I Don't Remember Loving You Novel by Chloe Belle _ Novel




I Don't Remember Loving You Chapter 01

While I was buying my own cemetery plot, I ran into my ex-boyfriend.
Right off the bat, he started mocking me. "Grow up. Dyed red hair doesn't make you an edgy teen."
He actually reached out and tugged on it. "Seems like life hasn't been too kind to you since you left me. Your hair feels like garbage..."
I couldn't pull away in time. The wig slipped right off, exposing my freshly shaved head.
He froze, totally shell-shocked.
Holding my late-stage tumor diagnosis in my left hand and my newly ruined wig in my right, I flashed him a wide smile. "You jerk. You're paying for that!"
***
I glared at this strange man and his weird expression, absolutely furious.
Who was this guy?
He had zero sense of boundaries!
That red wig was a special order, something I got right after I had my head shaved for the craniotomy next month.
The red looked vibrant, and I just wanted something to bring me a little good luck.
But, on its very first day out, the wig ended up in the dirt.
It was completely ruined—covered in dust, grass clippings, and wax from the unlit candles over by the tombstones.
I forced a polite smile and pulled up my Venmo QR code. "It was 55 dollars new. I'll just charge you 50. Pay up!"
He glared at me with a sneer. "We haven't seen each other in years, and you're still the same money-grubbing loser you've always been. Did you blow through that hundred grand I gave you back then?"
I froze.
Wait, what?
So that fat check in my wallet—the one I never dared to cash—actually came from him?
I wasn't sure, so I kept my mouth shut and let him talk.
He kept going, his tone dripping with hostility. "I have a lot more money now than I did three years ago. If you want to get back together, forget it. I wouldn't give you the time of day."
I was totally bewildered.
A brain tumor began pressing on my nerves three years ago, wiping out most of my memory.
I couldn't remember him, but I was sure I knew him.
Because simply looking at him made my chest feel strangely heavy.
I felt weighed down by a past I didn't want to face, but couldn't seem to easily escape.
I asked tentatively, "What... were we before?"
His eyes went red, and he shouted, "We had nothing to do with each other!"
Well, that was direct.
He stared at my bare scalp and scoffed. "I always knew you were dramatic. Five years ago, on the night of June seventeenth, your hair got caught in your jacket zipper, and you threw a huge fit about shaving it all off. I'm impressed you actually went through with it."
I was stunned.
Did this guy have a photographic memory?
He rolled his eyes and muttered, almost to himself, "I even bought you a new jacket after that incident, and you loved it back then. You've probably thrown it out by now."
I racked my brain, trying to remember.
"Mira, I found your favorite jacket!"
My best friend, Claudia Owlton, came jogging over, completely out of breath, holding up my denim jacket. "You left it in the backseat of the cab. Thank goodness it didn't get lost, or you'd be a wreck and wouldn't be able to sleep again."
She draped the jacket over my shoulders.
The strange man's eyes grew even redder, and his voice trembled. "So you do care about the past. You treasure the jacket I gave you, but you completely threw me aside?"
At those words, the heaviness in my chest intensified, and my head throbbed painfully.
I frowned and urged, "Just pay me. I need to get going."
I didn't want to remember anything else.
I was at death's door; there was no point in dwelling on lost memories now.
He grabbed my arm. "Why exactly are you at the cemetery today?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

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