Chapter Text
It was as though the blackness was pulling her through an abyss. The force of darkness was contradictory, as though the matter around her was heavy, but it propelled her weightlessly forward, drawing her towards a pinhole.
She awoke on her back, the light blinding as she fluttered her eyes open. She instinctively wrapped her arms around her middle, the confusing despair falling around her as she lay there. It took her a moment to get her bearings. The stones. Where she came looking for flowers. Fingertips came up to her forehead as she rose, sitting uneasily. Her brow wrinkled as she tried to think back.
She felt utterly broken, torn, but had no recollection of why she should. Curls bounced around her chin as she looked down, noticing the strange clothes covering her body. Her fingers traced the material momentarily, but it was the unfamiliar ring on her finger that caught her attention. She traced the hard, rough surface with her thumb, panic rising in her the longer she looked at it. Shuddering against the cold and trepidation, she was now only interested in getting help. In finding Frank.
Claire stumbled onto the road a few minutes later, relieved to see a car heading towards her. It stopped a few feet away.
“Are ye hurt, lass?” called the man as he exited his car.
“No,” but she hesitated when she realized she hadn’t taken stock of how her body felt, “well— uh— I don’t think so.”
“What are you doing out here?” His eyes slid curiously over her attire.
She bypassed his question. “Can you drive me into town please?”
“Of course,” the man said, gesturing her to his car, one of his hands gently landing on her back as he guided her slowly to the passenger seat. Once safely inside, she allowed her focus to return to the ring. She ran her fingers over it again, wondering why it didn’t feel foreign.
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She was anxiously looking out of the window of the hospital, watching people bustle about, not a care in the world. The feeling of despair, of melancholy, of loss was unbearable and seemed to become amplified as she waited for Frank to get there.
The hospital staff hadn’t shared much. They had asked so many questions, but she had the answer to only a few: what year she thought it was, why she was out at the stones, and that her husband was Frank Randall.
Frank. The thought of seeing him was throwing Claire into unexpected turmoil. He had been her safe place, her rock, the man who shared her memories, and her past. But every time she imagined him walking through that door, there was an inexplicable pang in her heart. It was as though it didn’t belong to him anymore, as though she needed to shield herself from him, from what they had. Something had changed, and that something was too big for her to comprehend. And then, this feeling of being ripped away from something else that was— was—
Claire shook her head, frustrated. Every time she got to that point, there was a block, a wall. She folded her arms and huffed, her attention drifting back to the street.
She could hear voices down the hall, muffled whispers. “I will tell her when the time is right.” They drifted in and out. “I think that would be best.” … “With all she’s been through.” … “It’s good she has you.”
The radio was playing irritatingly in the background, and she heard footsteps. She didn’t turn to look, assuming it was a nurse coming to check on her.
“It’s so noisy here,” she said coldly, “and can you turn that bloody thing off, please?”
The music stopped, which did nothing to temper her irritation. She just wanted to be left alone.
“Claire?”
When she locked eyes with Frank, the pang, the despair, the hurt, everything, came flooding back, but she outstretched her arms for him. It was a familiar face, and one full of love for her.
He came to sit on the bed, their embrace one of desperation. He was an anchor she needed ever since waking up at the stones. She felt adrift, but at least there was one thing holding her back from floating too far.
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“I told you, I don’t know!” Claire repeated, her voice rising again.
Frank stood behind the armchair in her room, one hand resting on the back, one in a fist, pressing between his eyes. “Alright,” he said, trying to temper her, “I—I just don’t understand how three years can simply vanish from one’s memory.”
Claire pushed out a breath, aggravated. They had been going around in circles. Frank was desperately trying to find answers, but Claire had no way of giving them to him. “I told you, I don’t remember anything. I remember going to the stones that day which, like you said, was three years ago, and I remember waking up there a few days ago, which brings us to now. I want to give you answers, Frank.” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “I,” a tear slipped from beneath her lashes, “want answers.”
He moved around the chair, sitting on the edge and reaching over to her. She flinched when his fingers touched her knee through the silk nightgown she was wearing, and he retreated.
“I’m sorry—” she started, but he held his hand up to quiet her.
“It’s alright.”
“It’s not,” she protested. “It’s not alright that I jump at my husband’s touch.” She stood up and began to pace the room. “It’s not alright that I’ve lost three years of my life. That we have lost three years of our marriage. That we don’t have any answers, and I just—” her hands balled into fists, the rage inside her growing as she tried to push the feelings and uncertainty out of her head.
She felt Frank’s arms wrap around her from behind, and although she jolted involuntarily, she fought the physical rejection from her body and forced herself to push back into him, to let the strength in his arms keep her grounded. But as she fell back towards him, her knees buckled, and he supported her as she collapsed to the floor. She couldn’t hold back what she was experiencing, she needed to be honest.
They sat on the floor together, her body pooled between his legs, physically drained as she spoke her truth. “I—I don’t want to hurt you Frank. I—I don’t even have anything real to tell you, only feelings, only instinct, but I’m afraid.”
“Of what?” he asked quietly.
“Of pushing you away, when you’re the only one I have left.” She frowned at her own words. She wasn’t afraid of being without Frank anymore, but there was something drawing her to stay with him. There was this nagging voice in the back of her mind telling her to stay close to Frank.
