Page 59 of Hate You Most

They went out briefly in the afternoon, just the two of them. Dakota purposefully kept her away from crowds, having chosen a quiet grocery store that she insisted barely had anyone in it.

Viktoriya was wearing a blue denim cap and large sunglasses. Dakota had told her it was to not overstimulate her mind, but she knew it was so she'd become harder to recognize. There was no reason for Dakota to be in the same cap—they looked like they were two lost celebrities dodging cameras, or rich kids sneaking out past their curfew.

Viktoriya noticed the candy aisle more than she expected to—with its bright wrappers and ridiculous sized chocolate bars. She never allowed herself to indulge in anything too calorie dense when training—and she was always training.

“This one,” Dakota said and held up a bag of chocolate Viktoriya vaguely recognized. “You used to like these.”

Used to. She was almost used to being spoken about in the past tense, though she still found it weird. Maybe that feeling would never pass.

Viktoriya nodded and put it in the cart.

Back at the apartment, she wandered around while Dakota put the candy away. She’d done this before—walked slowly through the rooms while touching the edges of a life she couldn’t remember living.

Tonight, the absence of her memory somehow seemed louder.

There were still no photos on the walls. No wedding photos. No casual reminder of their life together. Dakota still wouldn't give her access to her phone until she had been cleared by the doctors. The rational part of her brain understood that this was what was necessary for her brain to heal and return to something resembling normalcy. But the irrational part of her brain, the part that screamed the loudest, had grown desperate for any kind of proof of their relationship's existence.

It was so far out of her mind, the possibility of her having married Dakota Sanchez. The possibility of their relationship being more than just casual hookups to let out adrenaline after competitions a few times a year. Viktoriya wasn't wearing her wedding ring—that too had been hidden and locked away from her.

She drifted into the bedroom and opened the top drawer of the dresser she’d been told was hers. It was nothing but neatly folded socks and worn out T-shirts.

She knew she was married. She didn't fully understand why she'd made that decision, but a past version of herself had. So what prohibited her from wearing her own wedding ring? Dakota also wasn't wearing hers.

She checked Dakota’s dresser too. Opened the drawers one by one, her fingers brushing past folded clothes and training gear. No box. No hidden compartment. Nothing that even hinted at what she was looking for.

Her frustration tightened in her chest as she pushed the last drawer shut.

Behind her, the floorboard creaked.

Viktoriya froze.

In the doorway, Dakota leaned against the frame like she’d been there long enough to see everything. Her gaze flicked from Viktoriya’s hands to the open room, then back again, slower now.

Viktoriya swallowed, forcing herself to breathe evenly as she straightened, the air between them was suddenly too cramped.

“We don’t have any pictures,” Viktoriya said.

“No.”

“And I'm not wearing a ring.”

Dakota shook her head once. “No.”

Viktoriya turned to face her. “Why?”

Dakota’s answer came too easily. “The doctors didn’t want you confronted with too much all at once. They said it could cause confusion. ”

“And the ring?” Viktoriya asked quietly.

Dakota hesitated a fraction of a second. “The same reason.”

Viktoriya studied her face. “Do I want to wear one?”

Dakota’s expression softened. “You did. You just took it off sometimes.”

“Oh,” Viktoriya said. She didn’t know what that meant. She didn’t know how she felt about it. “I can wear it now, yes?”

Viktoriya wasn't sure how much time had passed before she realized Dakota wasn't saying anything. She straightened up and blinked. She could tell she had made a mistake somehow, she could feel it.