After I lost my memory, I forgot about my scumbag ex

After years of deep love, my girlfriend lost her memory, and I was the only one she forgot. No matter how hard I tried, she couldn't recall our shared past, even treating me like a lunatic. Then, I overheard a phone call between her and her best friend, and everything became clear. Memory loss, my foot! I just want some excitement, to see him squirm while I'm getting cozy with another guy. My heart went numb. I broke up with her. And then, I scheduled brain surgery that carried the risk of amnesia.

...

Sarah didn't react to the breakup. She was committed to her amnesia act, completely oblivious to the fact that I was supposed to be her boyfriend. I was packing my things at her place when she came home from the hospital, accompanied by a young, handsome guy. This must be her "excitement," I thought, eager to start even before leaving the hospital.

What are you doing in my house? she asked, feigning confusion. I knew I couldnt wake someone pretending to be asleep. The guy beside her spoke up. Hes breaking up with you. Packing his stuff.

Sarah scoffed. I honestly dont remember any relationship with you, but since everyones saying it, Ill play along. She continued, her voice icy, Just make sure you keep your hands to yourself and dont take anything that isnt yours.

Her cold demeanor was convincing. If I hadnt overheard that phone call If she genuinely wanted out, she couldve just said so. I'm not the clingy type. I would've just left quietly. Why this elaborate charade, dragging everyone into her little drama? It made the whole beautiful memory feeltainted, like a fly had landed in my soup. Disgusting.

Dont worry, I replied calmly, I don't want anything that isn't mine.

I continued packing, now with two supervisors glued to my every move. They flirted, even kissed, right in front of me. The intimacy we once shared was now being performed with someone new. Maybe, just maybe, like she said, doing it in front of me was the thrill she sought.

I packed quickly. A few sets of clothes, some trinketsDthat was it. Fighting back the surge of emotions, I held up the bag. Ms. Johnson, I said, interrupting their lovey-dovey act, do you want to check this?

She glanced at me with annoyance. Just get out and leave us alone.

My heart clenched, a sharp pain that brought tears to my eyes. I dragged myself out, letting the tears flow freely only after I turned the corner.

My phone rang. Mr. Evans, the doctors voice said, since youve made up your mind, please come to the hospital as soon as possible to discuss the surgery details.

Before the breakup, I'd told the doctor Id go through with the surgery. Id been having headaches, insomnia. Tests revealed a brain tumor, benign for now, but with the potential to turn malignant. Id hesitated because of the risk of amnesia. I was terrified of forgetting Sarah, like shed forgotten me. But learning about her fake amnesia, her cruel gamethat sealed the deal. Life was more important than love. Might as well get the lovesick part of my brain cut out along with the tumor.

The surgical plan was finalized quickly. The cost was steep, though. I needed to figure out the money. I was a decent artist, with a background in photography. I made a living freelancing, but living in expensive New York City meant I hadn't saved much.

In the hospital elevator, I ran into Sarah and her new beau, Ethan Miller. Mark? What are you doing here? Are you sick? Sarah frowned. Strange. Wasn't she supposed to have amnesia? Why the sudden concern?

Visiting a friend, I mumbled.

Oh, which friend? she started to ask, then stopped abruptly, her eyes searching mine with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. I almost laughed. So much drama. Hollywood's loss, honestly.

Ethan tightened his grip around her waist. Sarah, honey, are you sure youre okay skipping that important meeting to come with me for my checkup?

Such a childish display. Rubbing it in my face, for what? We were over.

His pointless words, combined with the throbbing in my head, made me want to bolt.

Excuse me, I said, trying to move past them.

Hey, hold on, Ethan blocked my path. You look a little pale. Is it somethingyou knowunmentionable? You can tell us. Sarahs making soup tonight. Come over, have some.

I frowned, glancing at Sarah. Wed lived together, and Id never had her soup. Apparently, I wasnt worthy of her culinary skills.

I really need to go, I said, pushing past him.

Geez, touchy, Ethan said, following me. Whats the rush? We can give you a ride.

His persistence, the headache intensifying I instinctively jerked my arm away. He, a grown man, dramatically stumbled and fell like a delicate flower.

Dude, what the hell? I was just being nice. Now youre assaulting me? Ethan whined, getting back on his feet.

I looked outside at the bright sunshine. Now I knew why it wasnt raining; he'd used up all the drama quota for the day.

Mark, are you trying to provoke me? Sarah glared at me, her voice sharp, rushing to Ethans side. He was faking, obviously. Even a C-list actor could do better. Didn't she see that?

What? Hes made of glass? I brush past him and he collapses? I retorted, my voice rising.

Sarahs face flushed with anger. Apologize to Ethan. Right now. Or youll regret it.

Emboldened by Sarahs support, Ethan smirked at me, triumphant.

