Chapter 1
The grey silks sheets feel cool against my skin, belaying the rising panic tightening my chest. The heavy grey comforter and matching grey walls could have made for a bleak atmosphere if not for the contrasting myriad of canvas paintings adorning them. Landscapes and flowers and butteflies fill my vision.
The paintings are lovely; light and delicate. There is only one problem.
I don’t recognize any of it. Nothing. Not a thing. Not one butterfly wing or flower petal.
Hence, the panic.
The more moments that tick by the more my stomach sinks. This idea is beginning to dawn on me that I don’t know where I am supposed to be, if it’s not here. If I have a bed I call my own I am unaware of its size, colour, location... anything.
I close my eyes, thinking that if I reject these unfamiliar things, I might remember. Moments pass and nothing changes. Maybe this is where I am supposed to be and I’m having some kind of... episode.
I roll over, hoping to recognize something on the side of the room I haven’t seen yet. The only thing that registers is a sharp spasm of pain. The wrist I’ve used to push myself up is sending me some pretty aggressive signals to cease and desist. I discover it’s been bandaged. There are other aches, but they go largely ignored compared to my wrist.
I’m beginning to ask myself how a person could possibly not remember breaking their wrist when I hear a voice behind me say, “I was starting to think you wouldn’t wake up.”
Against my better judgment, I fling myself around to face the other side of the bed, agitating the mysterious injuries further. I find myself staring into the most brilliant blue eyes I’ve ever seen. Between them a long straight nose, thin lips beneath that and a strong pointed jawline. All emerging beneath an impressive amount of long, straight white blond hair.
The expression on his face is a sharp contrast to the storm of anxiety swirling around me. He is all calm patience.
Do I know this man? I have a nagging sense that I should. Blond hair and blue eyes are not very common anymore since The Union.
“What’s your name?” he asks gently. I think I can assume I don’t know this man.
This is when the fear kicks in: I can’t answer his question, I don’t know my name. My body is in action before I ever have a chance to approve. I’ve leapt into the corner of the bed, my knees up to my chest with every single piece of bedding now acting as a (safety?) barrier between myself and the man-who-wants-to-know-my-name-and-is-probably-the-owner-of-this-bed.
“What’s your name?” I ask defiantly. Honestly, if I had thought this question through a little more I may have seen the ridiculousness of it.
He smiles a crooked smile. “Souhei Asano,” he replies. There is an odd tone behind the way he says it, kind of like he is expecting me to react to the name.
“You don’t look Japanese,” I stammer, even though I know very well that ever since The Union in 2026, the origin of a person’s name doesn’t exactly match the origin of their race. Rapid, world-wide overpopulation forced the UN to step in to prevent another world war on a nuclear scale by assimilating many nations together to spread resources and population—
“Does that offend you?” he asks.
“I don’t care.”
“If you won’t tell me your name I’ll have to guess,” he says with a disarming smile, “Sakura? May? Emily?”
“Why am I here?” I ask instead of answering the question. For all I know, he’s the reason I’m here and I’m injured. I fluff the bedding-wall between us even higher. A hurried glance around shows this isn’t a room at all but a small bachelor apartment. The kitchen is to the left of the bed, a small living area at the foot of the bed and what must be a washroom in the far corner. It’s very modern looking, with clean, shiny surfaces.
The place is devoid of any colour except the brilliant paintings covering nearly all surfaces of the walls. They’re all done in a very distinctive style, with the colour concentrated in the middle seeming to fade as it approaches the edges. The subjects are predominantly butterflies, but there is a smiling woman with black hair and violet eyes who makes the occasional appearance. It’s very unusual to find any traditional, handmade art in today, so I reason he must be a collector.
He sighs, and shifts from his position on the floor beside the bed to face away from me. “I was hoping you could tell me why you’re here.”
“What do you mean?”
“Long story.” He dodges the question. “How are you feeling?”
