The Amnesiac bride
I own nothing CBS owns the rights to CSI and its affiliates. The plot of this story is based on the story the amnesiac bride by Maria Ferrarella. Im still relatively new to this fanfic world so please be kind and review to let us know how im doing :)
Chapter 1 – Why are you looking at me like that?
She opened her eyes, immediately her head began to throb. As she slowly took in her surroundings she realized she didn't remember where she was. She blinked, attempting not so much to clear her mind but to summon an image, any image, to it. Nothing, there was nothing. She didn't remember or more so her mind wouldn't let her remember. With furtive movements she attempted to focus on various items in the large sun splashed bedroom, searching, desperately hoping to see something that would trigger a reaction, a thought. Panic engulfed her. There wasn't a single familiar thing in it. Not the flower arrangements that littered every flat surface of the room, not the room itself, or even the half naked man lying beside her.
The sudden realization that she wasn't alone made her bolt upright in the bed, her body rigidly alert; her head ached to a point of bursting. Lips pressed together she stared at the sleeping man. Again there was nothing. He triggered no memories. How was that possible? How could she not remember who this man lying in bed next to her was? At that very moment a horrible realization encompassed her. She didn't even know who she was. She didn't know her own name. There was nothing, only a void, there was nothing in her mind to grasp, no name, no murky memories to piece together to make a whole. There was nothing of her, this room or this man beside her. She was more stunned then afraid, real fear hadn't had time to register. Who was he? And why was he sleeping on top of the covers and not beneath them? Slowly rubbing her temples to soothe the pain that had already been occupying her head, she leaned forward to look at him more carefully before he awoke and perhaps asked questions of his own, questions she couldn't answer.
He was wearing faded jeans that even in his sleep adhered to him like a second skin. The snap was open just below his navel, resting against a taut, flat stomach. He looked to be tall, lean and well muscled. There was definition to his biceps and even in his relaxed state couldn't erase. They matched the sharp contours of his face, what she could see of it anyway. One of his arms was thrown against his forehead, obscuring a clear view. He was a complete stranger. Smothering a frustrated uneasy sigh, she eased her legs out from beneath the covers. Still watching his face, she rose. He didn't move.
But the room did. It tilted abruptly as the searing pain in her temple intensified. Caught off guard she almost crumpled to the floor. She grasped for the bedpost, wrapped her fingers around the pole and steadied herself. The room righted itself again and within a moment her knees felt stronger.
Afraid she's woken him she looked quickly to the man on the bed. He was still asleep. Relief trickled through her. She didn't want to deal with the man yet, not until she could have some sort of handle on all this. Some sort of name attached to herself first. Cautiously she moved towards the mirrored closet. The reflection looking back at her was that of another stranger. A wide eyed stranger with lost brown eyes and shoulder length brown hair, the ends of which flirted with the edge of a aqua blue gown that was short on material. The woman in the mirror was hauntingly pretty, she didn't remember being pretty. For a moment she could only stare at the reflection wondering who this woman was and wondering how she got here, to this state.
A breeze from a partially opened window ruffled the gauzy material; it fluttered and moved about her, she felt instantly cold. She moved to open the closet door, there has to be a robe somewhere.
Her hand tightened on the door, there was a robe in there all right, and it was hanging beside the wedding gown, not a dress, but a gown in the full sense of the word. An exquisite gown with the appliqué and beading that suggested the huge price tag that had once been attached to it. A few grains of rice were strewn on the carpet just below it. A sense of awe fluttered through her, as she reached for the material in front of her, was it hers? She looked over her shoulder towards the bed, and did he go with it? Her heart hammered against her chest, as the full impact of the situation came to her.
She took the white robe from its hanger and quickly put it on. Just as quickly she searched each pocket hoping to find a clue that could help resolve this situation. Her fingers curled around something glossy in the left pocket. She held her breathe as she pulled it out. It was a photograph, a Polaroid to be exact of her and the man in the bed. Except that he didn't have jeans on. He was wearing a tuxedo. The kind men wore when they married women in gowns with high price tags. Gowns like the one she was wearing in the photograph. Panic began to intensify within her, if she knew all that, if she knew about gowns and tuxedoes and Polaroid photographs, the question echoed in her lonely brain was why she didn't know who she was? And why she couldn't remember posing for this picture?
Tears began to moisten her lashes as she stared down at the photograph in h er hand.
'Hey you're up'
The unexpected greeting startled her. She swung around towards the source, something defensive snapping into place and galvanizing her spine. It was all automatic, done without conscious thought. Something told her she didn't trust strangers, and despite the photographic evidence in her hand he was still a stranger to her… at least for now.
'Looks that way' she replied guardedly.
Danny Messer pulled his body upright on the bed and leaned against the headboard. He had sat up most of the night watching her because he'd been concerned. It had been a hell of a night.
Body aching, he rotated his shoulders stretching them subtlety like a tiger waking from its sleep. How had it gotten to be morning so soon?
Making the best of it, he dragged one hand through his hair then rubbed it across his face, brushing sleep aside. He took his glasses from the bedside table and put them on. He could snap into action at a moment's notice but enjoyed the luxury of not having to do that now. He could relax around Lindsay the way he couldn't afford to around too many people.
He glanced toward her now. Was it his imagination or was she looking at him oddly? She'd certainly had him worried for a while there, but it looked as if everything was all right. The itch at the back of his neck warned him that maybe he was being too optimistic too soon. It wasn't something he was in the habit of doing very often.
Danny looked at her again. Her expression puzzled him. Her body language only compounded it. She seemed tense, like a diver on the edge of the board before a major dive. A diver who wasn't sure the pool had been filled with water.
'How do you feel?'
When he rose and moved toward her, she took a step back, her eyes on his face. It wasn't a face that a woman would easily forget. Yet she had. Completely. Why?
The words in response to his question came out slowly, rolling toward him one at a time.
'How am I supposed to feel?'
Danny's brows almost touched as they drew together. She was being unusually cagey this morning. And it wasn't his imagination. She was looking at him oddly. What was going on?
'I don't know', he shrugged. 'You tell me'
How had this turned into a debate? And was she trying to maintain a distance between them?
What do you guys think? Should I continue? Let us know by reviewing and thanks in advance.
