press my hand to my stomach, feeling it twist and turn unnaturally. This can’t be how I die. Over a man? A mistake? “Please, I promise. I promise you can have everything you’ve wanted. I’m letting him go for you.” Tears burn my eyes and scorch a hot trail down my face as I watch the hammer get raised higher and higher. 

It’s over our heads now and I can already see it crashing down against my skull. I wonder how long the pain would last before I stopped feeling anything at all. How many times would it have to come down before it steals my last breath.

The hammer steps forward again and I step back nearly tripping over the drop of the first step down stairs. I look down catching myself on the old railing. It feels like a slight pinch to the palm of my hand as a piece of split wood slips beneath my skin. Then it feels like standing under a shower head and letting warm water wash away the day as the hammer meets my temple. Blood runs down my face, streams of it filling my vision with crimson.

“I’m fixing it myself.”

Chapter One

My throat is sand paper, dry and rough as I work through the motions of a swallow. My eyes are so heavy prying them open is a task in itself but I need that insistent beeping to stop. My body protests as I sit up, everything stiff and aching. “What the fuck?”

I’ve spent enough time in hospitals to piece the fluorescent lights, and various tubes sticking out of my arms together. The question is why, and what I need to do to get some water.

“Aries! Oh my god… you’re finally awake!” It takes a moment for my brain to catch up and my eyes to adjust to the man suddenly crowding my space, but once I do the questions only grow.

“Mason, what are you doing here?” I mean we were cordial in high school but of all the people I’d expect to be by my bedside he certainly didn’t make the cut.

“What am I doing here?” he echos, tucking a stray curl behind my ear. The gentle gesture has me wondering how the rest of my head must look. Probably like a bird's nest. “There's nowhere I’d rather be. Here, drink this.” I take the bottle of water and down every drop like I’ve just ran a marathon through the Sahara.

“Thanks Mase–” I start, just as he leans down, his mouth just centimeters from mine, his hand on my chin pulling me in. “Oh my god, what are you doing?” I ask, shoving the empty water bottle up between us.

“Look I’m sorry, I know things have been complicated between us lately. I get that and I apologize, but there was a moment there where I didn’t know if I’d get my wife back. So I just–”

“Your what?!” Heat rises up my neck and Mason just watches me like I’m a puzzle he suddenly can’t figure out. The insistent beeping picks up in pace, more insistent and infuriating than before as the seconds pass.

Within seconds nearly half a dozen people rush into the hospital room. Mason is ushered away by some guy in a white coat looking old enough to be someone's great grandfather. Great grandpa shines a flashlight directly into my eyes like it's the most natural thing in the world, completely blinding me for a couple seconds. I flinch away from the brightness, squeezing my eyes shut until the burn dulls. “What the hell is going on?”

“Mrs. Blake, I need you to take some slow breaths,” the doctor says in a voice that can only translate to I’ve-dealt-with-crazy-before. 

“Mrs. Blake? Come on, there's been a mistake,” I snap. “I am not married, never had a wedding, and certainly not one to–” I gesture vaguely toward the corner of the room where Mason stands behind the hoard of hospital staff, “to Mason Blake of all people.”

Great grandpa exchanges a tight look with the nurse directly beside him, who simply lifts my arm adjusting one of the many tubes stuck in there like this is all very run of the mill around here. Meanwhile my head is spinning and tilting off its axis. 

“Aries, my name is Dr. Kent,” he says, tapping his name tag. “I’ve been working on your case since the day you were brought in. You have been in a coma for just under six months.”

“Huhh?”

“A coma,” he repeats, his voice too calm and collected for what he’s telling me. “You were admitted after a traumatic head injury, likely due to a fall.”

“I fell?” I ask, trying to piece at least something together. I get nothing. Just a big blank space where the last however many weeks of my life should be. “I fell, and forgot an entire section of my life where I married some guy from my highschool class?”

“As for the fall, yes. Based on reports from first responders it was down a flight of stairs. As for your memory, we’ll run a set of tests to monitor your progress now that you’re awake. Can you please tell me what year it is?”

“2022.” Another nurse on the other side of the bed who’s been busy looking at monitors and scribbling down notes on a clipboard winces like she just watched someone kick a poodle. “Shit, what year is it then?”

“2025.”

“No you can't be serious. This is a joke. And a bad one at that–” I let out a frustrated laugh, but it comes out mechanical sounding, completely void of any humor.

