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Edonia, it was rough. Rough and uncaring, especially on Chris. Losing his whole team except for one was no small thing. It's cost? Your husband's memory, wiped.
Amnesia.
There wasn't much the doctors could do, not when they were out of options; not when Chris wasn't willing to cooperate. It wasn't his fault. He was scared, angry, and confused.
With no recollection of his past, even you were a blur to him.
Knowing he didn't remember you – his wife – was one thing. But what really got to you was the way he looked at you: like a stranger, an outsider. The man you met all those years ago was non-existent, hidden within the shell of what was left.
You tried to be understanding, you really did. You wanted to understand what he was going through.
‘he can't help it.' You would tell yourself on the drive to the hospital, ready for another hour of your husband to stare at you like you were the enemy before giving you the silent treatment.
Even when he did talk to you, it wasn't kind. Chris would lash out at you, insisting he didn't have a wife nor even a girlfriend.
“Listen woman, I don't know you!” He would bark, his teeth gritted as he looked at you with nothing but anger. A side of him that was never shown to you before, not until now. “You're not my wife, and I'm not your husband!”
“Chris, please listen to me–”
“Listen to you about what, huh?! About how I've lost my memory? Or how you're ‘really my wife’?”
“Chris…”
“Just fuck off, damnit!”
With teary eyes you rise from your chair, unable to look him in the eye as you placed the container of food you prepared for him – his favourite. You had a feeling it wouldn't be eaten, it wouldn't surprise you.
That was the day you had to step outside of the hospital room, tears streaming down your cheeks as you sat in one of the stiff, rickety chairs. You just couldn't believe how your husband was acting. Sure, you could understand he was scared and confused; but you didn't expect this.
You had no clue what you were going to do, he wouldn't cooperate. It was going to be a nightmare trying to get him home, let alone getting him to be at least civil with you.
Furthermore, what were you going to do with him? Chris was your rock, your shoulder to cry on when things got hard. The man you married was buried so deeply within this version of him, unable to claw his way out.
That day, when he woke up in the hospital after the mission went sideways; you were overjoyed to finally see those dark brown eyes finally open after weeks of being in a coma, visiting everyday just to hold his hand. As if he would feel it through his unconscious state and come back to you.
The doctors told you he could hear you, so you talked; about everything and nothing. Work, your day, drama with the next door neighbours. Everything you used to talk about together.
The day he woke up, you were fast asleep in the uncomfortable chair next to his bed, your fingers were loosely intertwined with his. You felt him shift, digits slipping from yours. And through your bleary eyes, you saw him. Sitting up, hair tussled from being in bed for so long.
You were immediately on high alert, eyes wide as you called for the nurse.
Chris didn't say anything, but you did. Throwing your arms around him in an embrace, tearful as you called his name.
It was a relief, you felt relieved that your husband was going to be okay. A warm hand cupped the side of his face, fingertips brushing against his overgrown stubble.
“My God, Chris. I was so worried.”
It was then you caught his confused expression, looking at you funny. It immediately made you concerned, a bad feeling caught up in your gut.
“Honey, what's wrong?”
Then it came to your attention, Chris wasn't just looking at you funny. He was looking at you as if you were a stranger. You feared the worst, but you didn't want to. Maybe it was just the memories from his last mission, right? Right?
Chris brought his hand to yours, but not to give you his warm touch, not to reassure you he was alright like he always used to do. But to reject it, to reject your touch. As if he didn't want it, like it was a poison.
“Who– who are you?”
There it was. The beginning of the end. The mission outcome went so terribly he had no memory. And right on cue, in came the nurse – the doctor not far behind.
“What…?” You ask, “Chris, it's me, your wife.”
He just gave you a skeptical look, like you were playing a prank on him.
“I don't have a wife.”
There's a frown on your features as you look down at the wedding band wrapped around your finger. A gesture of his promise to you, to love you unconditionally and in sickness and in health.
But it was all forgotten. Just like that.
When he was informed of his condition, his memory loss, he didn't take to it kindly. Insisting he was fine, he had no amnesia. And he had no wife.
He didn't want you, your touch, or your love. And it broke your heart.