“I am at a disadvantage here, Asano-san,” I state. “I don’t know where I am or how I got here, you know both.”
“If you don’t remember, I’m not sure you’ll believe me,” he says. “Can I at least make you some breakfast first?”
“No.”
He sighs again, no trace of that brilliant smile left. “I found you, last night. Well, not exactly ‘found’ more like… some guys in a truck pulled over and all but threw you at me as I was walking home.”
“You’re right, I don’t believe you,” I say, though it’s better information than what I have, which is nothing.
He’s holding something in his hand that I cannot see. I tense as he moves it toward me, but it’s only a piece of paper. He hands it to me, saying, “This was attached to you.”
Souhei,
I miss you. Maybe if I leave you this present
you’ll come to visit sometime?
Take her to the police and I’ll kill her.
Do not test me.
Forever Yours,
EN
“What the fuck is this?” I ask. Panic is starting to well up in my chest.
He sighs that aggravating sigh again. “It would be a lot easier to explain if I knew who you are.”
“Do you know this person? This ‘EN’?” I push.
“Yes,” he hesitates. Oh god. What the fuck do I do here? I consider giving in to my body’s urge to run… but where would I go? I don’t even know where my home is. Maybe this is my home and he’s an intruder. I don’t even know anyone to call for help. No, running is not a smart choice here. My best option is to get more answers until I can remember something that will help me.
“Who?” I prompt him in agitation.
“I can’t tell you,” he says to me. “And it’s for the best you don’t know anyway.”
I suspect he’s trying to be reassuring, but I have to wonder if he knows how cryptic it sounds. I need time to think, without him staring at me expectantly.
“I need to use the washroom,” I murmur.
He nods and pulls himself from the floor, offering his hand to help me up. I don’t accept, crawling around his extended arm and putting my feet on the floor. I wobble as I stand up, realizing my joints are as stiff as a rusty hinge. He catches me before I topple over, his strong arms steadying me.
“Can you make it all right?” he asks.
“Yes,” I lie and pull myself away from him. Getting to the bathroom isn’t exactly easy, but I manage without showing too much pain.
I am filled with relief when I see the door has a lock on it. Once I make use of that, I take a look at my surroundings. There is a moderately-sized shower and bath to my right, with the toilet on the other side of that. The sink and vanity are to my left. It’s modern, well-designed, and equipped with the latest household technology where everything is controlled from your Personal Device, or PD for short. At the far side of the room is a closet containing a washer/dryer combination.
Once inside the bathroom, I look in the mirror and try to calm myself. This is not the best idea I have had today as my appearance alarms me even more. My short hair is a vibrant red, coloured with cheap dye. It’s wavy and messy and matted with blood in places. My eyes are a very strange colour, dark blue almost violet. I look closer to discover they’re not contacts. My left eye is so bruised it looks like a dark purple orb swimming in a black hole.
What happened to me? I wonder again.
I’m startled to feel something brushing against my leg. I find a black, white, and orange coloured cat looking up at me, it’s tail twitching. I imagine I see intelligence in his fierce yellow eyes.
“Your owner… can I trust him?” I ask him. He stares for a moment longer before losing interest and moving to the corner to groom.
What kind of person I am? I could be anyone. I could be someone’s live-in nanny, international spy, a doctor or a trained assassin. I’m going to rule out doctor based on the bad dye job. That aside, I am beautiful. It’s hard to tell what nationality I am. Though these days that is more common than not since The Union brought people of all nationalities together in ways the world hadn’t experienced before. Two generations later, most people have incredibly diverse ethnic backgrounds. My good eye is wide and angular, with a well-groomed, thick brow, and full heart-shaped lips.
I look in the mirror again. I’m wearing a long sleeved white tee that must be 5 sizes too big for me, and light blue pajama pants drawn in so much the strings reach my knees and the legs pool around my feet. Did he dress me?