“We did expect some memory impairment. Head trauma of this magnitude often causes varying levels of amnesia. We will do absolutely everything we can to help you recover, however it is important to understand that there is no guarantee that all, if any, of your memories will return.”

“So that’s it? The last three years could just be gone forever?”

“Aries I’m afraid I cannot give you a satisfying answer. Cases like yours are very touch and go, there is no one-size-fits-all solution,” he says gently. “The best thing you can do is to rest. Take a breath and try not to force anything. Let the memories come back to you naturally.”

I lean back against the flat pillows, my eyes burning for reasons that have nothing to do with the blinding light from before. The nurse who couldn’t keep her wince to herself squeezes my hand before she leaves with the rest of her colleagues. “You’re strong. You woke up. That’s a good start.” 

I know her words are meant to be comforting and encouraging but as I look towards my husband in the corner of the room, all I can think is– a good start to what?

Chapter Two

Dr. Kent’s voice is calm as he goes through all the things I need to remember but I can’t help but focus more on the way his eyes keep flicking over my chart like something could leap off the page and bite him. 

“And please come in immediately if you feel bad at all. That’s if you experience any dizziness, seeing spots, headaches exceeding an hour or so. Do not try to wait out any pain or sudden discomfort,” he reminds, clicking his pen shut and shooting me a stern look. It’s the same serious look he’s given me since I woke up, almost as if he’s expecting me not to follow his directions. Perhaps it’s simply his default setting or he’s convinced I still might randomly flatline at any point. Really hoping it’s not the latter.

I nod along, adjusting the strap of the overnight bag on my shoulder. “Take it easy, hydrate, and come in if I feel like crap. Got it Doc.”

“I want to see you back here in two weeks for a follow-up. And Aries, please don’t be discouraged if things still feel a little… off. It’s completely normal considering what’s happened.”

“Nothing about this feels normal–”

“Ready to head home?” Mason’s voice cuts through the air, chipper as ever. He’s already carrying the rest of my bags like we’re off to some tropica resort rather than home from a head injury.

I glance over at him– white t-shirt hanging on his tight frame and a stupidly charming smile stuck on his face as if it's glued there– and manage a nod. He meets my gaze looking almost proud, like he’s just won a prize at a fair. I suppose if I was in his shoes I’d be glad not to have to travel back and forth from the hospital every day anymore too.

“Thanks again, Dr. Kent,” Mason says, stepping in to shake his hand. “Really. For everything. We’re lucky to have had you.”

We’re lucky.

The word we scratches at something in my head. I still can’t get used to it– the way he says it so casually, like we’re this close knit team. A single unit. A real married couple. But realistically I guess that’s exactly what we are. I just have to catch up and get with the program.

But even now, as I’m still a couple years behind on our story, I can’t deny that Mason’s been there. Every visit. Every check-in. Even sneaking me some decent coffee and greasy breakfast sandwiches when I swore up and down that another cup of hospital broth would send me into another coma. He even sat through every physical therapy session, cheering me on like I was competing in the Olympics rather than relearning life’s basic tasks. Even I would have skipped out on those if I could have.

I might not remember our life together or when he stopped being just my highschool sweetheart’s best friend and became something more, but the way he’s shown up for me makes it clear– we have a history, whether I can recall it or not.

Still when I look at the tear shaped diamond sitting nearly flush above a band of emerald cut ones it all feels strangely foreign. From the weight of it, to the look, nothing seems quite right. Mason brought it to me a couple days after I woke up. Wearing it is like putting on an old sweater. It doesn’t look bad but you can tell it just doesn’t fit like it used to. The only problem is I can’t remember how it fit before.

“Oh, I think I might have left something in the room. Let me just grab it real quick and then we can go,” I excuse. 

I’m sure this room looks identical to every other one in the building. Plain, sterile, and obnoxiously boring. I lean against the wall beside the door forcing in a lungful of dry air. I didn’t leave anything here. Anything of mine would stick out like a sore thumb and I would have noticed it immediately. I just need another couple seconds before I have to get used to something else I’m supposed to already be familiar with. Before I’m slapped in the face with how much of my own life I’ve lost.

“You’re nervous about leaving, aren’t you?”

