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PROMPT: Do you remember? Continuation of Outdoor Activities and No Idea

Memories. They're strange things. Some things you can remember so vividly, it's like you're watching a movie in your head. Other times, it's hazy, details changing. We know that memories can be changed, manipulated into whatever you want. Psychologists have been studying it for years.

But none of it explains why my husband can't remember me. Why, when I gasped and sobbed, he had a concerned look on his face – but not that of a husband for his wife, but of a stranger. The air had evaporated from my lungs. There wasn't enough of it. My vision blurred, chest burning, my legs giving way. I hit my knee. The pain was a dull ache; it grounded me in reality. A reality I didn't want to be in. Who was he? Why was he here? No. No. No.

Thankfully, I passed out, his beautiful face over me. Max nudged at my leg before peace consumed me, a whimper escaping from his mouth. Finally, it was quiet.

I came to in the hospital; Max sat next to my bed, Emmett – or The Stranger – reading a magazine in a chair next to me. He wasn't Emmett – apparently. And Kevin, that didn't suit him. He was a stranger. The ultimate stranger. Someone who looked like my husband but wasn't.

The harsh antiseptic smell burned my nose, and the lights were so bright that I winced under their glare. Nerves skittered over my skin, making me hyperaware of everything – the clock's ticking, the slow hum of the monitor behind the bed, the quiet footsteps in the hall. They were irritating. Setting me on edge. I wanted to run. To bolt from the room and never go back.

I moved slightly, an ache building in my knee. I could feel soft bandages around it, and I guessed from the dull but persistent twinge I'd done some damage when I'd collapsed. The slight movement was all it took for The Stranger to turn to me.

"You're awake!" He exclaimed, his beautiful face lighting up, features pulling into a familiar smile.

I had to look away. His face – so fucking identical and yet so distant. It was too much.

I pushed myself up the bed, reached for a cup, and poured some water into it, my hands shaking. I didn't want to talk. I tried to collect my thoughts. I wanted this to all be some kind of dream. No. The pain was too real. Not the pain in my knee. The pain in my chest. The physical manifestation of my grief. My heartbreak.

The Stranger reached out to help, but I winced. No. I couldn't let him touch me. This wasn't Emmett. This wasn't my husband. My husband would remember me. My husband would know who I was. I was just a stranger to this man. I didn't want to know if his touch elicited the same tingles. I didn't want to know if his hands were as soft as Emmett's had been – that was something I had always marvelled out; how strong he was but how fucking gentle too. His hands had always felt safe. Whenever he held me, touched me, grasped me to him, I knew nothing could harm me. With Emmett, I was unbreakable.

The Stranger noticed my face, hurt crossing his features. "Sorry," he said, sitting back in the chair as he examined a spot on the floor.

Part of me wanted to apologise and explain that I might lose it if he touched me. Tension gathered in the room, and I swallowed hard and bit my lip. Why the hell was he still here? It felt like torture. I didn't want this. Whatever this was.

Max placed his head on the bed, and I gently stroked him, curling my fingers into his fur, the soft strands oddly soothing – they were familiar. He was familiar. He had pulled me from my darkest days and given me a reason to keep on going. Max was my saviour.

"He wouldn't let the paramedics near you," The Stranger said, running a hand through his hair, brow slightly furrowed. Again, it was so fucking familiar. "They had no choice but to bring him."

Nodding, I took another sip of the cool water, savouring the way it soothed my throat. That made sense. Max and I went everywhere together. I needed him.

"Why are you here?" I eventually croaked out, tears threatening to leak out of my eyes. I wasn't sure what I had done to vex the universe so much, but I just wanted him to leave. This wasn't Emmett. This was Kevin – whoever the hell that was. The man who has my husband's face, voice, and mannerisms.

He shrugged his shoulders. "I didn't want you to wake up by yourself." His gaze cast over my body. "Do you know me? You seem like you do."

Oh dear God. This was a cruel and horrible prank. Why the fuck had I come here? Why? Oh God, why?

I couldn't answer. No. This was too hard. My life was meant to be easy now. My heart had shattered, and I'd worked so fucking hard to put it back together again. "Do you remember me?" I whispered. I shouldn't have. I was just gearing myself up for more heartbreak.

The Stranger cocked his head to the side, narrowed his eyes and then shook his head, a slight frown marring his face. "No. I can't say I do."

I looked down at the faded blanket, tears falling from my eyes. "Please leave," I begged. "Just go. I can't do this." I was taken back to the depths of my grief and loneliness. When I was sure that the world would never be right. When I wondered how everyone else could go about their daily lives, and I was left stationary. Still. Frozen. My memories kept me company, playing on repeat in my head repeatedly until I fell asleep, a sweet reprieve. I wanted to remember because they were all I had left, but every time I saw his face, it reminded me that he was gone. That my memories were all I had left. Memories that, despite how hard I tried, faded every day.

"I'm sorry. I didn't' mean to upset you." His voice was sincere. I desperately wanted to look up, but I couldn't bear to. It was too hard.

Tears fell from my eyes, the grief overspilling.

I heard his chair scrape across the floor, Max whining as he put both front paws on the bed, getting closer to me, comforting me in the way he had done all along.

Then the door slammed open, the noise jarring me, my head snapping up. A man stood in the doorway, copper hair in disarray over his head, chest heaving as he glanced from The Stranger to me, green eyes wide with… fear?

"Edward?" The Stranger asked, standing tall, confusion lacing his voice.

"Shit. How did you find her?" He – Edward – almost looked manic.

"She collapsed. Do you know her?" The Stranger glanced at me and then back to Edward. She. Her. Reminders I was just a stranger. No longer Rose. No longer his Rosie.

"I – fuck. This can't be happening. We need to get you out of here now." Edward moved forward, hand coming out, but The Stranger jerked backwards, large body getting dangerously close to the bed – and me. I didn't want him close – but at the same time, I did. I wanted to see if he smelt like Emmett, the leather and woodsy smell that used to relax me the second I inhaled it. Sometimes, I swear that our home smelled like him. On the nights when I was lonely, sorrow blinding me, I could almost smell his inherent scent in our bed.

"What's going on?" The Stranger asked, more urgency in his voice… and a touch of anger?

"You and Rose should never have met and—"

I cut him off. "How do you know my name?" A feeling of dread curled up my spine, soaking into my cells. My heart rate began to pound, the monitors behind the bed bleeping as chills ran over my skin. I'd never met this man before in my life. I'd remember. He was a stranger to me. Oh, the irony.

Max growled, his lips pulling back to reveal pearly white teeth, hackles on his back standing up. Every muscle in his body went tense as he lowered himself slightly. He was getting ready to pounce. To protect me. No doubt he could feel my discomfort.

Edward glanced between The Stranger, Max and me, pure panic across his face. His pupils were wide, eyebrows almost hitting his hairline. He licked his lips, cheeks red as his chest continued to heave.

Distrust flooded the room, and Edward only uttered one word.

"Fuck."

I tried something a little different with first-person here. I'm trying to write in a more active voice, and I seem to do that better in this POV… or at least I hope I do! Any feedback would be very welcome.