Sorry for the tardiness in updating but a 13 hour day at work got in the way! Hope you can keep up with where we are cos I had to reread to make sure!
Wednesday Evening
'Why do I know there's a scar there?', she had asked.
"You've seen it', was his reluctant reply.
He watches her face intently, watches and waits, expectant of recognition, expectant of memory.
But all he sees is confusion.
"You better start explaining yourself, Harry," she warns.
And so he makes a decision.
"On Monday night you came round to see me," he says
"Literally, by the sound of it!"
"I'd just got out of the shower," he pauses, "do you not remember?"
"No. I do not remember." she snaps
"I didn't have my shirt on."
"Right."
"Maybe it was such a shock you've blocked out the whole evening," he suggests with a wry smile.
"I think I'd be able to recall that," she mutters.
"I made you tea. That's how you knew where everything was."
She nods, but her face is still filled with confusion.
"And why was I here?"
For some reason his attention turns away from her.
"Harry?"
"You came to tell me that if I expected anything from you for saving your life then I would be sadly mistaken."
"I wouldn't say that."
"But you did."
"No," she insists.
"Forgive me Ruth but as it seems I am the only one who recalls that evening I think I'm in a better position to win the argument."
She shakes her head. Something feels wrong.
"But why don't I remember?" she asks sadly.
"I don't know."
They both seem defeated.
"Do you still want me to go?" she says quietly.
"I think it best."
She nods.
"Harry..."
He glances at her.
"What I said...if I said that...I didn't mean it."
"But you were right to say it. I didn't...I don't...expect anything, Ruth."
She opens her mouth to speak, to tell him that whether he expects it or not she feels something and it most certainly is not indifference.
"I'll see you tomorrow," he adds quickly.
He walks towards the door and she follows reluctantly.
The cool night air floods in. He stands aside as she passes.
She turns back to him, her eyes straining to see the something she knows she is missing.
"Sleep well, Ruth," he says it so gently, with so much tenderness that it pulls at her but she knows not why.
The door closes.
He wonders if his life can get any harder than the here and now as he turns away back to the emptiness of his kitchen.
There is a loud rap on the door.
Once more the cool air greets his face.
"What colour is your bedroom?"
He looks at her silently.
"It's green."
But it is not he who says it, it is her.
"Isn't it?"she insists.
He stares at her blankly but his chest rises and falls too quickly.
"Tell me it's not green, Harry?"
And then she is past him, past him and heading for the stairs.
Something within her knows exactly where she is going.
The door bursts open.
"Oh my god!" she says, her hand hurridly covering her mouth, muffling her shock.
She stands within the olive green walls staring at the bed, the bed that is imprinted in her head.
She turns back to his broken figure standing in the doorway.
Her eyes are wide, they look at him with apprehension, they look at him with fear, they look at him with betrayal.
"What have you done?" she whispers, her tone appalled.
His eyes are cast down. He can't stand to see the shock, the pain, the hurt in her eyes.
"Tell me the truth, Harry. Whatever it is. Tell me the truth."