The doctor took you aside, informing you his memory will come back. It'll just take time. You were advised not to push too hard as it might make his state worse, and to be patient with him; very patient.
Chris didn't want to come home with you, insisting he didn't live with you, that he had an apartment. The apartment he hadn't lived in for eight years. It took convincing, but soon you got home with a reluctant Chris in tow.
The home you and him spent so many years building together was empty. Cold and empty. Even with him at home, Chris didn't stick around for long. He'd look at the pictures of the two of you on the walls and shelves with no form of recognition. Not even your wedding photos.
Every morning you awoke to his side of the bed empty and untouched. His cologne is still faintly clinging to the sheets. The clothes he owned had not been touched, neither had the book he would read before bed on the table beside.
It was hard. But once again, it wasn't his fault. Even if it hurt you, pushing through was the only way.
. . .
It was ten years ago you met. Just another night out for you and your friends at the average club in the early 2000’s. You were young and wild, full of energy as you danced the night away.
The drinks were surely flowing, you even flirted with a few guys just so they would buy you one for free. You easily charmed them into a few cocktails.
But what the hell, you had earnt this night out. After breaking up with your cheating boyfriend this was all you needed to let loose. Through the crowd of rowdy and tipsy people, you got separated from your friends as they found guys of their own to mess around with.
The rhythm of the music blaring from the speakers was what you needed, playing a mix of Britney Spears, Christina Aguilera and whatever else was popular at the time. Your feet moved on their own, dancing your heart out like there was no tomorrow with yet another drink in your hand.
You were already near wasted, your body buzzing from the alcohol as all fears were out the window. All confidence with every sway of your hips and every step of your feet. It was the time of your life.
That was until your clumsy footwork had you stumbling into someone; hard enough for the alcohol in your hands to end up spilt all over his shirt. Even through your hazed mind, you understood what just happened.
“Oh my God, I'm so sorry!” You spluttered, feeling the man's hands catching your shoulders to steady you.
Your head was already spinning, making you unsteady on your feet. All your eyes could see was the chest of the poor man you threw your drink on, and the large stain on his shirt.
“Better watch your step there,” He spoke, his voice deep and warm “Don't need you spilling more drinks on people.”
His tone came in as more of a joke, he wasn't too bothered about you soaking his shirt. Thank God.
Nodding your head, you finally brought your gaze to put a face to the voice. Only to see a handsome stranger in front of you; strong jaw, dark eyes. He might have just been the hottest man you had ever seen.
You were very drunk, and all you could do was stare at him like he was the best thing since sliced bread. He had kind eyes and an even kinder smile as he looked at you back.
You told him your name, drunken confidence was keeping you from stumbling over your lines.
“I'm Chris.” He introduced, hands still on your shoulders.
Chris… Repeating his name felt so smooth and silky rolling off your tongue.
He could tell you were hammered, he couldn't just leave you on your own. The question of where your friends were wasn't in the air. He already knew they were floating around the club somewhere, nowhere near you obviously.
“Let me take you home? You're drunk.” Chris stated it with a no nonsense tone. Even when you protested, he was still firm as he dragged you out of the rowdy, bustling environment of the club.
He lugged you over to his truck, not before the amount of alcohol in you caused you to throw up on the sidewalk; even holding your hair back for you. Always a gentleman.
You let Chris drive you home, strapped into the comfortable seats of his truck, music playing softly through the buzz of the radio. It didn't take long for it to rain, pairing with the dark night sky.
You were near unconscious in the passenger seat of his car, not even bothering with a seatbelt as your drunken state lulled you to sleep.
When he got you back to your apartment, the rain had transformed from light drizzle to pelting down heavily on the both of you. Through your drunken, too trusting mind, you offered to let him stay the night.
“Stay the night, it's not safe to drive.”
“Please, I don't want to overstay my welcome.”
But you persisted, dragging him into your apartment by the wrist and shutting the door behind him.
“You're staying,” your words were firm, guiding him over to the couch even with how much you were stumbling. “You can crash on my sofa for the night.”
In the morning, after waking up to Chris making breakfast for you to help nurse your hangover, you found his number in your flip phone.
