A/N: Woo, new story time! That didn't take long at all. So this one started off as a Spashley fic on my old computer, and then after it was fried I contemplated making this into a book series with new characters because I liked the idea in general, so I started writing it as that on my new computer, then I thought it might make a cool TV show or movie and I'm into script-writing so I contemplated experimenting with that... and now it's come full circle and I've turned it into a Spashley fic again!
So anyway, this isn't a guaranteed thing because like I've basically said, it's such a big idea for me that at one point I had the story divided into six novels in my head which I wanted to be about 50k-75k words each, but ultimately I've potentially condensed it and shortened the story a bit to where it's doable as a fic. There may be sequels if I get super into this and don't get lazy and end the story before its original intended end point.
But ANYWAY, bottom line: This is a big project for me to take on, is what my brain is telling me. I'm basing this on my intended direction for this story. It's got the kind of plot I'd expect a book series to have, with the romance as more of a secondary element, although I've done my best to make it more of a primary one here. So in order for me to do this, I just want to gauge if there's some interest in this plot before I officially use this plot bunny on a fic rather than as a novel or whatever else I could do with it. So this is a short prologue, or intro, or teaser, or whatever you wanna call it. I'm 12k words into this one so far and I don't want to continue if it's not something anyone would want to read.
Tldr:
To make a long story short, if you like it, tell me! Otherwise I'll assume no one wants to read, and I genuinely want to know if you guys are interested. I'm trying to get back into Spashley fic-writing and if a different plot would be appreciated or enjoyed more I'd like to know so I can scrap this and start something people will actually like, haha. Anyway, here goes...
There's a tingling sensation in my fingertips and my mind is swimming as long hair that doesn't belong to me slides gently across my shoulder. There are lips on my neck but I don't want them there; more than anything, I want to see her eyes even if it means losing contact with her lips. What color were they again? Blue? Green? I can never remember.
There's a voice in my ear, and I know what it's asking for. She wants to keep going. She always wants to keep going, every time. I always let her, but we never get far. I want to know what her voice sounds like. Even if I've just heard it, I can never remember. I can never remember anything.
A hand cups my cheek and I open my eyes, catching a glimpse of baby blue irises before lips cover my own. Baby blue. Blue. Remember that.
Her other hand slides down my body, across my chest and then down my stomach, and I let out a shaky breath into her mouth when her fingers slide down and then press up. It'll end soon. It always ends before I want it to. I need to see her hair before it does; need to remember. Blue eyes, and her voice sounds like…
I try to come up with the memory of her speech, but it's already fading; already hazy. I want to ask her to speak again but she's kissing me and it's too distracting. I want to pull away and see her hair color because I've already forgotten it, but her fingers are leaving sparkling flashes of light beneath my eyelids every time they send a fresh pulse of pleasure throughout my body. Blue eyes. Blue eyes…
My own eyes snap open but I'm alone and awake now, my reoccurring dream already fading at record speed. "Blue eyes," I hiss aloud, hastily scrambling out of bed and then ducking underneath it. There's a loose floorboard under my bed and I move it out of the way to reveal a personal stash of items specifically only for my eyes. I hastily pull out a leather-bound book with the word "Journal" emblazoned on the cover. I scoot back and flip it open rapidly, snatching out the pen tucked carefully between two pages in the process, and finally find the page I want. It's nearly blank, with only the word "girl" written at the top, my sole lead on who exactly I've been dreaming about nearly every night. I press pen to paper as the last of the details of the dream leave me.
"Shit." I don't remember what I was going to write. "Fuck!" This always happens. Every night. I can't risk leaving my journal anywhere else, though. Not without risking my life in the process. It has to be kept somewhere I know it won't be found, even if that means it takes longer to retrieve.
Abandoning the journal and pen under the loose floorboard, I take a moment to fume over my frustrations as I crawl back into bed. Why can't I remember? How badly was my brain tampered with, exactly? How bad were all of our brains tampered with?
Eventually, I will remember long enough to write it down. And when I do, I'll find her.
My name is Ashley Davies, and I'm one of seven billion people who had their memories forcibly wiped six months ago.
