The regret was overwhelming, and I didn’t know how to deal with it. The sudden flood of emotion was sickening. I sat down on a stool and ran my hand roughly through my hair. I saw Emma’s face in the car, so sad and broken. It was because of this. I had ripped her heart out and nearly killed her that night, and while I lay in a hospital bed with her at my side, she had to listen to the voice of another woman begging me to cheat on her. Her ability to care for me and sleep next to me the previous night said a lot about what kind of person she was. A person I had taken advantage of, used, and hurt.

I closed my eyes and pushed the thought from my head. I didn’t want to remember. I didn’t want to know what I had done to her, but I knew I had to find out. It wasn’t fair that she was suffering from my actions and that I could choose to be in blissful ignorance.

Regardless of the memory loss, my heart knew. My pulse quickened whenever she was close to me; the smell of her flowery scent felt like home. She was an echo in my life that even amnesia couldn’t erase.

I slammed my hand down against the countertop as I looked around my empty apartment. If she was going to suffer, I needed to suffer as well. I poured another drink before searching my place for clues to our past.

The first thing I ran across was an oversized, yellow envelope full of pictures of two women talking. There was something familiar about the house in the background, but I couldn’t place it. I shoved them back inside the envelope and tucked them away in a drawer in the kitchen.

“Fuck,” I yelled out as I scanned the open space. I was doing this to myself. I was shutting it all out, but why?

I grabbed my laptop and typed in my password from memory. There was Emma’s beautiful face on a social network site. I clicked her profile and began to look down through her posts. The first thing I noticed was someone offering condolences for her loss.

I quickly pulled up a new page and searched her name. The results populated within seconds. I clicked the top link and saw the face of one of the women in my pictures. Her name was Judy and “was survived by her niece, Emma Townsend.” The date of the funeral was only a few days ago. I went back to the search results and clicked the next link. It was a small news story about a car accident off Riddler Road, and the victims were Emma and me. It was the same date as the funeral. Was it possible the tears were for the loss of her only relative and not me that night? I knew that wasn’t the truth. It was painful for her to be near me, and the voicemails proved why.

It hit me that Emma was home alone now, dealing with the painful loss of her aunt as well as having lost her boyfriend. I was a disgusting human being. Still, even with the words in black and white, it all seemed like I was reading a fiction novel. I didn’t feel like that man. I was overwhelmed with guilt and regret and only wanted to comfort her and make things right. I glanced over at my phone on the island and tried to convince myself to call her. I knew that was selfish. She needed space, and if I cared about her at all, I should distance myself from her.

I slammed my computer shut and went back to the kitchen. Even with the memories gone, the emotions coursed through my veins. I poured another shot and drank it down as my eyes landed on a set of doors in the back corner of the room. It was an old service elevator. Emma had said the third floor had been under construction, and I knew she was lying.

I quickly made my way to the doors and rode up to the next floor before I could second-guess my actions. The door opened, and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dark, cavernous space. I felt the wall just outside of the elevator, and my fingers ran over a series of switches. I flipped one, and the back of the room lit up, illuminating large, black contraptions for every sick sexual fantasy a person could imagine.

This was what Allison could do for me that Emma could not. But Emma knew of this floor, and she had to have known what was on it or she wouldn’t have been lying. I took a few unsteady steps farther into the space, running my hand over a leather bench with restraints on each side.

What kind of monster was I? My body’s reaction to being in the space only magnified that sickening thought. I felt excited. I wanted more than anything to have a memory of Emma’s body naked, legs spread and waiting for me.

I stepped back into the elevator and made my way to the main living area. I didn’t want to remember anything. I didn’t want to find out what kind of man I had been. How could I feel so much love for this woman and at the same time have no regard for her feelings?

I collapsed on my bed with my phone in hand, my thoughts racing as the alcohol slowly took over, and I drifted off into sleep.

I awoke a few hours later from a dreamless sleep to my phone vibrating in my hand. I flipped it over, anxious to hear Emma’s sweet voice, but the caller ID read Angela.

I answered it with a quick hello, my voice rough from sleep.

“Thank God. I heard about the accident. Are you okay?”

I sat up, groaning as I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. I couldn’t place her voice. “I’ve been better. I guess.” I pushed to my feet. I was still wearing my jeans and nothing else.

“I wanted to come see you at the hospital, but…” her voice trailed off, and I yawned as I made my way to the kitchen to make coffee.

“It’s fine. I was in a medically induced coma for most of my stay.” I prepared the pot and grabbed a mug from the cupboard. It didn’t hurt my feelings that someone I couldn’t remember hadn’t come to see me. Judging from what I had learned about myself yesterday, it was probably best everyone kept his or her distance.

“Jesus, William.” I could hear the pain in her voice. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you.”

“It’s fine. Emma was with me.” It hurt to say her name. Angela didn’t respond for a moment.

“Is she with you now?” She asked as I poured coffee into my mug and took a sip.

“No.” I didn’t want to elaborate. It hurt just thinking about her, and I had no idea what my connection was with this woman. She seemed genuinely concerned for me, but I had no idea why.

“Of course she isn’t there for you when you need her. I would have been.”

“You weren’t,” I spat out angrily. I didn’t like her tone as she talked about Emma.

“I’d like to come see you. I need to talk to you.”

“I don’t know if that is a good idea.”

“It’s important.”

I glanced at the clock on the stove, wondering if Emma would be awake yet. I needed to hear her voice and convince her to see me. I wanted to make this right, if that were even possible.

“Can I call you back later? I have something I need to do this morning.”

“Yes, anytime. Just call me.”

“I will.” I hung up the phone as I took another drink from my cup. My head was throbbing from my injuries and from a slight hangover.

I scrolled though my contacts until I found Emma’s name and clicked call. After two rings, the call connected, and I could hear her breathing on the other end.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” she repeated, and she sounded so much younger and fragile on the phone. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I guess. Just lonely around here. I was wondering if maybe you wanted to come by. We could go out for dinner or…” I couldn’t find the words. I just needed to look into her big, beautiful green eyes.

“I have a lot of things to do today.”

“Alright, I understand.” I didn’t want to push her. I had no right to ask anything from her. “I’m supposed to meet up with some woman later, anyway. Angela, I think her name was.”

“You can’t!” her voice sounded pained. “She’s your ex-girlfriend. You just…can’t.”

That was the glimmer of hope I had been desperate to find. Emma still cared. “My ex?” That explained why she didn’t come see me in the hospital.