Chapter 2: Give it to me Straight

A day has passed since I woke up, and I'm already going stir-crazy in this hospital room. The walls are closing in on me, I swear.

Dr. Ramirez, a stern-looking woman with salt-and-pepper hair pulled back in a tight bun, is peering at my brain scans with furrowed brows. She's been silent for what feels like hours, though it's probably only been a few minutes.

Finally, she sighs and turns to Claire, who's hovering anxiously nearby. "Yeah, I don't know. He seems fine, but there's a weird shadow on the scans."

"Doc, give it to me straight," I pipe up, trying to keep my voice steady. "Am I going to be dumber than I used to be?"

Dr. Ramirez's lips purse, clearly not amused by my attempt at humor.

Claire shoots me a disapproving look. "Adam!" she hisses.

"What?" I shrug defensively. "It's a serious question."

Claire's eyes narrow, a mix of concern and frustration swirling in their depths. Dr. Ramirez clears her throat, drawing our attention back to her.

"Mr. Anderson, your cognitive functions appear to be intact," she says, her tone clipped and professional. "However, the shadow we're seeing is... unusual. We'd like to keep you overnight for another week."

I look at Claire, fidgeting with the scratchy hospital blanket. "I'm just so bored. Do I have a phone?"

Claire winces, her eyes darting nervously around the room. "Oh, uhh... no. I think the women who attacked you stole it."

Dr. Ramirez's eyebrows shoot up, and she gives Claire a long, hard stare. After an uncomfortable silence, she sighs heavily. "I'll check on him again in a few days, but if he stays this... cheery," she says, emphasizing the word with a hint of skepticism, "he'll be good to go in a week."

Claire nods vigorously, relief washing over her face. "Thank you, Doctor."

As Dr. Ramirez turns to leave, she pauses at the door. Without looking back, she says in a low voice, "Don't thank me. Thank our boss."

The words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken implications. Claire's face pales, and she wrings her hands anxiously. I glance between them, feeling like I'm missing some crucial piece of information.

"Boss?" I ask, breaking the tense silence. "You two have the same boss?"

Claire sits on the bed with me, her weight causing the mattress to dip slightly. She smiles nervously, her eyes darting around the room as if checking for eavesdroppers. "Shhh, don't think too hard right now," she whispers, leaning in close. "What if you become a clinical idiot?"

I laugh, the sound echoing off the sterile walls. "Oh, my wife is funny?"

"Yes." Her eyes soften at my words, a hint of hope flickering in their depths. She reaches out, her fingers brushing against my arm. "So, how are you taking the news? Waking up with a wife you don't remember?"

I shrug, feeling the rough hospital gown shift against my skin. "Surprisingly easier than not having a phone."

She playfully hits my shoulder and says, "Wowwww. Since you woke up, you're a lot more sassy than you used to be."

I feel a sudden pang of nervousness, my stomach tightening into knots. "What if... what if I'm not the husband you remember?" I ask hesitantly. "What if I'm different?"

Claire's eyes widen, filling with a pain so raw and visceral it takes my breath away. It's like watching a beautiful stained glass window shatter in slow motion, each shard reflecting a different facet of her anguish. Her lower lip trembles, and for a moment, I think she might burst into tears.

She cups my face in her hands, her touch gentle yet firm. Her palms are soft against my stubbled cheeks, and I can feel the slight tremor in her fingers.

"Adam," she says, her voice low and intense, "you've been through so much. It's okay to be broken."

There's a weight to her words, a depth of meaning I can't quite grasp. It's as if she's speaking about more than just my memory loss, more than just the attack that put me here. Her eyes search mine, looking for something, recognition, perhaps, or understanding.

I lean back, my mind reeling. "It's just... weird, you know? Having a wife all of a sudden. One day, I'm single, the next, I wake up married. It's like I'm living in some bizarre rom-com."

Claire's laugh is tinged with sadness, her eyes glistening. "I bet it is," she says softly. She pauses, biting her lip nervously before continuing, "Maybe... maybe if we kiss, you'll remember me?"

'I'm so sorry other Adam. I know she's not my wife, but if we switched places, you are long gone. The best i can do for you is take care of your wife.'

I feel heat rising to my cheeks. "I suppose that is something a husband and wife would do," I mumble, my heart racing.

I lean in, closing my eyes as our lips connect. At first it's a little awkward, almost chaste. But then Claire's hand slides to the back of my neck, pulling me closer. The kiss deepens, her lips parting slightly. I follow her lead, my tongue hesitantly meeting hers.

A soft gasp escapes me as our tongues intertwine. Claire presses closer, her fingers tangling in my hair. Our tongues dance together, exploring and tasting.

