"And this is you in seventh grade. Princess Leia," her father said, pulling out yet another photograph. He handed it to Rachel.
Rachel looked down at the picture, a smile coming to her lips. She was dressed in the her classic white dress and side buns. They looked real, not like a wig, but since she had super-long hair now, she wasn't exactly surprised. She was beaming up at the camera, pillowcase clutched in one hand, blaster in another. Next to her was brother, Nathan . He was dressed almost exactly the same, except his dress was black, face painted white, and there were dark circles around his eyes and blood dripping from his mouth.
"Let me guess," she said. "Nathan's dressed up as Evil Princess Leia."
Dad smiled and rolled his eyes. "Got it in one."
Dean leaned over her and took the picture. "So, basically, for three years straight, this kid just dressed up as whatever Rachel did, only evil and bloody and whatever."
"Yes."
"And you let him?"
Dr. Adams smiled and shrugged.
"He's wearing a dress."
"Technically, it's a robe. He's got pants underneath them."
"I think it's funny," Rachel said, taking the picture back. God, she looked so young. A stranger, so happy and carefree. "Did I think it was funny back then?"
"Sometimes. Yeah, you did," her mother replied. "The two of you get along well. though that particular year you did beg him to be Luke. And were put out when he wasn't."
"Until it turned out that Daniel Hunter dressed as Luke," Dr. Adams added with a smile. "The two of you got to enter the costume contest together." He reached out and tugged at her hair.
Dean nudged her. As he did, he slipped the picture from her fingers. "Daniel Hunter?"
"Like I have any clue?" she snapped back. Frustration clawed at her throat. "You know, don't even bother to keep it." She reached over to the steadily growing pile of pictures he was collecting of her and snatched it.
He took it back. "You okay?" He ran a thumb down her jaw, all concern.
She pulled away. "I know I'm here to try to remember everything, but it's not working. It's all familiar, but I can't… I'm not remembering anything. There's nothing that's sparking. No memory that's rising to the surface."
"It might take some time, honey," her mother said.
"I know." Rachel rubbed her eyes, then at her mother, tears in her eyes. "I'm tired. And I feel like it's all too much. I just need to be alone or something. Rest. Take a shower or something. I feel disgusting. I smell like the hospital and I just…"
"Honey. Rachel, it's okay." Her mother took her hands and squeezed them. "I'm sorry. We didn't think. Of course this is overwhelming. We've been here for almost three hours. Why don't you go upstairs and take a bath, maybe take a nap. Just, let everything sink in without you thinking about it for a little while. Let it all go. Okay?"
She nodded. Brushed tears from her eyes. "Okay."
Her mother rose, then bent over her, kissing her forehead. "All right, then. You go upstairs. I'll send some lunch up in a half-an-hour. And take as long as you need."
"Thanks." Her throat clogged. The tears pressed against her eyes more insistently. She closed them tightly, fighting them back. Not wanting to lose it, not wanting…
There was a warm, Dean-pressure on her side. " Rachel?"
Rachel opened her eyes and looked at him. "What are you going to do while I'm upstairs?"
Dean grinned. "I don't know. Watch TV. Call Sam. Don't worry about it. I can take care of myself."
"So can I." But it came out uncertain. Timid.
He gave her a half-smile. Nudged her. "Yeah. You can." He kissed her cheek, then pushed her away.
She wanted to be alone. But it was hard to make herself go upstairs. Close the door behind her. Because ever since she'd been found, she hadn't been alone. There'd been doctors and nurses and Ellen and Jo. Bobby and Dean and Sam and… Dean.
But once upon a time she'd been the type of girl to travel miles and miles away from her parents and her husband to gather information about a troll. Who'd traveled across country to take care of the man downstairs, his brother, and father while all unconscious from the demon attack. Apparently, she'd been self-sufficient and kind of brave. She could go upstairs and take a bath all by herself.
Her bedroom had a bathtub attached to it. It was big, with a nice, deep bathtub along one wall that was long enough to stretch out in. She started it, adding bubbles from a bottle sitting on the edge of the tub. Then, as the tub filled, she turned to the sink and mirror along the other wall.
Rachel hadn't looked at her body since she'd woken up. At the hospital, she'd rushed through her shower and had only glanced. Seen the bruises and scratches, but hadn't examined them. Hadn't seen the damage full on. Now was the time. So, with her heart in her throat, Rachel took off her clothes and stood, naked, in front of the mirror.
She started at her face, which she'd seen. Grown familiar with the brown eyes rimmed by black eyelashes. Her nose was a little long, kind of pointed. Chin pointed, lips full. Pale skin with a couple of scattered freckles here and there. Pretty-ish, nothing spectacular, no matter how much Dean asserted otherwise.
Her hair hung to just above her hips, dark brown with split ends and knots. It needed a trim and a wash and conditioning. She was pale all over, but her hands and arms were a kind of sickly pale, like she'd had a tan that was fading from not seeing the sun for a period of time. She was slim, not thin, with round hips and a sort of swell over her belly.
Her breasts, according to her bra, were size B's. Even still, there were some stretch marks. There were also marks on her thighs and, she discovered when she turned, on her bottom.
