Strange.
Really strange.
Since losing my memories, I had never felt like this. Maybe it was the brush with death, or maybe it was something else—but when those blue eyes locked onto me with such intensity, my scalp prickled uncontrollably.
What's wrong with me?
"Penelope! Penelope!" The man in front of me gripped my hands desperately, his face etched with worry, as if I were his entire world. I glanced around and realized, at some point, I'd been moved to what looked like a hotel room.
"The last shot was a blank, but are you okay? Do you need a doctor?"
I shook my head and tried to pull my hands free, but he wouldn't let go.
"Do you still hate me, Penelope?" His blue eyes shimmered like summer lakewater—warm and beautiful.
Strange. Why do I feel like crying too?
The emotion was too unfamiliar. I replied, "Do you know me? I lost my memory. I don't remember much from before."
"..."
The air turned dead silent.