I turn to face the nurse who’s been bringing me the hospital’s sad excuse for coffee for the last few weeks. She doesn’t need an actual answer but for whatever reason I feel inclined to give her one anyways. “I’m nervous about going home with my husband. About living with him. It just feels like a lot considering… everything.”

“Surely you’re tired of hearing this, but that's perfectly normal. It’s going to be a challenge getting back to your life. For a while it probably won’t even feel like your own, but if you hope to allow your mind to fill in the missing time, you’ll at least have to try.”

***

The ride from the hospital is quiet for the most part. Mason throws me a few of these sidelong glances like I’ll spontaneously remember him dropping to a knee, and the exchange of our vows, and ask him to pull over and make out in the back seat. I don’t. 

When we pull into the driveway I stare at the house. It’s nice. Not overly huge, and not falling apart either. It’s basically the American dream come to life, perfectly trimmed hedges, a wraparound porch. All it’s missing is a white picket fence.

Inside I smell a hint of laundry detergent and lemon-scented cleaner. Shoes are neatly lined by the door, everything in my line of sight pristine and well-maintained. Perhaps a little too well. It doesn’t feel wrong necessarily, just a bit blank. 

Mason takes me room by room all throughout the house. He feels like a realtor trying to close a deal. I can tell he’s watching me, trying to read every expression that graces my face. I guess I can’t blame him for that. This has to be an awkward situation for him just as much as it is for me. After all, it's not everyday that you build a life with someone just for them to turn around and forget any of it ever happened.

I nod along, touch the edge of the plush couch, peer into the kitchen, trail my fingers over a scratch on the mantle like any of it might jog something loose in my head. Nothing does.

In the hallway I stop short at a framed photo hanging between two doors. It’s us. Him in an impeccably tailored black suit, me in the most gorgeous satin and lace dress I’ve ever laid my eyes on. I’m laughing into his shoulder, damn near showing all thirty-two teeth and he’s holding my hips, looking like he’s the only thing keeping me grounded. There's no way we were posed, looks too real, too genuine, too intimate. Like two people actually in love, without a care in the world beyond each other. I keep staring at the picture, reaching out for anything within it to pull at me.

“You wanted a small wedding,” he says gently. “I figured after picking the most expensive dress you could find it was  a miracle you didn’t want to invite all of New York City to come see you in it. In the end it was just close friends and some family.”

“When did we take that?”

“Right after the ceremony, before the reception started.”

I nod, an easy smile pulling my lips up on the ends. It’s nice to see that version of myself– the one so comfortable in this life that I don’t recognize. Maybe in some time she’s who I have to look forward to. Maybe I can look forward to laughing like that again.

“What were we like?” I ask softly.

Mason steps closer, his voice low. “I made a point to know everything I could about you. All your favorite foods, the music you liked, the little things that annoyed you. And in turn you made a point to constantly change your mind about everything. I was convinced you just wanted to keep me on my toes. It was messy, we're both stubborn as hell, but we were happy.” He takes my hand and squeezes it lightly. “We’ll be happy like that again. Just stick with me and I’ll bring us back. Promise.” 

As we finish in one of the last rooms down the hall, I start towards the last door at the end. Mason tries to steer me in the opposite direction, so naturally I stop completely. 

“What’s in there?” 

He pauses. “That’s the basement. It’s… where I found you.”

My feet are already carrying me before he finishes, my hand reaching towards the nob.

“Aries, we don’t have to go down there right now.”

I ignore him and push the door open. It creaks like something out of a horror movie, and the stairwell beyond is narrow and colder than the rest of the house. Flipping the switch on the wall, sends the lights flickering on and buzzing, the bulbs threatening to blow at any second. I take one step then another until I make it to the bottom. Mason follows, slower, like he’s bracing himself.

“I thought I’d skip this part of the house,” he mutters. “Didn’t want to risk triggering anything about your accident.”

“I still don’t remember it,” I say. My voice echoes off the walls. “Not even a little bit.”

“That’s probably for the best,” he says carefully.

The basement isn’t finished, concrete floors, exposed beams, a few boxes stacked against one wall and a shelf full of storage bins. I walk over to one of the boxes and flip it open. Inside are jewelry boxes, makeup, old photo albums. 

“These are mine,” I say, recognizing a pearly pink jewelry box my mother gifted me for Christmas years ago.

Mason nods, keeping his gaze on the boxes. “Yeah. I packed them up after the first couple months. It was just hard seeing your stuff everyday, not knowing if you’d come back.”

