A LOVE FORGOTTEN

Ethan's POV

Ethan's eyelids fluttered open, the harsh fluorescent lights above casting an unforgiving glow. His head felt like it was being crushed in a vice, a pounding ache that made him wince as he tried to sit up. A sharp pain shot through his skull, and he groaned, clutching his temples.

"Easy there," a soft voice said from the side of the bed. A familiar touch brushed his arm, and he turned his head to see Anita sitting beside him. Her face, framed by a halo of soft blonde hair, was tight with concern.

"What happened?" Ethan croaked, his voice rough from disuse. He swallowed, tasting the dryness in his throat.

"You collapsed on the road," Anita explained, her hand gently smoothing his hair back from his forehead. "You don't remember?"

The memory hit him in waves, like a sudden rush of water filling his mind. He recalled flashes—brief and fragmented—of something he couldn't place. A memory of running his fingers through someone's chocolate-colored hair, soft and silky beneath his touch. A face. But it wasn't Anita.

Ethan frowned, his mind scrambling for clarity. "I… I don't know," he muttered, his headache intensifying with every second. "I had a memory. Of… of a girl, but I can't remember who."

Anita stiffened, her hand freezing on his arm. "A girl?"

He could see her trying to keep her expression neutral, but there was something in her eyes—a flicker of fear, maybe jealousy? He didn't know. He wasn't sure about anything right now.

"Yeah…" Ethan ran a hand through his disheveled hair, trying to collect his thoughts. "I… I just remember her hair. Chocolate brown. I ran my fingers through it, but I can't place her face." He winced again as another wave of pain hit him, and he leaned back against the pillows.

Anita didn't respond immediately. She just stared at him, her lips pressed tightly together. Ethan couldn't help but feel like there was more going on in her mind than she was letting on.

"I need some time, Anita," he said after a long silence, his voice low, almost apologetic. "I need to figure this out. I need to take a break from us."

The words came out of nowhere, yet they felt oddly right. He couldn't explain it, but everything in his mind was cloudy, and he couldn't bring himself to pretend things were normal when he wasn't even sure who he was anymore.

Anita's face paled, her expression momentarily blank before it shifted into something else. Anger? Hurt? He couldn't quite tell, but her eyes flashed with a storm of emotions.

"You want a break?" she repeated, her voice strained. "After everything, you're going to just walk away?"

Ethan tried to sit up again, but the room spun, and he had to quickly lie back down. "I don't know what I want right now. I just need space to think."

A long pause filled the room, broken only by the rhythmic beeping of the machines monitoring his vitals. Anita bit her lip, her eyes focused on some point just beyond him, as if she was processing something—something he couldn't grasp.

"I don't want you to go back to her, Ethan," Anita's thoughts whispered in the silence, though she never said it out loud. She didn't have to. He could see it in the way her fingers clenched into a fist at her side, the barely concealed fury in her gaze. She was thinking of Emily—the girl Ethan couldn't quite remember but who had somehow found her way into his head despite the fog. The one who had been there before Anita, the one who had somehow come to haunt him now, in pieces and fragments.

"I just need to think, Anita," Ethan repeated softly, trying to ground himself. "Please."

Anita nodded, though her eyes were cold, distant. She stood up slowly, her hands pressed to her sides as if holding herself together. "I'll be outside," she said, her voice brittle, before she turned and walked out of the room.

Ethan watched her go, a strange emptiness settling in his chest. He hadn't meant to hurt her, but something about this whole situation felt out of his control. His mind was a blur of confusion, and the more he tried to remember, the more elusive it became.

And then, just as quickly as it had arrived, the memory of the girl with the chocolate-colored hair returned to him, unbidden. Who was she? Why couldn't he shake the feeling that she meant more to him than he could remember?

Just as he tried to go for the ring around his neck that he liked to play with, he realized it was missing, and the sadness hit him like a mac truck.