Married To A Stranger (Wattys2021 Eligibility Award) EDITING

Chapter 1

It's been one year and six months since the accident, and it seems as though I will not be regaining my memories. The only constant in my life is Mark, who has been there since I woke up in the hospital.

But I don't remember who he is. I thought familiarising myself with something I had once known would help; that's what Dr Scottish told us, but nothing has changed since then.

No flashbacks, no muscle memory. It's almost as if this is a new experience for me.

"We yah tink bout?" Mark asked while hugging me from behind.

My body doesn't remember him, but according to our marriage certificate, we have been married for almost two years. There are no wedding pictures, no friends from my past, and no family either. This doesn't make any sense.

"Nutn really enuh" I turned around and wrapped my arms around his neck.

"Jus a luk out. Me cah get tyad a dah lake yah," I said to him.

"Kay, if sumn a badda yuh, yuh know yuh can talk tuh me bout it rite, and me will help yuh out," Mark pleaded.

"Me alright, man, babes, serious," I reassured him.

Karla Johnson is married to Mark Johnson. Her birthday is April 26, 1990. She attended St. Hugh's High School for Girls and studied journalism at the University of the West Indies (UWI), Mona, in the CARIMAC faculty.

That's all I could find in my research. That much seemed to be true, but my past seems to have been erased since the accident, and Mark won't allow me to go anywhere alone to find anything out.

For the first couple of months, I thought he was just being protective, but lately, I've been getting a creepy feeling, and the hairs on the back of my neck are telling me he isn't who he claims to be.

"Well, me almost done cook," he said, kissing my forehead.

"Yah guh get yuh self ready fi eat?" he asked.

"Yeah, a wah yuh cook?" I asked while heading up the stairs before I could get a response.

I made my way to the bathroom and washed my hands and face. Looking in the mirror, I had no idea who was looking back at me.

"Who yuh gurl? And why yuh cah memba nutn?" I thought to myself.

"Yow babes, dinna ready!" Mark shouted from downstairs.

Mark’s a web designer, so he can pretty much work from anywhere, and that includes here at the house, with me all day, every day.

"Mah come," I shouted back.

Looking back at my reflection in the mirror, I knew I had to find a way to remember who I was.

Walking into the kitchen, I must admit, he is one hell of a chef. Dinner looked good, and living with him for so long, I know it'll taste just as good.

"Yuh wah help?" I asked as I rounded the table.

"Nah, me gud. Jus put di sumn dem pan di table," Mark answered with his back turned.

I took out the silverware and started setting the table. Since it's just the two of us, I was done quickly, and by that time he had also placed the food in the middle.

"Mhmm, food smell gud man. Wah mek yuh cook dis?" I asked him as we both sat down.

"Me need a reason fi cook sumn gud fi me ooman?" Mark asked in an unfamiliar tone. I wasn't sure if he was being sarcastic or rhetorical, but it's like I had ticked him off.

“No, me neva mean it like dat," I replied.

I could feel the anger radiating off him, even though we were sitting opposite each other.

"Yuh gud man Kay, me did jus wah cook sumn nice. Yuh know say me love yuh already, and me did jus wah show yuh dat todeh," he replied.

I could tell he was begging me to look up at him, and for some reason, my whole body was protesting. If I'm being honest, I'm beginning to be fearful of him these past few days. Forcing myself to meet his gaze, I smiled.

"It gud man, and me appreciate it. Come mek we eat suh me can big yuh up," I reassured him.

And compliment the chef I did. Even though we were used to each other's cooking, Mark always seemed to have a way of making it seem like it was our first time. I'm surprised he's not a chef instead of a web designer.
We had mashed potatoes, macaroni, baked chicken, and a glass of red wine.

"Rass Mark, food did bad man," I told him while we sat at the table.

"Why yuh neva tun a chef rada dan a web designer?" I asked.

He smiled.

"Well, my mada did mek sure say me did know how fi cook from me a bwoy. Suh me grow fi love it," he replied.

We cleared the table, put away the leftovers in the fridge, and put the dishes in the dishwasher.

"Me will clean up di kitchen, yuh can gwan upstairs," Mark said to me while walking back into the kitchen.

"Yuh sure? Me nuh mind helping," I told him after turning around.

He placed his hands on the sink, trapping me in the middle.

"Yes, me sure. Jus fi see how yuh eat off yuh food alone mek me happy," he replied while kissing my forehead.

I know he was trying to be romantic, but I'm having a hard time reciprocating.

"Aright, jus nuh stay dung here too long." I kissed him on the cheek.

I could tell he was expecting more, but he accepted what I gave. I headed upstairs and into the bathroom. I quickly brushed my teeth, changed into my pyjamas, and went to bed.

Drifting off to sleep, the last thing I heard was a voice. I was not sure if it was a memory or a creation of my imagination, but it was as clear as day.

"Me must get yuh Kay," the voice said.

"All if a di last ting me do pan dis earth " Why did that voice seem so familiar, and what did it mean?