I try to keep my emotions in control by listing the facts. I’ve been beaten to a pulp and any resulting head injuries could explain the memory loss. Asano and I don’t know each other, though he knows the person responsible for my injuries. He refuses to tell me who, citing concerns over my safety. My wounds have been bandaged, presumably by Asano.
I conclude that Asano likely doesn’t mean me any harm. So I am left with four questions: Why can’t he tell me who E.N. is? Why was I brought to Asano? How do I recall my memories? Why can’t I go to the police?
He could be yakuza or mafia or something. Or EN is. Or they both are. That would be why he can’t tell me? I didn’t see any tattoos, which are still associated with organized crime among the Japanese population. Adrenaline is taking over again as my heart threatens to beat out of my chest.
A soft knock makes me jump.
“Is everything all right?” Asano calls through the door.
No, everything is not all right.
I don’t reply. I don’t know how to reply.
“Are you okay?” he asks again, louder. “Please respond, or I’ll assume the worst,” he threatens.
“I’m fine,” I choke out.
Silence for a few heartbeats. Then an accusation, “You’re scared.”
“Yes,” I admit for reasons that are not clear to me.
“I scare you?” A question this time.
“Yes.”
“I’ll tell you that I don’t mean any harm… but I don’t suppose that’s going to help,” he says.
I’m quiet again. What am I supposed to say?
“I’m going to make you breakfast because I know you haven’t eaten in the 15 hours you’ve been here,” he tells me.
“I’d like to shower,” I reply.
“Can I come in?” he asks.
I hesitate with my hand on the door lock.
“I’d like to give you clean towels and help with the bandages,” he supplies.
My hand unlocks the door almost without my permission. At least part of me trusts him.
He creeps in, eyeing me like I’m a wild animal. I’m not that scared.
He takes my broken wrist and carefully unwraps the cloth bandage from the wood splint holding it still. Flipping it around, his fingers brush over my skin inspecting it thoroughly. “I couldn’t find a plastic splint small enough for your wrist so I had to make due,” he explains absently. “I’ll go out and get you one soon. Don’t move your wrist while you shower. I’ll need to re-bandage it again immediately after. It should heal on its own without surgery.”
“Are you a doctor, Asano-san?” He seemed to know exactly what he was looking at while inspecting it.
“No, I just have a lot of experience with broken bones,” he replies cryptically.
Then he removes some towels from the dryer and hands them to me in a neat, folded pile. They’re warm.
“I can get you some proper clothes later, right now it’s more important that you eat.”
“Okay,” I agree. I don’t know what else to say. Satisfied with my agreement to eat, he turns and starts the shower for me.
“Do you have someone you need to call?” he asks.
“No,” I reply.
“Parents, husband?” he asks. I glance at my left hand to find a diamond ring there.
“No,” I repeat.
“Friends” he presses.
“I’m alone,” I lie.
He nods and says, “Please take your time.” The door clicks shut behind him.
I gingerly remove the shirt I am wearing and tug at the drawstring on the pants. I’m not wearing underwear or a bra. He had to have dressed me—these are obviously his clothes.
I look in the mirror again once I am unclothed.
Shadows fall underneath each of my ribs. My breasts are large but they hang limply as though the substance has gone out of them. My hip bones jut forward grossly. I’m too thin. A pooling of skin underneath my navel suggests this may not have always been the case. I confirm the theory by checking the fit of the diamond ring on my finger... it’s ready to fall off.
This may have once been an attractive body, beneath the stains of black, blue and red. It’s no wonder I was so stiff when I stood up. I took a solid beating at some point.
I seem ludicrously small, but that might be in comparison to Asano because he is as tall as a tree. If I had to guess I’d say he’s close to six and a half feet. What am I? Barely five and a quarter?
I wonder if I am a vain person? One of those girls who is so beautiful she is handed everything in life. People fall all over themselves to be close to her, thus she’s never had to develop any sort of personality or kindness to build relationships. If that’s who I was before waking up this morning, I hope these scars mar this body forever.
