Line, another line, let’s try to add some shadow to it, or perhaps press on the pencil at another angle… Rain lay on the floor, propped on the pillow, capturing another place from her dreams on the paper, but the work didn’t go well. The pencils—each and every one from her vast collection—were used and worn out, so the lines were smeared and soft, whereas for this very drawing she desired crispness and definiteness. The woman sighed with slight irritation; she was short on inspiration as well. Her hands were trembling and her grasp was faltering—no surprise, as she was leaning on her elbows—so the contours and shapes were uneven.

The thickness of the lines was perfect for making shadows, though, and Rain could play upon that, but she didn’t mean to compose anything blurred, mystical, and shaded. She drew the views hidden beyond the frame of the large forest monochrome picture hanging right in front of her, at least the way she imagined them to be, and this one was very realistic. Could it be her memory rather than her fantasy?

Drawing was her main source of entertainment—recently, anyway.

At the beginning, Rain had almost nothing, sitting alone constantly, enclosed in four walls when he was away. Like a spider confined in amber, or a fly caught in a web. The time passed slowly and seemed to stretch into eternity.

Each second felt like the gradual fall of a heavy water drop formed from the residue on the window glass or on the edge of the roof in the morning just before the first rays of dawn. The woman almost heard it crash on the ground. Someone with a different temperament would probably go mad from boredom, but Rain was endowed with a vivid imagination and infinite patience. At least she had that.

Thus, most of her time she read and reread all those books she picked from the vast array that rested lonely on the dusty, wooden bookcase shelves. Half of them were in German or some Scandinavian language. Rain was uncertain about that. She leafed through these hefty volumes, occasionally picking out rare familiar words, though still, she failed to grasp the whole meaning. Perhaps they were the Doctor’s; how could she possibly know? He avoided sharing too many personal details with her, as it was important that the memories came back to her naturally.

The woman pushed the drawing away and sat up in frustration, hugging her knees to feel safe and cozy, and staring at the photo on the wall.

After she read all she could again and again, she found another source of pleasure in her loneliness. Rain simply gazed at the landscape and imagined the world hidden beyond the frame, some people living nearby this lush, misty forest and their lives, all while caught up in a deep trance. After so much time spent scrutinizing every detail of this picture, it seemed to her she started discerning the colors. Sometimes, Rain observed and imagined long enough to feel that she herself was shifted into this golden-emerald world, strolling, sitting near the waterfall, bathing in its waters. Her imagination was so intense that the woman lost the sense of reality completely. She could indeed feel the warmth of the honey-colored sunrays, she could smell the damp earth and the fresh, poignant fragrance of the wild herbs. Her skin experienced the invigorating coldness of the water in which she was swimming, while her mind was caught in the soothing chirping of the birds. Once, her eye caught a deer silhouette, and another time she could distinctly hear the heavy steps of human boots. Or were they really human?

Dreadfully frightened, the woman suddenly became convinced that her imaginary trips could be unsafe for her. Shivering with fear, Rain realized she had been sitting in front of the photo all this time, lost in her fantasies. However, her hair was slightly wet, dewy waves weighing heavily on her shoulders, and she noticed tiny patches of dirt and a wet blade of grass glued to her bare soles. At that very moment, the Doctor entered the room, stirring the air around him, breaking the harrowing silence. His presence always brought changes. With an utterly concerned expression, he insisted that she never repeated these ‘imaginary strolls,’ for this was a perilous adventure that could threaten her life.

The next day, to her utter surprise, the man brought her paper and pencils, and Rain started drawing and has continued ever since. Her technique was skillful; you could definitely say she had an experienced hand. After short consideration, Rain asked the Doctor to bring her paints as well, but he refused, once again reiterating that it was ‘due to the menacing danger.’

‘Seriously? Because of painting?’ she laughed sarcastically. But the man looked earnest, and not the slightest shade of a smile crossed his face.

He never gave her his name, seemingly expecting Rain to find an answer in her memory. So, out of necessity and having no other choice, she resolved to call him ‘Doctor,’ simply because he saved her from death and took care of her physical state, binding her wounds—the traces left by some sharp objects driven deep into her flesh. Rain also had a concussion, which was probably the reason she was stripped of her memories. The woman often wondered why she stayed in his custody instead of being held in a hospital, but never found any sound explanation except that it was potentially unsafe. Any electronic device—she remembered watching films at least—seemed to put her under threat as well. It had something to do with the colorful picture, she guessed. It seemed insane.

Rain stood up now, fetched her blanket, and wrapped herself tightly; it was so chilly in the room…

Well, this care, concern, and devotion… Who was he to her, really, in her previous life? A husband, a partner, a lover? She didn’t notice a ring on his finger, but not everyone wears them, even in marriage.

Still, she knew they were together at least at some point in their lives. You always know if you ever kissed someone; you could remember the passion, strength, and warmth of their hugs, which sheltered you so many times… The smell and heat of their skin… And you could definitely guess if you were intimate before. And definitely, undoubtedly, the very feeling, the very experience of love, is unforgettable. Being this emotionally close would always leave a mark, would always stay printed, if not in your memory, then in your soul. In the very core of your being.

The man kept his distance at first, probably trying to avoid damaging her health, or unwilling to intervene with her remembering process, but she—she wanted him closer, she wanted more of him, of his care, to hide in his arms, to find safety in his being.

Rain called him Doctor because it was way better than Savior with its imminent religious aura, and better than the rude, simple ‘hey, you’ lacking the personal touch. She needed a name for him, something personal, affectionate, binding. Something loving. Well, did this nickname express fondness? Anyway, she tried. He mocked it at first, but eventually didn’t mind her calling him that, so it stayed.

© MarvellousNightmare on Coconut Doesn’t Exist
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