all out? And why do I know some things and not others? And surely I should remember something like sex? Or what a Coke tastes like? I mean, who the hell am I?”
Noah looked at me for a while. He seemed thoughtful and then he pushed a piece of paper across the table towards me. “You should start making a list. Write down all the things that you’ve discovered about yourself in the last few days.”
I sat down and looked at the blank piece of paper and imagined filling it with bits and pieces of myself.
“Do it,” he urged, passing me a pen now too.
“Right! Things I know about myself,” I scribbled.
1. I like sweet, milky coffee.
2. I like spicy foods.
3. I like Coke.
4. I like plants.
I glanced behind me at Chloe and then turned back to the list.
5. Parrots and birds don’t like me. Possibly rats too.
6. I don’t like hospitals.
7. I don’t like being inside a car.
8. I don’t like closed windows.
9. I don’t like animals in zoos.
I considered writing that I may or may not have had sex, but left that one off.
“That’s it so far.” I looked back up at Noah.
“You should keep it on you and, as you discover more things about yourself, add to it.”
“Will do.” I folded the paper and stood up, slipping it into my jeans pocket. My entire life so far, and all I knew about myself fitted neatly, with room to spare, into a small pocket in my jeans. What a depressing thought.
CHAPTER 17
I stood in the shower, letting the water rush over my body in warm, steady waves, as if it were washing something away from me. I looked down at my feet and watched the water disappear down the drain, along with whatever it was taking from me. This was the first shower I’d taken in days. I stuck my hand out of the shower and reached for my panties. I only had one pair. In the hospital, I’d worn some awful papery ones, but now I would need to wash these until I found out who I was and went back to my home and got a new pair. I scrubbed them with the soap, and then rinsed and squeezed them out. And when that was done, I turned the shower off and walked out. A full-length mirror on the back of the door—I’d only noticed it now—had completely steamed up. I wiped it with a towel and took a step back. And when I saw my body completely naked for the first time, I stumbled backwards, reaching out for the sink to stop me from falling.
The doctors had told me I’d had a previous surgery, but in my head, it didn’t look like this. I ran my hand over my arm and shoulder. This must be where I had a plate and screws in my shoulder. The scar was pale but prominent against my skin, and it was ugly. I turned and looked over my shoulder at my back, and there was the other scar, running down a portion of the length of my spine. It sat right in the middle of my back, dividing it in two equal parts.
These scars unnerved me. They were such a physical reminder that I didn’t know who I was. How could I have all these marks on my body and have no idea where they came from? My body was a foreign creature. I might as well be looking at someone else naked. That’s how it felt. I turned back to the mirror and continued to look at myself.
My breasts were small and round. Not much more than a handful. They seemed like good enough breasts, though, not that I’d seen many. Any, actually. My stomach was flat, but not tight. It was soft, and on my hips, a few white lines. Not scars, though. I didn’t know what they were. It didn’t look like I had much hair down there, and when I looked a little closer, it soon became obvious I did a lot of grooming. The tops of my thighs were a little dimpled in places, and so was my bum, but all in all, I seemed to have an acceptable figure, if I compared myself to some of the women in the magazines I’d seen in the hospital. I took a step closer and studied my face. Everything seemed okay there too. I wasn’t sure if I was what you would call beautiful. I certainly