[ He's not quite sure how long he's been living here. He knows how long he remembers living here — three weeks, four days, some-odd hours — but that doesn't mean anything. He doesn't remember anything from before this house, and there's no evidence he was just dumped here so who knows.
It's a nice house, a farmhouse, set in the middle of rolling green fields that no longer house any real crops but are still beautiful to look at. The kitchen is large and airy, probably because what used to be the dining room has been absorbed into it, leaving space enough for a farmhouse table with a bench on one side and chairs on the other, with a door that leads out to the patio, and the living room at the front of the house is cozy but not cramped. Upstairs there are three bedrooms and a bathroom, with a clawfoot tub big enough for two if they squeezed in, and a free-standing shower in the corner. There's a barn about a thousand or so yards away, visible but not so close that it encroaches on the living situation, but there are no animals in the barn, either. Sometimes he feels like there should be horses, here. He thinks he knows how to ride a horse, but he has no evidence to support that theory. It's just like all the other theories he has but can't back up worth a damn.
He doesn't even know his name.
The woman is another constant he can't qualify. She doesn't know her name either, though he's taken to calling her Sarah, or Susan, or Shannon, neither of which feel correct but do in a pinch. She calls him Liam, and Lucas, and Lawrence. They don't remember each other, but he's comfortable around her, comfortable in a way that makes him feel like maybe they should know each other. Sometimes he wonders what they were to each other before this house, if anything. He wears a wedding ring but she doesn't. If they knew each other before, they certainly weren't married to each other. Was she his mistress? He would like to think that he isn't the type of man to cheat on his wife, but he doesn't know. The thoughts he has about her, snippets that could be memories or could be fantasies, shed no further light on the matter. He dreams of waking up curled around her, her body a warm line pressed to his chest; of the elegant curve of her neck bent as she looks down at something she's doing with her hands, her long black hair pulled back in a manner that only makes him want to lean forward and press his mouth to her skin; of her slender hands touching his wrist, touching his fingers, spreading wide across his chest. They're not quite innocent but they aren't explicit either, and the lack of answers is killing him.
At the beginning, he was more concerned with figuring out where they hell they were, and how they got there. He's a little alarmed to discover that those concerns are becoming less pressing with time, as he gets more and more distracted by the puzzle of his companion, of their quiet little life here. It's getting harder to keep himself from reaching out to her, sliding his fingers between hers or slipping his arm around her waist. It feels natural, those impulses, and it seems that he's always wanted to be a family man. He is married, after all. Maybe he has a house like this, somewhere, with a wife who's waiting for him and doesn't even know if he's alive. He should feel guiltier about that, that he's abandoned someone he promised to stay with forever, but he doesn't remember her. He does have Sarah, though. ]
Susan? [ he calls, stomping his feet a little as he enters through the back door, knocking the dirt off his boots before setting them aside and continuing through the house in just his socks. ] I brought groceries. Any progress on getting the phone to work?
AMNESIA AU BC I HAVE NO SELF CONTROL
It's a nice house, a farmhouse, set in the middle of rolling green fields that no longer house any real crops but are still beautiful to look at. The kitchen is large and airy, probably because what used to be the dining room has been absorbed into it, leaving space enough for a farmhouse table with a bench on one side and chairs on the other, with a door that leads out to the patio, and the living room at the front of the house is cozy but not cramped. Upstairs there are three bedrooms and a bathroom, with a clawfoot tub big enough for two if they squeezed in, and a free-standing shower in the corner. There's a barn about a thousand or so yards away, visible but not so close that it encroaches on the living situation, but there are no animals in the barn, either. Sometimes he feels like there should be horses, here. He thinks he knows how to ride a horse, but he has no evidence to support that theory. It's just like all the other theories he has but can't back up worth a damn.
He doesn't even know his name.
The woman is another constant he can't qualify. She doesn't know her name either, though he's taken to calling her Sarah, or Susan, or Shannon, neither of which feel correct but do in a pinch. She calls him Liam, and Lucas, and Lawrence. They don't remember each other, but he's comfortable around her, comfortable in a way that makes him feel like maybe they should know each other. Sometimes he wonders what they were to each other before this house, if anything. He wears a wedding ring but she doesn't. If they knew each other before, they certainly weren't married to each other. Was she his mistress? He would like to think that he isn't the type of man to cheat on his wife, but he doesn't know. The thoughts he has about her, snippets that could be memories or could be fantasies, shed no further light on the matter. He dreams of waking up curled around her, her body a warm line pressed to his chest; of the elegant curve of her neck bent as she looks down at something she's doing with her hands, her long black hair pulled back in a manner that only makes him want to lean forward and press his mouth to her skin; of her slender hands touching his wrist, touching his fingers, spreading wide across his chest. They're not quite innocent but they aren't explicit either, and the lack of answers is killing him.
At the beginning, he was more concerned with figuring out where they hell they were, and how they got there. He's a little alarmed to discover that those concerns are becoming less pressing with time, as he gets more and more distracted by the puzzle of his companion, of their quiet little life here. It's getting harder to keep himself from reaching out to her, sliding his fingers between hers or slipping his arm around her waist. It feels natural, those impulses, and it seems that he's always wanted to be a family man. He is married, after all. Maybe he has a house like this, somewhere, with a wife who's waiting for him and doesn't even know if he's alive. He should feel guiltier about that, that he's abandoned someone he promised to stay with forever, but he doesn't remember her. He does have Sarah, though. ]
Susan? [ he calls, stomping his feet a little as he enters through the back door, knocking the dirt off his boots before setting them aside and continuing through the house in just his socks. ] I brought groceries. Any progress on getting the phone to work?