I let out a quiet moan, getting lost in the sensations. It feels illicit somehow, making out in a hospital bed with a woman I barely know.

After what feels like an eternity, Claire slowly pulls back. Her cheeks are flushed, eyes bright. "Wow," she breathes. "That was... a lot more eager than I remember."

I'm still reeling from the kiss when a sharp "Ahem" cuts through the air like a knife. Claire jumps back as if she's been burned, her eyes wide with panic.

Standing in the doorway is the statuesque blonde from yesterday, her crimson eyes gleaming with barely contained fury. She's even more striking up close. Her tailored suit hugs every curve, the fabric stretching tantalizing across her ample chest.

She flashes me a dazzling smile. "Oh my," she purrs, her voice rich and smooth as honey. "Did your husband already get his memories back, Claire?"

Claire shrinks visibly, her earlier confidence evaporating like mist in the sun. "N-no, Caterina," she stammers, wringing her hands. "We were just... hoping a kiss might jog his memory."

I clear my throat, feeling like I should contribute something to this increasingly awkward conversation. "No memories, I'm afraid," I say with an apologetic shrug. "But it was a nice kiss."

The blonde woman, Caterina apparently, grinds her teeth, the muscle in her jaw twitching. Her eyes narrow dangerously. "Oh, was it?" she growls, her voice low and threatening.

Oblivious to the tension crackling in the air, I point at Caterina. "Hey, you're the tall lady from yesterday!" I exclaim, proud of myself for remembering.

Caterina stares at Claire, her ruby eyes glinting dangerously. "Oh wow, he doesn't remember me either," she says, her voice dripping with annoyance.

Claire shrinks further into herself, looking like she wants to disappear into the hospital bed. "Well, you only met a few times," she mumbles, not meeting Caterina's gaze.

I decide to break the awkward tension. "I'm Adam Evans," I say with a friendly smile, extending my hand towards the statuesque blonde.

"Adam Anderson." Claire reminds me. She told me earlier but it hasn't quite stuck yet.

"Adam Anderson," I repeat with my hand still out.

Caterina's demeanor shifts instantly, her predatory grin morphing into something softer, almost warm. She takes my hand in hers, her grip firm and commanding. "Yes, I am Caterina," she purrs, her thumb brushing over my knuckles. "An investor here at this hospital and also your lovely wife's boss at the casino."

My eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Oh, you work at a casino?" I turn to Claire, who looks like she'd rather be anywhere else. "I didn't know that."

Claire nods dejectedly, her shoulders slumping. "Yeah," she says.

"What do you do there?" I ask.

Caterina's eyes light up. "Oh, she's one of my many bookkeepers," she purrs. "Claire helps run the day-to-day operations along with a few other go-getters."

I smile, genuinely impressed. "That's great!" I exclaim, turning to Claire. But she's avoiding eye contact, her gaze fixed firmly on the linoleum floor. I find it odd, but maybe she's just embarrassed by the praise.

"Yeah," Claire mumbles, her voice barely audible. She's fidgeting with the hem of her blouse, her knuckles white from gripping the fabric so tightly.

'Oh, maybe Claire hates her boss. I get that.' With this new understanding in place I decide on an easy plan to get Caterina to leave.

"Well, it was nice to meet you, Caterina, but I'm feeling a bit tired."

Caterina's expression instantly shifts from smug satisfaction to deep concern. Her brow furrows, and she takes a step closer to the bed. "Oh, you poor thing," she coos, her voice dripping with worry. "Are you alright? Should I call the doctor?"

Her sudden change in demeanor catches me off guard. The intensity of her concern seems a bit... much for someone I've just met. I glance at Claire, hoping for some clue as to what's going on, but she's still staring at the floor, her face a mask of resignation.

"No, no," I assure Caterina, forcing a smile. "Just normal tiredness. You know, still recovering and all that."

Caterina nods, but her eyes are still scanning me intently as if searching for any sign of discomfort. "Of course, of course," she murmurs. "You need your rest."

Well then, I'll be seeing you," Caterina says. Her ruby eyes locked on mine. "I hope you recover soon, Adam."

"Thanks," I say as she saunters towards the door. Her hips sway hypnotically with each step. Just before she exits, she turns and throws me a wink that confuses me.

'Man, that woman is my type to the T. But life gave me a wife. And I'd just fumble a bad bitch like that anyways.' I think to myself with a chuckle.

As soon as the door clicks shut behind her, Claire lets out a deep sigh of relief. Her entire body seems to deflate, tension draining out of her like air from a balloon. She slumps back into her chair, running a shaky hand through her disheveled hair.

"Not a big fan of your boss, huh?" I quip, trying to lighten the mood.

Claire's eyes snap to mine, wide and filled with a mixture of emotions I can't quite decipher. There's fear there, certainly, but also pity for some reason.