As a wealthy heiress, Sarah had a thousand ways to make my life a living hell. A snap of her fingers could get me banished from the city.

The thought made me swallow my anger. Onlookers were recording with their phones, muttering about how rude and aggressive I was. Probably some lonely loser, jealous of their happiness, one whispered. Must be some kind of psycho, another chimed in.

My temples throbbed.

Ethan, feigning innocence, intertwined his fingers with Sarahs. Its okay, Sarah. Hes probably just having a bad day. But he does seem to have a temper, maybe even violent tendencies. Im glad youre not with him anymore

The whispers grew louder, condemning me, calling me a scumbag, a loser.

Are you going to apologize or not? Sarahs voice was like ice.

Finally, through gritted teeth, I mumbled, Sorry. My bad. My body trembled with suppressed rage.

Sarahs gaze softened slightly, a flicker of something I couldn't decipher in her eyes.

Can I go now? I asked. She didn't reply, so I turned and walked away, not wanting to be a spectacle any longer.

Mark I heard her call, followed by footsteps. But she didnt follow. Another voice stopped her. Sarah, II feel dizzy. Can you help me? I think I need to see a doctor

Sigh. All actors. I wished they'd take their act to a real stage and leave me alone. I was exhausted, drained. I wanted nothing to do with them anymore.

Two days later, my boss landed a big client. Photography and a portrait. The whole studio, only I could handle it. The pay, he said, was enough for the surgery, with some left over. I jumped at it.

Then I learned the client was Ethan. Hed sought out our studio, specifically requested me. My task: to take their couple photos, and paint a portrait commemorating their love.

Time flew. I arrived at the beach with my equipment. Out of habit, I knew the best angles to capture Sarahs beauty. No matter who she was with, I could make her look stunning. The posesDgazing into each others eyes, embracing, kissingDwere just the icing on the cake.

The shoot was smooth, effortless. Click. Click. Click. Images of theirlove story froze in time. My heart remained a still, empty well.

At the end, we needed to choose a photo for the painting. Ethan scrolled through the pictures on the camera. Great work, Mr. Evans. Very professional. Not even a flinch. Impressed. The sarcasm dripped from his words. I heard it, but what could I say? It was a job.

Glad youre satisfied, I replied.

They finally chose a shot. This one, Sarah said. We want an oil painting.

They were silhouetted against the sunset, holding hands, smiling sweetly. The vibrant colors painted a picture of perfect happiness.

I glanced at Sarah. Our first photo together was also against a sunset. We were awkward, young, full of shy innocence. I wondered if she still had that picture. It didnt matter. None of it mattered anymore.

I packed my gear and took a cab home. Once the painting was done, the money in hand, I could have the surgery. What would I forget? Hopefully, Sarah. I didnt want to hurt anymore. Hopefully, Id never think of her again.

Ethan called constantly, always on speakerphone so I could hear Sarahs voice, her sweet nothings to him, like a purring kitten, playing along with his need to show off. As I painted, her image kept surfacingDher long lashes, the way her hair moved in the breeze. The clearer the memory, the worse the headache. Painkillers were my only solace, keeping me from banging my head against the wall. The sunset was a challenge to reproduceDthe colors, the blending, the layers.

Five sleepless days, fueled by instant noodles, I was a wreck. Finally, the last brushstroke. I stared at the finished painting. Sarahs smile wasnt the same as in the photo. Id infused it with the joy from my memories. Every stroke, every dab of paint, perfect.

I leaned back, closing my eyes, desperate for rest. My phone buzzed. Ethan.

Mr. Evans, he said impatiently, is the painting done? Tomorrows the deadline. If you cant deliver, well have to deduct from your fee.

My voice was raspy from disuse. MrMillerits finished. When would be a good time to deliver it?

He seemed surprised. Now. Bring it to our house.

I agreed and hung up. The paint was still wet. Carefully, I packed the canvas. Standing up, a wave of dizziness washed over me. I stumbled, catching myself on the table. Just deliver the painting, I muttered, then rest. I chuckled humorlessly. Take their photos, paint their love story, deliver it to their doorstep. Pathetic. But first, I had to live.

I took a cab, giving the driver the all-too-familiar address. I drifted off to sleep. The cab stopped at the gates of their mansion.

Sir? Were here.

The short nap hadnt helped. I felt weaker. I paid the fare, stumbled out of the car. My legs felt like lead.

I rang the doorbell. Once. Twice. No answer. My breath grew short, my heart pounded. My body was screaming.

Finally, the door opened. Ethan, in a robe, hair wet from a shower. Sorry, Mr. Evans. We wereoccupied. He smirked, unable to hide his smugness.

I didnt care anymore. No problem, I said flatly.

As I handed him the painting, I saw Sarah inside, wearing a sheer nightgown