Ruin: Revelations (9 page)

He jerked his gaze up to her, appearing confused. “Love you?”

The amount of perplexity in his tone startled her. It wasn’t the kind you had when you  weren’t sure of the answer, it was the kind you had when somebody spoke another language.

Isadore removed herself off  him, gasping in more shock, realizing for the first time why he was so speechless. “What is my name?”

His mouth opened a little and stayed that way. “What . . . ” His forehead pinched hard as he seemed to struggle. “Your name?”

“Oh my God,” she whispered, kneeling before him. “What is my name Ruin? Do you know where we are?”

He shook his head, still not speaking, looking like . . . a person who
couldn’t
speak, because they didn’t know
how!

“Wait, right here, oh my God.” She led him to the bed and made him sit. “Wait right here. Don’t move. Stay.” She held him down on the bed firmly to make sure he understood.

She threw on her jeans and red tank top, and hurried to her room and got one of the books she’d packed with them, and ran back.

“Oh my God,” she gasped, finding him outside of the room, naked and looking around. She latched her arm in his and yanked him back inside. “Oh my God, oh my God,” she whispered in disbelief. “He
really
reset him, didn’t he! Why didn’t he tell me he meant back to
factory
setting!?”

Chapter Twelve

She sat him on the bed, opened the book and rapped her finger on the page for him to look. He did and immediately stood and began to walk and
read,
aloud. She let out a gasp of relief and sat as he continued to walk the room and orally recite what he saw. Soon his recital turned to mumblings as he turned page after page while Isadore marveled. He was back to square one? The idea was disheartening. He didn’t remember her, which meant . . . he didn’t remember . . . anything they’d done?

She put her head in her hands, surprised with the pain that brought to her chest. It’s not as if they had a whole lot of memories but . . . she liked their memories. They were so amazing and . . . unique, to her at least. The rescue, their . . . first intimacies. She prayed he’d get those back at least.

Thirty minutes of silence and he finally said. “I can understand. I can read.” He sounded astonished and shut the book. “Do you have more? I don’t remember anything before today. That’s not normal.”

She stood and blocked his path. “No, it’s not normal.” She put her hands on his chest and he looked down at them then back at her.

“I know you.”

She nodded, excited. “Yes. You do.”

“I mean . . . I know your touch. Do you understand?”

She nodded. “Yes, yes I understand. I think. Discriminative touch is a sensory modality that allows you to sense and localize touch and the form of touch where localization is not possible is known as crude touch, or a sensory modality which allows one to sense that something has touched them, but without being able to localize where they were touched. Does that make sense?”

He angled his head and stepped closer to her. “It makes sense, yes. But . . . it’s not what I’m referring to.” His gaze roamed with open hunger over her face until her heart skittered in her chest. “I know that I very much like you. Those words you just said . . . ” he stroked along her cheek. “Has . . . me needing to taste you everywhere, until you make those sounds that . . . make my body hot and extremely hard and desperate to . . . put this in you.” She felt him stroking himself as he slid his thumb over her lower lip. “I want to touch your mouth with my . . . ” his brows narrowed as he struggled. “ . . . cock.”

Isadore whimpered and swallowed. That was . . . some powerful memories.

“It’s like . . . my body remembers things that I don’t recall.”

Isadore fought to focus on his words and not the sweep of his tongue over his lower lip as he grew hungrier right before her eyes before mumbling, “Then . . . you’re talking about retrograde amnesia. It targets your most recent memories first. The more severe the case, the farther back in time the memory loss extends. This pattern of destroying newer memories before older ones is called Ribot’s law.”

“Keep talking,” he whispered, roaming his hands along her arms as he stared into her eyes.

“I-it happens because . . . because the neural pathways of newer memories are not as strong as older ones that have been strengthened by years of retrieval.” She realized that in his case, he didn’t have years of retrieval. She realized in fact that she wasn’t sure what he was experiencing but was sure whatever came out of her mouth next would make no sense whatsoever with his hands exploring her ass now.