I try to picture it– Mason, alone in this house, going through my things and sealing pieces of me away in cardboard, storing it all down here like some time capsule. But then, he’d kept the giant framed photo of us in the middle of the hall.

If it hurt so much just to see my stuff around the house wouldn't that picture have been the first thing to go? Wouldn’t it hurt more to see my face plastered on the wall every day?

I don’t ask. My head is starting to pound with the weight of my real life and anymore would be a one way-ticket back to Dr. Kent.

“I need to lay down. My heart is starting to beat in my forehead.”

Immediately Mason steps forward. “Let me show you to our room. You can rest.”

He leads me to a bedroom that has me written all over it. Seriously, it looks exactly like what I imagined my “grown up room” to look like when I would watch the home improvement channel with my mother growing up. Based in neutral colors, all its brightness coming from the various trinkets and photos around. 

“I’ll stay in the guest room,” Mason says before I can even ask. “Just until you’re comfortable, no pressure.”

“Alright, thanks.” I sink down into one side of the bed just as he shuts the door behind him. The spot I’m in feels unsettlingly warm like someone’s just left it and I move over to the cooler side. Mason must have been laying there just before he came to pick me up from the hospital.

Chapter Three

It takes a minute before I realize where I am. The sun shines brightly through the windows, forcing me awake despite the warm sheets attempting to lull me back to sleep. Just as I’m getting out of bed, ready to inspect the pieces of what my life is supposed to look like, I hear a few quiet taps on the door. 

“I come bearing breakfast.” The usual sugar in Mason’s voice is evident albeit a little muffled through the door. “It’s your favorite.” 

“I think I’ll be the judge of that,” I say, opening the door only to be greeted with the best smelling food on the entire planet. He has an entire tray in hand and a kilowatt smile on his face, making it nearly impossible not to smile back. 

“Figured you deserved a proper first morning home,” he says, stepping past me and setting the spread down on the bedside table.  

“Well who am I to argue with logic like that?” With a shrug of my shoulders I sit back on the bed and pat the side next to me, inviting him to follow suit. Pulling the tray between us I gasp as the food truly comes into focus. “Oh my god, is that hot sauce on the eggs?”

“Sure is.”

“What kind?”

“Red Hot.”

“Hmm, you know I’m really starting to see why I might have married you Mase.”

“Might have?” he asks, raising an eyebrow and getting a fork full of the eggs. Mason holds the fork up to my mouth and I wrap my lips around it, my eyes falling shut at the taste of pure comfort. “I was hoping we were past that part.”

“We’re on our way, I think.”

“So what? A few more days of breakfast in bed and I’ll be in the clear?”

“Eh, you might have to switch it up a bit. I wouldn’t want you getting too comfortable. Who likes a one trick pony after all?” I ask, suddenly unable to stop my lips from turning up on either side.

“Already keeping me on my toes again. Glad to see that hasn’t changed, I’d miss the challenge.”

“Well in that case, I’m happy to be of service.”

Mason lays back on the pillows and rolls up his sleeves, his relaxed cool contagious. Something thick on his wrist reflects the sunlight, catching my attention.

“Nice watch. Is it a Rolex?” He laughs to himself like there's some kind of joke that only he’s in on. Perhaps I was once in on it too, but either way I can’t stop admiring it. “Regardless, you’ve got pretty great taste.

“Correction, you’ve got great taste Ari.” Unclasping the watch like it's second nature he hands me the hunk of silver. “Take a look at the engraving on the back.”

With every second, I love you more. -Mrs. Blake

“I gave this to you?”

“Yeah, you did. It’s one of the nicest things anyone’s ever gotten me actually. And I love that it came from you.”

“Wow, aren’t you a lucky man to  have had me,” I say, handing him back the watch.

“Have you.”

“Sorry?”

“I’m a lucky man to have you, Aries,” Mason corrects. “Till death do us part, and all that.”

A slight chill runs down my spine at the words but I shake it away. It might be the most strangely morbid part of your classic wedding service, but it’s also the most memorable. A close second might be everyone’s favorite. You may now kiss the bride part.

“Look I’ve been thinking that maybe we should go out and have dinner with a couple friends soon.”

Turning back to my breakfast, I cut a piece of french toast. “Friends?”

“Yeah, just a few of the closest people. I thought maybe it’d help– hearing about the last few years from someone besides me. You know, that way it’s not just me sitting here telling you pretty little stories about our life.”

