Forget Me (Hampton Harbor)
Read Forget Me (Hampton Harbor) Online
Authors: Jess Petosa
Copyright –2013 by Jess Petosa
This
book is a work of fiction.
Any
references to historical events, people, or places are used fictitiously.
Other names, characters, places, and
incidents are simply products of the author’s imagination, and any similarity
to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely
coincidental.
All
rights are reserved.
No part of
this book may be reproduced or used in any way whatsoever without written
consent from the author.
Cover
photo courtesy of Jessica Lynn Photography.
For
Brooke and Molly, so I can give you all you deserve
OTHER
BOOKS BY JESS PETOSA
Exceptional
Series
Exceptional
Rogue
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
5
CHAPTER TWO
14
CHAPTER THREE
19
CHAPTER FOUR
24
CHAPTER FIVE
29
CHAPTER SIX
37
CHAPTER SEVEN
42
CHAPTER EIGHT
50
CHAPTER NINE
56
CHAPTER TEN
62
CHAPTER ELEVEN
69
CHAPTER TWELVE
78
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
86
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
94
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
99
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
111
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
117
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
124
CHAPTER NINETEEN
130
CHAPTER TWENTY
136
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
143
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
149
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
156
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
164
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
173
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
179
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
193
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
202
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
208
CHAPTER THIRTY
214
OCTOBER
219
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
226
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
227
My first conscious
thought is
I'm thirsty
.
My eyes open slowly, and I'm greeted with more darkness. I blink
several times and my sight adjusts. I'm in a dark room, and a pale white light
filters in through the window to my left. I sit up slowly, propping myself up
on my elbows to start. The room is a fair size, with several pieces of
furniture and a large picture window. I don't recognize this place, but as my
mind grows clearer, I realize that I can't think of a room I do
recognize
.
Memories allude me quickly as I try to reach out and grab them. I
know that the large cabinet across from the bed is called an
armoire,
I know that the pale light is coming from the moon, and I know that the doors
probably lead to the closet and the hallway. What I don't know is where I am,
or more importantly, who I am.
What is my name? Surely I have one. Everyone has a name.
My stomach flips and my chest tightens. I throw the heavy quilt
off of my legs and reach for the side table, which happens to have a lamp. I turn
it on and take inventory of my body; two long legs, tanned skin, manicured yet
unpolished nails. I don't understand how I know about tans and nail polish, yet
I can't seem to place myself anywhere else before this moment. My hand travels
up to my neck and I grab onto a strand of hair, pulling it forward. It is
thick, brown, and hangs just below my chest. I reach up to touch my face but
that tells me nothing. There is a mirror attached to the dresser to my
right, directly between the two doors, and I kick my legs over the side of the
bed.
Standing comes easily but my head throbs wildly as I walk. Just
enough light filters from the small lamp that I can make out several features.
The girl in the mirror has hair that is parted to the side and hangs in waves
over her shoulders. She has a heart shaped face with a small nose set between
two large, dark blue eyes. The girl is
me
, but I don't
recognize her. Not one bit.
I bite back a scream as my chest starts to tighten. I watch as the
girl in the mirror brings her hand up to her heart, mimicking me, and for a
moment I think to blame her. She has a wrench and she is turning it slowly,
bringing fresh waves of pain with each rotation.
"Stop it!" I scream, dropping to my knees.
I hear footsteps in the hall and the door flies open and a warm,
golden light creates a distorted rectangle across the floor. An older man runs
into the room and kneels by my side, placing his own hand over mine. A woman,
his same age, rushes into the room behind him. She kneels in front of me and by
the pained expression on her face, I can tell the motion takes effort.
"It's okay, you’re safe here. We aren't going to hurt
you." Her voice is soothing.
"What happened to me?" I ask. My voice is high-pitched
and I'm not sure if that is out of fear, or if I always speak this way.
"You fell and hit your head, down at the docks. Do you
remember?" the man asks.