“You feel really good here. I remember this part of you. I like it very much. Can you undress so I can remember more?”

She only managed a whimper as his lips asked nicely along her jaw in small kisses.

“Why should I like eating you, I know that isn’t right either. But it seems I do—I want to literally taste you with my lips and tongue.” He held her face in his hands and studied every aspect of it. “But I don’t want to hurt you. This I know very well. Ever.” He continued kissing her softly, testing almost. “I know these lips. How long have I known these lips?”

Isadore swam in dizziness as she surrendered to his exploratory needs. “I . . . ” she suddenly fought to remember a time when she didn’t know him. She realized in that moment how much a part of her he’d become. “I think . . . s-seven days.”

“Is that . . . a long time to know something?” he continued nipping softly at her mouth.

Dear God no, it wasn’t. “You . . .somehow formed a molecular recognition connection to me . . . I think it may feel like a long time.”

He slid his fingers behind her neck and attended to her lips like he’d just remembered exactly how to and why he needed to. “Feels like forever, I think.”

As he kissed the hell out of her, she could only moan and forget. She surely couldn’t recall not knowing the feel of his lips on hers, his tongue probing inquisitively before turning hungry as though the answers he sought demanded that passion to get at is secrets.

“Ruin,” she whispered.

He pulled back, his brows narrowed. “You keep saying that word to me.”

“It’s your name,” she gasped, feeling drunk.

“My name?” He didn’t seem bothered with anything except helping her out of her pants.

“Yes,” she said, letting him push her onto the bed as his kiss turned devouring.

“Say it again,” he filled his hand with her breasts, looking at them. “Say it while I taste you.”

His mouth covered the first nipple and Isadore arched her back, burying her fingers in his hair as she spun in a vortex of moaning desire, silly notions of love and marriage floating in another dimension outside of her reach, right along with staying pure and clean.

Ruin wasted no time tasting every inch of her, holding her legs to the bed as he forced her to orgasm then asked very kindly when he realized she’d reached a climax, “May I do it again?”

How could she deny the sincere look in his eyes, the hunger in his tone and fingers as he continued to hold her legs down? Even though she
was
the responsible adult that knew all the wrong they were doing and he was just . . . exploring. Like a child. And she was letting him, addicting him, even. Like a predator. But no amount of guilt—past, present, or future—could keep her from him. Keep her from giving him whatever he wanted. And especially whatever he needed. And it didn’t help one bit that he needed
her
nor did it help one bit that Isadore needed to be needed. Needed to be desired. It was the whys and whatnots and who-ever-fors of that, she could easily live without. And did. Until she couldn’t.

****

“Have I ever driven?” Ruin regarded Isadore with a squinted eye as they loaded the truck with their bags, finally getting back to their “assignment”.

“You have.” Isadore smiled and threw him the keys, which he caught easily. “But if I see you’re not as savvy at remembering it as you are with other things, I’m taking over.”

“Agreed,” he said, climbing in like an eager teenager.

Isadore climbed in as well, watching him study everything. He’d read every book she’d brought after she finally caught her head and
denied
him free access to her body parts to forever explore. How many times did he have to bring her to orgasm to say he
remembered
her?

“I realize I remember you, but I haven’t quite memorized you.”
Had been his answer.

“And who said you need to memorize me?”

“I think I’m supposed to.”

“I think you just want to because you like to.”

He’d thought about that before concluding, “
I think I like to because I want to and need to.”

She’d talked him into learning or remembering
other
things. But he’d only conceded when she pulled the
I’m tired
card. She’d caught him up on everything except what brought him to lose his memory. And “the ride to their first bloody assignment to wherever” was the committed time she’d tell him about it. She wasn’t looking forward to it, mostly because she didn’t like thinking about it. There were too many questions
she
had still, to be answering his.

“I remember,” he smiled at her, starting the truck. “Now tell me about the last piece of my life that you dread telling me.”