"It's just really complicated."

I nod sympathetically. "I get it. I wasn't a big fan of my boss at my job either. Always breathing down my neck, micro-managing me. It can be tough."

Claire's expression shifts, the sadness in her eyes deepening. She looks at me like I'm a puppy that's just been kicked. "Oh, Adam," she says softly, her voice thick with emotion. "You've never had a job."

"Oh yeah. I forgot." I say without much conviction.

'I've barely been here a day. It's hard to just abandon my old life, though I should probably try harder.'

Claire leans forward, her eyes sparkling with sudden curiosity. "Where did you work in your coma dream world?"

"It was called Larry's Fund," I say, hiding a smirk.

Claire bursts into giggles, the sound light and musical. "That's such a stupid name!"

I nod, grinning. "Larry was an odd dude."

"Oh, you got to meet Larry? You must have been a big deal?" Claire asks, still chuckling.

I laugh and shake my head. "No, no, Connor and I joined right out of college. It was a small fund. Larry managed to snag a nice office space in one of those fancy buildings right next to State Street. We were up on the 22nd floor, but only Larry had an actual office. The rest of us were crammed into cubicles like sardines."

Claire's giggling now, her eyes crinkling at the corners. She seems to be genuinely enjoying my story, but it's all real. This all happened to me. Which makes it a bit funnier to me.

Claire hones in on a part of the story. "And who's this Connor you keep mentioning?"

"Connor? Oh, he's my best friend," I say, grinning at the memories. "We'd spend half our day just yapping at each other. It was a lot of fun."

Claire's smile fades, replaced by a look of worry. She leans forward, taking my hand in hers. "Adam," she says gently, "there's no such thing as Larry's Fund. And I'm sorry, but you don't know anyone named Connor."

"You're right," I say, just going with the flow.

Claire's eyes fill with tears. She stands up and wraps her arms around me, pulling me into a tight embrace. "I'm so sorry," she whispers, her voice thick with emotion. "You can spend as much time yapping with me as you want, though."

I hug her back. I know it was real, but there's no reason for her to believe me.

'I probably wouldn't either.'

In her own way she seems to be handling this better than I think I would in her shoes.

"That sounds good," I say, appreciating her attempt at validation. "Thanks for being so understanding."

Claire pulls back from the hug, wiping her eyes. As she does, I notice a glint of gold on her left hand. My eyes are drawn to the delicate band adorning her ring finger, its polished surface catching the harsh fluorescent light.

Suddenly, a thought strikes me. I glance down at my own hand, noticing for the first time the conspicuous absence on my ring finger.

"Hey, where's my wedding ring?" I ask, frowning as I inspect my bare hand more closely. "Did they take it off for the medical procedures or something?"

Claire's face drains of color so quickly I'm worried she might faint. Her eyes go wide, darting around the room like a cornered animal searching for escape.

"Oh, uhh..." she finally manages, her voice trembling. "I believe the women who attacked you stole that too."

There's something off about her tone, a slight quaver that sets alarm bells ringing in my head. It sounds like she's lying, but I can't for the life of me figure out why she would. What possible reason could she have to lie about a wedding ring?

"Well," I say, trying to lighten the suddenly tense atmosphere, "let's hope I don't run into these women, lest I have to get my revenge!" I flash a grin, expecting Claire to laugh.

Instead, her face contorts with horror. "Don't even joke, Adam!" she cries, grabbing my arm with surprising force. "I don't want you putting yourself in danger!"

"Ahh, sorry. Of course, I won't."

*****

I'm sprawled out on the hospital bed, the scratchy sheets bunched around my legs. The room is dim, lit only by the flickering glow of the TV mounted on the wall. Claire left a while ago since visiting hours are limited.

I'm flipping through channels, trying to find something to numb my brain. I land on some show called "Gossip Boy." Never heard of it, but whatever. The opening credits roll, all glitz and glamour.

As I watch, I can't help but raise an eyebrow. These dudes are... different. They're all decked out in designer clothes, sipping fruity cocktails and gossiping about who's dating who. One guy is literally in tears because his crush didn't text him back. Another is having a meltdown over a bad hair day.

"Jeez, these dudes are such drama queens?" I mutter to myself. It's bizarre.

Just as I'm about to change the channel, the door creaks open. A nurse walks in, her shoes squeaking softly on the linoleum floor. She's carrying an IV bag filled with some clear liquid.

"Hey there," she says with a peppy smile. "I'm just here to set you up with something to help you recover quicker and get some good sleep."

I blink at her, confused. "Oh, uh, no thanks. I slept fine last night."

The nurse's smile doesn't waver, but there's a slight tightening around her eyes. "It's the doctor's orders, I'm afraid."