There was silence for a moment as he took in her words. “There is nothing you can say to me that would make me not want you. For whatever may have happened in the last three years, I forgive you. I still love you.”
Anger bubbled up at his words. She was resentful of them, as though him being graceful should be all she should want, as though he was some kind of uninvited martyr. Her head shook slightly as she tried to suppress that reaction. He was being kind, and understanding, and she tried to be grateful for it. But she wasn’t. “And what about this?” She held her hand up, gesturing to the ring she was wearing.
Frank shrugged, and wavered. “For all we know, it’s a simple piece of jewelry. You’ve been missing for three years, Claire. Anyone could have given that to you, you could have found it. Maybe the person who gave you those clothes, also gave you that ring. There are a million explanations for why that could possibly be on your finger.”
“Then why does it feel so important?”
“If it’s bothering you, take it off.”
She pulled slightly, uncommitingly, but stopped.
“It’s alright.” She could feel Frank deflate behind her. There was an unspoken tension of what this ring could potentially mean. “Take it off when you’re ready. Or keep it on. Maybe—maybe it’ll jog your memory at some point.”
Claire tried to straighten her spine, but her body refused, and slumped closer to Frank’s chest. “I don’t know what happened to me. I wish I did. I want to know where I’ve been, what I’ve been doing.” She lingered on that thought, trying to dig deeper into her mind’s eye for any clues, but there was nothing, at least nothing clear. “But,” she began tentatively, “I feel,” she searched for a more fitting word, but all she could come up with was, “sad. I feel like I’m missing something, something important. I think wherever I was,” she hesitated, “whoever I was with, was important to me.”
“Perhaps,” Frank said cautiously, “that feeling was you missing me, missing your life here, and you’re still feeling that.”
She knew he was reaching, but she considered it nonetheless. It could be possible. She could have felt lost, alone, afraid, and had been yearning to come back to her life with Frank, and this was the aftershock of it all. She tried to convince herself that this was a solid observation. It was something she wanted to believe, and so she clung to it.
She nodded slowly. “Perhaps.” She knew that it was what Frank wanted, and she wanted to comfort him, or at the very least, not upset him further. “I’m sure I missed you terribly, wherever I was. I’m sorry for what you’ve had to endure.” The words came out colder than she anticipated.
“It’s not your fault, darling.” He squeezed her tighter to him.
That familiar reluctance coursed through her, and it infuriated her. She was determined to fight against it with all she had. She turned in his arms to look at him. “I want everything to be the way it was before. I want to be us.” She pressed her lips against his. It was the truth, even if not in its entirety. She did want to go back to the way it was. She did want this to feel normal. But if she was being honest with herself, she knew it was impossible. She knew she had changed. She knew that it would never be the same again.
She pushed him back as she kissed him and climbed on top of his body. He was more than willing as he slid the silk material up to bunch around her hips. Claire fumbled with his belt and button, trying to free him from his pants. Reaching up, he pulled her down to meet his lips again, and she guided him into her. A groan escaped Frank’s mouth, and Claire slammed her eyes shut, conflicting sensations pulsing through her. Physically, she needed the release, she wanted to feel something other than the despair she had been experiencing, but being with Frank only reinforced the wrongness she felt.
Again, she refused to be controlled by something she couldn’t even remember. It wasn’t fair. The familiarity of Frank’s body helped her find her rhythm on top of him, but when she opened her eyes, seeing him brought up a tingling in her throat. Forcing it down, she closed her eyes again, and rocked against him, centering her mind on the feeling between her legs, the building response in her physical body.
Behind her eyelids, a red colour flashed, a tousle, like hair, moved through the blackness, and it urged her on. She concentrated on it as Frank flipped her to her back and began driving into her at a faster pace, his mouth on her neck. Giving access to her throat, her head fell back to the floor, her hands roaming over the skin beneath her palms, her mind envisioning broader shoulders, a stronger torso, a firmer buttocks. Grabbing one handful of his hair, and one handful of his arse, she urged him on, the indistinct picture of another man dancing through the darkness in her mind.
She heard a groan rise from her chest as her body built towards the release she so desperately wanted. The mistake was opening her eyes to meet Frank’s, seeing all the passion, need, and desire in him. The build was fading away. Closing her eyes again, she lifted her hips up to meet his thrusts, more desperate to will her body into wanting this, clinging on to the fleeting images she had seen before, but it was too late. Frank’s body shuddered as his last few thrusts brought him to orgasm, and he collapsed, spent, on top of her. A tear slid from the corner of her eye, her gaze fixated on a painting she hadn’t noticed before. It was of the Virgin Mary.
Claire waited as he pulled himself from her and shifted to the side. She felt numb, detached.
Frank draped his arm across her stomach. “I’m sorry. I thought you were close. I—I used to be able to tell—.” His delivery was awkward, but she understood. They used to be in sync. “I can help you,” he said in a low voice, his hand moving deliberately down, looking for the place between her legs.
Her hand stilled his descent. “No.” It sounded harsh, so she smiled weakly and gentled her voice. “I think I just need a little more time.”
He seemed to accept this, and sighed deeply. “I missed you so much, Claire.”
Staring at the ceiling, she hoped she wasn’t lying when she replied. “I missed you, too.”