She glanced at him. “I don’t dread it.”

He gave a gasp that sounded excited. “I just remembered something.”

“What?”

“That you
lie
a lot.” He put the truck in gear and checked his mirrors. “And that hasn’t changed.”

But something had changed with him.

“Why do you keep looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like . . . I’m doing things wrong.”

“Not wrong just . . . different.”

“How so?” He got to the speed limit as fast as ever.

“I think you might be nicer.” She watched the sun-shiny, old timey town, passing through her window.

“I wasn’t nice before? That doesn’t feel true.”

“Well, you weren’t not nice you were just . . . you told the truth all the time.”

“And that’s cruel and mean?”

“It can be, but with you it was just who you were.” She eyed him briefly.

“I still am that person. Individual.” He sounded a little unsure about what to refer to himself as.

“Maybe it’s just that you learned everything so much faster and it’s all so odd for me to process.”

“Yes. I can understand that.”

“See, that, that’s what I mean. You’re . . . more . . . compassionate with me.”

“Well that’s a good thing I’d think?”

Isadore propped her booted foot on the dash. “I think maybe you remembered nuances and mannerisms you developed. Or . . . or maybe you have more of
me
in you this time around since you remembered me. I think you may have retained some of the repetitive skills one picks up along the way. You just seem . . . more comfortable.”

“I do feel comfortable, if one can be that in general. And you can tell me about how I lost my memory over breakfast.”

A knot formed in her stomach at the idea. “Okay,” she said lightly.

“You don’t like that.”

It was an observation. She didn’t like that his perception of
her
hadn’t lessened one bit. “I just . . . no, I don’t like it.”

“Wow. You told the truth. Now if you can tell me why you don’t like it, I’ll really be impressed.”

“It’s not that bad.” Ruin was quiet and Isadore glanced at him. “Oh please, stop being such a damn judge.”

“One day you’ll learn to tell the truth and nothing but the truth.”

“So help me God,” she muttered. “Oh, I meant to ask, how did you enjoy the Bible?”

He glanced at her several times. “Why do you ask that?”

“Because the first three times around, you didn’t understand it.”

He quirked his lip a little. “Well make that four times around. There’s a lot in it that I understand but don’t understand.”

“Some people call those mysteries, others conundrums. And yet others, lies. Take a right here.”

Isadore watched the muscles in his tanned arms flex as he did. He looked edible in blue jeans and white T-shirt. He nodded a little, “I would agree with all three of those assertions at various instances.”

“And are you any closer to understanding what love is?”

“Love?” he regarded her again, a smile hinting at his mouth. “You say that like a test. Did I have a problem with it before?”

“I think you did.”

“Did I think I did?”

“No, you didn’t, but that doesn’t mean you didn’t have a problem with it.”

“Or that I did.”

She chuckled a little. “No, you did.”

“According to you.” He angled a brief look at her.

“According to the meaning of love.”

“Which is?”

“Which is something I’m not going to tell you because it’s something you need to learn yourself and you haven’t.”

“Ah.”

Anger pricked her and she looked at him. “Ah? What does that mean?”

“It means I see you don’t know the meaning of it either.”

“Yes, I do!”

“Ah.” He chuckled.

“Stop saying
ah
, it doesn’t even match in this.

“I think it matches perfectly.”

“I see you still think you’re a know-it-all.”

He eyed her several times. “I can’t help what I know.”

“You can’t help what you think you know.”

He shrugged and gestured to a little diner. “What about that place to eat?”

“Fine by me.”

He turned into a little mom and pop looking place and parked. “So are you angry now?”

She opened her door. “No, JD, I’m not angry.”

“JD? What does that mean?”

“It’s the name I gave you when I didn’t know your real one.”

“I don’t like it.” He got out of the truck and she rolled her eyes, locking her door and shutting it.

“I know you don’t like it,” she said while they walked to the entrance.

“You do.” Another observation, one he possibly was surprised at. “So why do you do it if you know I don’t like it?”