Title: Remembering Us
Author: Stacey Lynn
Genre: New Adult Romance
Release Date: January 14, 2014
Hosted by: Love Between the Sheets Promotions
SynopsisMy life was perfectly mapped out for me since before the day I was born. I followed it, begrudgingly, because it’s what was expected. And then one day, everything changed. I woke up. Different. Independent. Free from all the rules that had surrounded me. Only I have no idea how I got to where I am. I have no memory of graduating college. No memory of Adam, the boyfriend I live with. He loves me. And I love him. At least that’s what everyone says. Except when my memories return to me as dreams, I see a different man than the one everyone claims is perfect for me. He terrifies me. He makes my heart race and he makes me feel things I’ve never felt before. I have no idea if I want to welcome the emotional roller-coaster that his piercing brown eyes and messy black hair puts me on every time I get a glimpse of him, or if I want to run back to the safe shelter of the scripted life-plan that used to be mine.
I was given this book by author for honest review. Amy has had an accident that has resulted in amnesia. She is missing several years of her life but what she misses and fears the most is losing Adam. She also feels as if she losing her mind and sanity when all she does remember is bits and pieces and not the whole story. Story of love loss and remembered love. Sad, funny, and exciting with some unusual scenes and twists. Good Job.
Amazon US: http://www.amazon.com/Remembering-Us-Stacey-Lynn-ebook/dp/B00HUBWC3A/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1389647317&sr=8-1&keywords=stacey+lynn+remembering+us
“So who was the girl?”
I stare at the ceiling, ignoring my therapist’s question. I hate this room. The walls are yellow but not a happy yellow. More like what I imagine baby poop looks like. And the chairs haven’t been updated since at least the sixties. By the time my sessions are done, the only thing that’s changed is the imprint of the scratchy fabric on the backs of my thighs.
Instead of answering the question, I count the ceiling tiles and multiply the rows. Ironic that I use math at a time like this when it was a math class that got me into all this trouble in the first place.
Reliving all these dreams every week is almost as exhausting as having them in the first place. Talking about them doesn’t make anything better.
“Adam?” Dr. Jamison has lost interest in my silence, again, and turns to him. She’s about fifty years old and her faded blonde hair that hangs down to her waist is always braided. She wears flowy, multi-colored hippy skirts and mismatched tops every time I see her. Sometimes I want to ask her if she has a joint, just to see what she says.
“Tina,” he says softly. I stare out the window at the playground that sits empty at the park across the street. “It was just Tina.”
“She was a friend from home. We grew up next door to each other. She was in town that weekend visiting friends from our high school that went to college with me. That’s all.”
That’s all. It’s only two words, but they sound so condescending every time I hear them. It tells me that everything I’m either dreaming or remembering is made up or a half-truth of what the real life events actually were. It tells me that I’m being an idiot for believing them over my boyfriend who loves me. Or so I’ve been told.
Maybe I’d believe them if I remembered Adam at all.