He helped you through the pounding headache of your awful decisions the night before. You could barely remember last night's memories, just that you met a man and brought him home.
You were sitting at the kitchen counter, facing Chris as he presented you with food and pain killers.
“So uh– did we..you know?” You ask the awkward question, your face already burning with embarrassment. But Chris just chuckled, shaking his head.
“No, we didn't. You were drunk, so I gave you a ride home.”
He informed you, easing your worries. Because it would've been really bad if you didn't remember the man you brought home if you did sleep with him.
“You also didn't want me to leave, mainly because of the storm last night.”
After that night and an awkward situation, it bloomed into something much more beautiful. Chris didn't even go home after that morning, the two of you went out to lunch and really got to know each other. Everything just clicked for the two of you, feelings already growing so quickly for each other.
A few months later, he asked you to be his girlfriend. After taking you out on a beautiful date and even presenting you with flowers. That was also the night you slept with him for the first time.
And did he absolutely rock your world.
No man before him could've pulled such sounds out of you, playing you like an instrument until you were crying and gushing around him.
The cold air of the evening whipped against your skin, wrapping your coat tighter around yourself. When Chris was discharged from the hospital, he didn't like to stick around in the house for long.
He would disappear for a few hours to a few days, with no thought of letting you know. Why would he? He didn't recognise you as his wife. He just saw a stranger standing in front of him, wearing a wedding ring and his last name.
His treatment was nothing short of painful, every question you asked seemed to be taken as interrogation. Every try of caring for him was no use. Chris would tell you the same thing every time.
“Damnit woman, just stop! I don't want your care. And I sure as hell don't want you.”
It broke your heart every time. But the reminder the doctor gave you stayed tucked away in the corner of your mind.
‘Be patient, it's what he needs right now.’
The house had been missing from his presence for over a week now, meals at the dinner table that were once so warm and full of life were now spent alone. Spent eating a cheap microwave meal since you were in no mood to cook anymore.
The bed that was shared, once more cuddles, conversation, kisses and even passionate nights of lovemaking, now was cold. Sometimes you could feel the ghost of his touch along your body, warm palms dragging your hips to meet him in the middle so he could hold you in his arms the entire night.
You longed for the feeling of being back in his arms.
You asked around, asking Jill, Claire. Anyone you knew who was close to him. Closer than you. Through them you found he was wasting his days away in some bar across town. And not a nice one. He stowed himself away, drinking in the less desirable part of town.
Originally, this was Piers' job, your husband's lieutenant. But you begged and pleaded with him to give you a chance to bring Chris back to you. Eventually, he caved. Allowing you to do this, he needed you to report back to him straight after.
You were at your absolute limit, it was time to get your husband back. Whether he remembered you or not. You figured something familiar was what he needed. The necklace that dangled from your neck was some Chris had bought you. For your first anniversary as a married couple, the initial for his name being the pendant. — the letter ‘C’
It went everywhere you did, a touch of comfort for you to remember the many nights he held you, kissing you as much as any man could and more.
Your heels clicked along the pavement as you ventured into the more shady parts of town. The types of streets that weren't well-maintained, graffiti on walls and rubbish bags everywhere.
It really did put your anxieties on high, clutching your handbag just a little bit tighter as you hurried along before the possibility of getting robbed came to you.
How could Chris walk around these parts? Although, it was no secret he was intimidating. He was a big man equipped with the strength of a brute. No stranger would dare to challenge him, so obviously it gave him an advantage of being around here.
The bar came into view, a shifty, near decaying place, the flickering lights in its name above the door. This place was one of the bar’s Chris went to before he met you; and you thought you had been able to take him away from places such as this.
You thought you had drummed more...sophisticated tastes in bars into him. Not to sound snobby, of course.
And its patrons? Let's just say they matched the atmosphere of the place. It looked as bad on the inside as it did the outside. The paint was peeling, the once pristine white walls now tattered with all sorts of grime and dirt. And the decor? It had seen better days, it was very outdated. It wouldn't have surprised you if something there was rotting.
This really wasn't your scene.
Sat upon the bar was Chris, nursing a glass in his hand. Probably whiskey you assumed. That's what he always had.