I shrug, not really caring enough to argue. "Oh, okay then."

"Just one thing. Some people say they have weird dreams when we use this," The nurse speaks with slight concern.

"Like nightmares?" I respond, curious.

"No, it's usually sexy dreams." She says awkwardly, avoiding eye contact.

"That's fine." I chuckle out.

As she bustles around, hooking up the IV, I turn my attention back to the TV. One of the girls on the show, Charlotte Bass, is bragging about how rich she is.

"You okay there?" the nurse asks, pausing in her work.

"Yeah, just... this show. It sucks."

She glances at the screen, then back at me with a puzzled expression. "It's one of the most popular shows right now. All the guys love it."

I open my mouth to respond, but suddenly the room starts to spin. The TV blurs, the whiny voices melding together into a discordant hum. My eyelids feel heavy like they're made of lead. The room starts to tilt and sway like I'm on a ship in rough seas.

I blink rapidly, trying to clear my vision, but it only gets worse. The walls seem to breathe, expanding and contracting with each passing second. I feel like I'm floating on a cloud.

"Whoa," I slur, my tongue feeling thick and clumsy in my mouth. "What's happening? This shit is fire."

The nurse's voice comes from far away, echoing as if through a long tunnel. "Shhh, it's okay. This shit hits like a truck sometimes."

"Don't bring up trucks." I say trying to focus on her, but her outline keeps blurring and shifting. "Nurses can't swear," I mumble, the words coming out garbled and slow.

She laughs, the sound distorted and warped. "Oh fuck," she says, her voice fading into the distance.

Everything goes black.

*****

After what feels like an eternity, I hear the door shut softly. I feel hands gently tugging at my hospital gown, cool air hitting my skin.

Suddenly, I feel warm, wet heat envelop dick. I moan, my body responding instantly despite my foggy mind. Everything feels heightened, electric. Pleasure shoots through me like lightning.

I try to look down, but my vision is blurry. All I can make out is a sea of golden blonde hair spilling across my lap. "What the..." I slur, my tongue feeling thick and clumsy.

The warmth leaves me for a moment. "Shhh, it's just a dream, darling," purrs a sultry voice. I blink rapidly, trying to focus. A pair of glowing crimson eyes meets mine, hungry and predatory.

I slur, my words running together. "Caterina... I'm dreaming about you?"

She lets out a low, sultry chuckle. "You sure are," she purrs, her voice like velvet.

I let my head fall back against the pillow, a dopey grin spreading across my face. "I'm not surprised," I mumble.

"Oh?" Caterina says, her tone playful as she slowly strokes me. "And why's that?"

I moan softly at her touch, my hips arching up instinctively. "So hot..." I manage to get out, my thoughts scattered. "So tall... So busty..."

She laughs again, the sound sending shivers down my spine. "Oh, am I your type?" she asks coyly.

Before I can respond, she lowers her head again. I gasp as I feel her tongue coil around my cock. My fingers tangle in her silky hair as waves of pleasure wash over me. I moan loudly, lost in the sensations.

Caterina starts violently bobbing up and down. Lewd slurps fill the air as I whimper helplessly. She shoots her eyes up at me, crimson orbs gleaming with mischief. Somehow, she goes even lower, flush with the base of my pelvis. She starts gagging lightly, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure through me.

Seeing this drives me over the edge. "Oh fuck," I moan, my voice thick and slurred. Since it's just a dream, I figure why not let loose. I put both of my hands on the back of her head and push her down as I cum deep in her throat.

Wave after wave of ecstasy crashes over me as Caterina swallows eagerly, her throat working around me.

"Holy shit," I pant.

Caterina licks up any left cum off my cock as she slides off it. She gives my tip a little kiss.

"How was that, Adam?" she purrs, her voice sounding distant and echoey. "Was that a nice dream?"

I try to respond, but my tongue feels heavy and uncooperative. The room is spinning lazily around me.

I feel myself slipping further into sleep, too tired to talk. With great effort, I manage to lift my hand and give her a shaky thumbs-up. My arm feels like it's moving through molasses, the gesture seeming to take an eternity.

Caterina's laughter echoes strangely, as if coming from the bottom of a well. "Next time you see me, just call me Cat, alright?"

My eyelids are impossibly heavy now, fluttering closed despite my best efforts to keep them open. "Yuppers," I mumble, the word slurred and barely recognizable.

As I lay with my eyes closed, drifting away, I hear Caterina's voice one last time. It's softer now, almost tender. "You are destined to be mine, Adam. Don't forget that."

The words don't quite register in my addled brain. I try to ask what she means, but darkness is already closing in. The last thing I'm aware of is the soft click of the door closing, and then everything fades to black.