The way he says it makes it sound like he’s been considering it for a while. Like he’s been waiting for the perfect moment to toss out the idea.

“Seems like you’ve given it some thought, I appreciate that. Sounds like a good idea to me.”

“Perfect, I’ll get working on setting it up. You don’t have to worry about anything, I’ll take care of it.”

“Alright,” I say, caution rising up my chest and seeping into my voice faintly. “But I think I need to get out of the house before that. For some fresh air, maybe some grass. I know I just got back but I already feel like I might start going a little crazy soon.”

“I know just the place. It’s got fresh air and grass. Even a couple trees too, you’re in for quite the adventure.”

“Yeah yeah, shut up. You know it’s really insensitive to poke fun at an amnesia patient. You’ll have to work on that,” I joke.

***

The park is only a few blocks away but it feels like a completely different planet all the same. There’s something peaceful about it– like the rest of the world slows to a stop while he walks me along the trail. It’s picturesque. The grass a vivid green like someone’s spray painted it, freckled with bright pink petals, courtesy of the cherry blossom trees lining the path.

It’s the smell of the blossoms that hit me first, sweet and delicate, accompanied by the crisp breeze coming from the pond in the middle. Next it’s the sound of the water, the crunch of gravel under foot. 

I stop walking mid step, looking up at the branches above us, soft petals fluttering down like confetti. Something stirs in me, a feather light touch against my mind. A memory trying to sneak its way to the surface.

Images flash behind my open eyes and I vaguely register Mason taking a hold of my hand in the present, his voice asking me if I’m okay. I try not to focus on him, needing to cling onto whatever is trying to come back to me. Needing to take hold of it before it leaves again. 

I’m crying, tears staining my cheeks, but my smile is unmovable even as it makes the muscles in my face ache. Pink petals find a home in my hair, dozens of them getting stuck in the curls with every blow of wind. Mason kneels before me, his smile just as bright as my own as he slips a ring onto one of my shaky fingers. He barely manages to push the rind on my finger fully before I drop to my own knees and throw my arms around him. My heart swells in a way I’ve never felt before and all I need is to hold onto Mason.

But when I look down at my hand something doesn’t add up. The ring on my finger isn’t the ring he proposed with, or at least not the one I just saw in my head. It’s similar, sure, but the diamond in the middle simply isn’t cut the same. The one on my finger is tear shaped, pointed on one end, rounded on the other. But the one Mason slipped on me was pointed on both ends.

“This isn’t the same ring,” I say, blinking up at him. Mason watches me with a deep line etched between his brows.

“What are you talking about?”

“I remembered. You proposed here, right? In this park?”

“Yeah I did.”

“But this isn’t the ring you proposed with.” Suddenly Mason’s face softens, making him look sheepish. 

“That would be because someone managed to lose their ring somewhere off the coast of Greece.”

“Greece?!”

“Our honeymoon. You always said it was your dream trip,” he chuckles softly. “Teacher’s salary doesn’t exactly scream luxury travel but I saved up for months. Knew I had to make it happen… for you.”

My chest aches with something I can’t name. “Dammit. I’ve been obsessed with the idea of Greece since I was a kid. I can’t believe we went and I don’t remember any of it.”

“No worries, love,” Mason says, planting a quick kiss on my temple. “Just means I’ll have to take you back one day. We’ll make new memories and maybe help bring some of the old ones back.”

I nod slowly, about to say something when my phone buzzes in my back pocket.

Unknown number.

I answer without a second thought about it. “Hello?”

There’s a pause, then a breath. “What are you doing?” asks a voice I can’t place, low and tight with agitation.

“Excuse me? Who is this?”

“I thought you’d understand by now.”

“I’m sorry, I think you have the wrong–” The line clicks dead before I can even get the last word out. For a while I just stare at the phone like it’ll explain itself if I glare long enough. 

“What was that?” Mason asks.

“A wrong number, maybe? You said this phone has my old number right?”

“Yeah, you broke yours in the fall, I couldn’t get it fixed. But I was able to transfer your number and some things over to that one.”

“Hmm. I guess they just made a mistake.”

“Yeah, or maybe it was some kind of prank call. Maybe block the number,” he suggests, wrapping a toned arm around my shoulders. “Just to be safe. You don’t need anyone messing with you right now.”