He wore one of his old black jackets, paired with the turtleneck shirt you always loved. It always had the ability to somehow make his muscles look all that bigger, and the bastard always used to use that to his advantage. Usually so he could get lucky after date nights.
But now wasn't the time to be thinking about that, you were on a mission. It was already obvious from the expression on his face how he was feeling. Brows pinched together and jaw clenched. This was probably going to be difficult. But you weren't going to give up until Chris was home.
The sound of your heels clacking on the wooden floor notified the man of your arrival as you made your way across the bar. Ignoring the many wandering eyes of the men there. It was already uncomfortable enough here without them..
When you slid into the hard, miserable bar stool next to him, Chris was the first to get a word in before you could.
“I'm not going anywhere with you, wife. So save it.” He snapped impatiently at you, swirling his drink around in his glass before knocking it back in one go.
The way he used the term ‘wife’ was harsh, like more of a mockery if anything.
“I’m not here to take you, let's just– talk.” You offered, worrying your bottom lip with anxiety. It broke your heart further when you noticed Chris didn't have his wedding band on, he probably threw it away.
“Talk?” He scoffed, eyes trained on the bar, like looking at you would turn him into stone “What's there to talk about?”
You looked around, avoiding the heated gazes around you. Though they swiftly averted you when they realised you were with Chris. He had probably all already asserted some kind of dominance over them.
“So, uhm– this the place you've been coming to?” You ask, almost hesitantly like he'll snap at you again. That was probably the case.
“Don't like it?” Chris returned, only half-assed in whatever this conversation was as he signalled to the bartender for another drink.
“No, no it's–” There's a pregnant pause in the air as you try to come up with the best word to describe the run down place “tasteful..”
Chris huffed in bitter amusement, shaking his head.
“I know you don't like this place, I can tell.”
Guess he still knew you somehow, even if he couldn't remember.
“How'd you know I'd be here?”
“You used to come here a lot, before.. Us..”
The last word died down to a murmur, your gaze avoiding his. With how he was acting, all you could do was grieve the man who he once was.
“Before us.” He parroted, looking into his drink as if it held all the answers he was looking for.
“How long?”
“What?”
“How long have we been…Together?”
“Ten years, married for eight.”
Damn, a whole decade. And all it took was one mission for all of it to be forgotten. He had no words, nothing to give other than to take his drink and sip it.
“Please, Chris.” You murmur, gently slipping your hand into his, careful enough just to test the waters. “Come back to me.”
His fingers twitch, almost shying away from your own before they encase yours. Tracing along the metal of your wedding ring like it was muscle memory; something he had done countless times.
It made his heart thump faster. He didn't know why. Something about you just felt so…familiar. Even if he didn't recognise who you were.
“I don't…”
“Please, Chris.” Begging him softly, squeezing your fingers around his. He emptied his lungs of a breath he didn't know he was holding.
“How can you be so calm and patient with me? I've been nothing but an asshole to you.”
Chris' words were laced with guilt and regret, even if he was feeling all this confusion and pain of losing his memories, he shouldn't have been so harsh with you when you were only trying to help.
“I know how to handle my husband.” You reply fondly, a faint smile on your lips as you avert your gaze towards his.
He was struggling for words, stuck in the back of his throat as he took in your gaze. But he was stopped in his tracks when your warm palm cupped the side of his face to turn him to look at you.
Only then did he catch a glimpse of the necklace you wore, the one with his initials. It was obvious you wore it with pride, pride of being his wife out of all the other men out there.
“I don't deserve you.” His own palm covered yours, his tough soft despite his rough exterior.
“You do, Chris. You do.” Enforcing your words, your thumb gently swiped over the expanse of his cheekbone, dotted with stubble that really needed to be shaved.
“I'm…I'm sorry. I've forgotten everything.”
“That is not your fault, please know that.” Your heart broke for your husband, blaming himself for so much. Even for things he couldn't help.
“Come home, we can get through this. Together.”
Home.
You wanted him home. And the thought of being alone for more time made Chris feel empty, even if he couldn't remember you.
“Alright, let's go.”
You couldn't exactly pinpoint how it happened. Maybe, even through Chris' amnesia he found himself still attracted to you.