Rachel took a breath. Her body fell into that unknown yet familiar place. It was the marks on it that she wanted to examine. To see if they sparked any memory. Yes, she was tired and overwhelmed, but that was the pictures and the feelings that she should remember them, but didn't.
This was her body. Even if she didn't remember, she needed to know it.
Taking another breath, she moved closer to the mirror. Touched the bruise on her neck, just under her chin. And another, further down. A bite mark above her collarbone. And..
Dark hair in her face, lips against the soft skin under her ear, licking.
She jerked her hand away. Her heart pounded, and she waited. Not even daring to move as she waited to see if more of the memory would unfurl.
There was the faint impression of a body against hers and a voice whispering and then it was gone.
Rachel shook her head, disappointed. Still, it was a memory, no matter how fleeting. Something encouraging.
She continued her journey down her body, fingers tracing skin.
There was a bright red mark on her right breast. A suck mark. A hickey. She fingered it, then slid to her left breast.
Her left breast looked… ravaged. While her right had the hickey and nothing else, the left had…bite marks. Lots of them, scoring the flesh, over and over again. They were angry, dark, deliberate and…
She was held down. Wrists pinned and he was biting her and hurting and …
Her stomach twisted. Rachel found herself leaning over the toilet, retching. Shaking.
Teeth raking down her skin. A body against hers, heaving. Confining. Hot, fiery pain thrusting into her. A voice, growling into her ear as she tried to twist away. Hands on her throat. She couldn't breathe. There was no air. She bit her lip. A scream built in her throat. The tears flowed down her face. She couldn't…
"No!" Rachel's clenched her hands in her hair. Tore, trying to banish the memories.
Okay, so maybe she didn't want to remember this. Not what happened those missing weeks at the cabin. Her life, yes. But that…
Rachel turned away from the mirror. The tub was full, so she climbed in and sank into the lavender scented water. The warmth embraced her, seeping into sore muscles and encouraging them to relax. Bubbles tickled her chin. She closed her eyes and let out a sigh. Ran her hands down slick skin and just… drifted. Let her mind wander from Dean to her parents to the pictures, never lingering on anything for too long. Her brain hurt from trying to remember everything, and now even it seemed to be relaxing. Unknotting.
Laughter. Someone holding her foot. Rubbing it. Kissing the bottom. Tickling the back of her knee. A hand sliding up the inside of her thigh. A body following, landing on her. More laughter. Fingers caressing her chin. A mouth on hers. Kissing her and she was kissing back. Her body was on fire. Legs wrapping around his waist. Arching up and…
Rachel opened her eyes. Lifted her hands out of the water, feeling betrayed by them. Her body was hot, skin flushed, blood fizzling in her veins.
What had that been?
"Dean." That had to be it. They were married. They must have taken a bath together at some point. That had to be it.
That so wasn't it.
Even without seeing the man in that memory, without knowing his face, she knew it wasn't Dean. Knew with everything in her. But she didn't know who it was. It couldn't have been the demon. The person in that memory had been kind. Affection. Gentle towards her. He'd touched her with reverence and love.
And Rachel had felt… something. Affection back. Desire for him. When he touched her, she'd been turned on.
So. Who the hell was it?
Okay, so she didn't exactly know her sexual history. Dean had said that he was her first. She believed him. Somehow, she knew that he was first guy she'd had sex with.
But that didn't mean she hadn't fooled around with anyone before him. Maybe she'd taken a bath with someone. Maybe…
No. Because she and that man had been having sex. And it hadn't been Dean.
Which begged the question: was Rachel the kind of woman who would cheat on her husband? And, if she hadn't cheated, what was that memory?
The same, choking frustration as before rose in her throat. This time, she let the tears come. She needed to cry. Deserved it. Not being able to remember, being a stranger in her own home, her marriage, her body. It wasn't fair and it was just too much.
Rachel leaned back in the bath. Allowed the water to cover her once more. Pressed her hands to her face and just sobbed. Cried and wished there was something to make the pain in her heart, the emptiness in her stomach was gone.
She cried until it hurt. Until her eyes were swollen and throat sore. Her nose was wet and dripping and her chest ached.
There was a knock at the door. "Rachel?"
Dean.
"Can I come in?"
She sniffed. "Okay." She grabbed the washcloth and draped it over her breasts and she slid further under the bubbles.
The door opened and Dean came in. He crossed the room and sat on the edge of the tub. Not looking at her, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You okay?"
"Yeah." Her voice was hoarse. Just a croak, from all the crying.
He reached back into the water. Found her hand. "You know, it's going to be okay."
"I know."
Dean turned. Met her eyes. Still holding her hand, he slid off the ledge of the tub. Knelt on the floor. With his free hand, he reached out. Stroked Rachel's jaw.
"Dean. Have we ever had sex in the bathtub?"
"No. Why? You offering?" He gave her that grin. That beautiful, boyish grin suffused with charm.
"Not right now." She rested her palm against his cheek.
"Too bad." He glanced down at the slowly dissipating bubbles. At the swell of her breasts beneath the wash cloth. "Why do you ask?"
"No reason," Rachel said. She shook her head, mind turning over that strange memory once again. "Just wondering."
