• Chapter III: Part 3

    “SEE? THAT wasn't so hard,” Vincent said calmed. “Was it?”

    It was the smirk on his face that made me roll my eyes. “No,” I said dragging out the one syllable word as we took our seat at the restaurant table. The entire ride was completely and utterly nerve racking. I couldn't help but ask myself the whole time what on earth I was thinking getting into a car with a suspected stalker, but he proved me wrong nonetheless, considering I ended up safely at a restaurant downtown Des Moines. But then again...the day wasn't over.

    I shivered as an unexpected chill swept over my body.
    “You okay?”
    “Yeah,” I said unexpectedly defensive. Vincent just laughed despite the situation.
    A waitress walked over and asked for our orders.
    “Go ahead,” Vincent gestured to me.

    “Er,” I muttered having no idea what to order. “I guess I'll just have the popcorn shrimp. And an iced tea...sweat please.” She smiled and turned to Vincent.
    “No thanks, I'm not hungry.”
    “Then why'd you bother coming here?”

    He shrugged as the waitress walked away. “Well...you don't like Mexican...and I wanted to talk to you.” I couldn't think of anything to say to that. He wanted to talk to me?
    “Okay,” I said warily.

    “So...what'd you do to your hair?” There was obvious sarcasm in his tone, and I imagined myself throwing my ice water in his face. It's a good thing I don't act on impulse. “The truth please,” he said unexpectedly.

    The truth? There was an underlying message in that statement that I couldn't miss.
    “Well—” There was nothing I wanted more than to get this burden off my chest, and for some reason, I felt like I could confide in Vincent. “To tell you the truth...I just woke up like this.” I paused for dramatic effect, but Vincent simply lifted an eyebrow, a gesture for me to continue. “My hair, my eyes, even my skin.” I shook my head, embarrassed. “Obviously no one would believe me.”

    “I believe you.”
    My head jerked up quickly, and I saw the sincerity in Vincent's eyes...those serene, deep blue eyes. I actually found myself gawking at him with my mouth open and didn't realize it until I went to swallow the knot forming in my throat.

    “So what do you think's wrong? With me, I mean.” I averted my eyes to my clenched fists.
    There was a moment of silence before Vincent let out a huff of air and leaned back in his seat. “I don't think anything's wrong with you. Just genetics.”

    “Genetics?”
    He snickered. “Yeah, you're right. Something's definitely wrong with you.”
    I raised my eyebrow playfully. “At least you're honest.”
    His lips curled up slightly at the corner. “You can count on me.”

    An awkward silence followed his last statement for a few minutes, and I found myself humming unconsciously to the song I'd listened to on Vincent's CD.
    “Ah...High Society Rag. One of my favorites.” His voice startled me, and I almost found myself cleaning sweat tea off the table.

    “Yeah! I really enjoyed that CD—Oh! That reminds me.” I reached into my bad. “I brought it back for you.”
    Vincent waved his hands in front of his face. “Keep it...since you liked it so much.”

    “Oh, but I couldn't! It's yours, and you bought it after all.”
    “Consider it a late birthday present.” Birthday present?
    “How did you know it was my birthday?”

    “I heard Julie and you talking about it yesterday,” he replied quickly, daring me to question him again. I could take a hint.
    “Thank you,” I said genuinely touched.

    The waitress came and set my lunch on the table.
    “Thanks,” I said as I dug into my delicious shrimp popcorn.
    “So,” Vincent started after a few minutes. “'Kida.' Where does that name come from? Is it foreign?”

    I'd been asked numerous times to explain my name, and I always gave the same response. It's Native American. But with Vincent I wanted to tell the truth. For what reason, I'm not sure. I dropped my fork, and swallowed my last bite, then began hesitantly.

    “Well...it was the only thing I could remember.”
    His face went emotionless for a moment, and I started to rethink my decision to be honest. “What do you mean?”

    I sighed internally because I knew that there was no turning back. “My parents...they...they abandoned me when I was eight. Then disappeared.”
    There was a moment of intended silence, and then he spoke carefully. “I'm...I'm very sorry to hear that.”

    I shook my head. “No, it's okay. Like I said, I can't remember anything.”
    “You can't remember what happened? Or you can't remember your family?”
    “I can't remember anything that happened from the moment I woke up in that police station.” My lips formed a tight line and my fists clinched at the memory...at the frustration. “When the police asked me my name, the first thing that came out was Kida. So I only assumed that was my name.”

    I forced myself to look up at Vincent after he didn't say anything and saw him staring at the spot in front of him. It was odd because his lips were as pursed as mine and his fists just as clenched. “I see,” he finally said. I couldn't help but give him a skeptical expression. His reaction was unlike anyone whom I'd ever told the story. Julie was overly empathetic, and Jeff just preached about how parents should be there for their kids and then went into possible reasons for my amnesia.

    “Did anyone give an explanation for why you lost your memory?” he finally asked, waking me up from my reverie.
    “Um, well.” I sighed. “The doctors said that it was most likely caused by some sort of tragic event. My mind was trying to protect itself, so it just locked away all of those memories. Or at least that was the only logical explanation they could give. Honestly, I don't think they had any more of a clue than I did.”

    “I see,” he repeated. He was seriously confusing me. This was turning into more of an interrogation. “Well...I'm sorry to hear about your family's death.”
    “I never said they died,” I replied suspiciously.

    His eyes darted toward me and sent goose-bumps shooting up and down my arms. My breath caught, and I found myself unable to breathe.
    “I'm sorry,” he said warily “I...assumed.” He glared at me through narrowed eyes.

    “That's okay,” I croaked. Speaking doesn't come easy when you don't have air in your lungs. “I've always assumed the same thing.” After observing me for a few seconds, he relaxed and leaned back in his seat, apparently satisfied with my answers. What a strange person. He definitely kept me on edge.

    “I really am sorry.” His eyes softened, and this time, I could see the truthfulness in his expression and in his voice. But it was a strange sincerity. He sounded...guilty.
    “Really, it's okay.” I forced myself to speak while looking him in the eyes, and when I did, I couldn't take my eyes off of him. Our eyes were glued together. Like we were both trying to communicate an unspoken message. A message that we both knew but couldn't say aloud.

    “So,” he started. “You don't like cocktail sauce?” It took me a moment to gather myself.
    “I've never tried it,” I said sheepishly, relieved that Vincent changed the subject. “I don't really like spicy foods.”

    “You should try new things.”
    I let out a sharp breath off air, preparing myself for the worst as I dipped my shrimp in the cocktail sauce. Right as the spicy mixture touched my tongue, my face contorted, and I instinctively spit out the shrimp. Immediately my face turned beat red with embarrassment, but then, something unexpected happened.

    Vincent started laughing.
    And it wasn't his usual dry, mocking smirk, but a genuine laugh. It was so pleasant to watch. The smiled reached all the way to his eyes, and he radiated with pure joy.

    I must've not realized that I was staring at him, though, because his laughing abruptly stopped, and his mood went from amused to concerned. “Are you okay? Was it really that bad? I'm sorry, I—”

    “No, no!” I said promptly and giggled despite myself. “It's just...I've never seen you laugh before.” I guess he was caught off guard by that statement because he looked utterly confused. Like he'd just realized that he was actually laughing and having fun.

    “I—” he stuttered. “I guess you're right.”
    I snorted. “You should do it more often.”
    He smiled wholeheartedly, and I couldn't get over how beautiful his eyes were. I found myself smiling automatically.

    Maybe Vincent wasn't such a terrible person after all.

    next