It came somewhere between dragging him home and sitting upon the counter in the bathroom as you cleaned him up, his hulking form standing between your thighs.
You made sure his hair and everywhere else was now clean – smelling like you due to using your shampoo and body wash – and you got rid of the very overgrown stubble coating his cheeks.
“I can do this myself, y'know.” Chris murmured, relishing in the feeling of your touch, holding him still as you swiped the razor down his stubbly cheek.
“I know, but, I want to.”
After weeks of wallowing in his own despair, he was more than glad to let you pamper him like this.
You had even forced food into his stomach, getting the first good meal in probably days for him. It wasn't a cheap instant meal, you cooked his favourite for him. Which he gladly wolfed down, just like he used to when you would eat with him.
Then things happened, just like it did ten years ago. The two of you fell into bed together, tangled in unexpected kisses and heated looks. And you just couldn't resist, the feeling of his lips on yours was something you had missed so much. Something you'd been craving. Just raw attraction, want and need for each other. From your partner.
And the feeling of his cock? Hands down, even better.
Chris’ face was shoved into the crook of your neck, mouthing at the skin as he had your drippy hole stretched around his fat cock. It was almost like he knew every spot to get you weak, like he had the instinct there all along. Your legs were hooked around his waist, fingers intertwined with his. You could even feel his wedding ring, the metal cool against your skin. It brought tears to your eyes to know that he hasn't thrown it away afterall.
You hadn't taken Chris in so long, and he wasn't small either. The two of you would regularly have sex, but after weeks of nothing it took you a little bit to get used to him once again. Letting him work you open with his skilled tongue and thick fingers for hours until you were begging him to finally fill you up. The stretch couldn't have felt better, even with the slight sting of his girth.
The scene was similar to a recreation of your wedding night with Chris; full of raw passion, a deep connection threading the two of you together. The night your ring fingers adorned that golden band that glinted in the moonlight that doused the room.
An endless symphony of:
‘Oh God, don't stop!’
‘Ngh, right there!’
‘Please, please, just a little more!’
Filling the room, the shameless erotica bounced off the walls, only feeding Chris' desire to reclaim you once more; his wife.
“Please, oh God– don't stop!” You cried out, the tip of him hitting that spot along your walls so deliciously.
“I don't plan on stopping,” Chris groaned hotly against the shell of your ear, punctuating his statement by slipping his cock out until just his tip was inside of you, before using a sharp snap of his hips to fill you up.
“Not until I re-learn every inch of this damn body.”
With that, his lips locked with yours, drinking in every sound he wrenched out of you like it was something he was thirsty for – like he would die without it. Your tongues tangled in a battle for dominance, pleasure. All until you pulled away with slick lips and a string of drool connecting the two of you together.
The approach of an orgasm quickly made itself known. Chris always had the ability to have you gushing around him so quickly. How could he not? After he had spent years of learning your body's weak points, and exactly how you liked to be fucked.
Chris dropped his head to your chest, circling your sensitive nipple, already puffy and raw from his earlier teasings. Arching your back and pushing your chest into him, the action gave him better access to suck and lick at you; making your head reel with burning bliss.
“Oh!”
A rough thumb messing with your already swollen clit only made matters worse, your walls clamping around him with the fear that he would let go and leave you without his warmth. The sound of his groans only encourages you further.
“I'm– I'm gonna–!”
Your fingers tightened around Chris', nails close to biting into his skin.
“I've got you, pretty girl. Just let go.” He praised you and goaded you, only shoving you further onto the cliff of euphoria.
When you came, it was like a sharp coil of tension snapped, weeks of worry and anxiety and fear all washing away. You came hard around Chris and milked him for all he was worth.
There it was; the rough, throaty groan he would release when he came. Something you missed more than ever, and now you had it back. You could've come again just from the sound, and the feeling of his sticky come filling you up for the first time in ages.
Chris collapsed on top of you, skin to skin as the two of you gasped for air. For the first time, since this whole shit show, you saw recognition in your husband's eyes. It felt like you had won the lottery.
He was so warm, everything was so warm. Tears of relief filled your eyes, you were getting your husband back.
“From the top, I wanna remember everything about you, Mrs. Redfield.”