Page 42 of Hate You Most

She looked familiar but also noticeably older than Viktoriya remembered. Her dark hair had grown longer and curled more at the ends. Dakota had slight creases under her eyes, and she was wearing dark glasses that Viktoriya had never seen before. Viktoriya couldn't remember if her rival had worn glasses before, it wasn't like they'd spend a whole lot of time just talking. Maybe she'd worn contacts? Viktoriya knew that glasses could be a pain while on the ice.

Viktoriya managed to swallow her spit. “Sanchez, what are you doing here?”

Dakota stood in front of her.

There was a blanket and black backpack spread out over a vibrant orange plastic chair that stood next to the bed. Jesus, whatever had happened to her had been bad enough for her rival to stick around for at least a night. She shouldn't have done that though, she should've gone home and not risked being seen together with her.

The nurse pulled her back into reality by instructing her not to make any sudden movements with her head or move around too much. Viktoriya leaned her head against the pillow and wished it would swallow her head whole.

“Ms. Volkova,” the nurse said and clicked a penlight. “Try your best to follow the light.” Viktoriya nearly jumped away as the light struck her eyes. She did her best to follow the light, but all she wanted was to close her eyes and remain engulfed in the darkness.

“I'm going to ask a few routine questions, just answer to the best of your ability. State your full name, please.” The nurse smiled at her, having replaced the penlight in her hand with a clipboard and pencil. She was tall, dark skinned and had a calming presence and voice that Viktoriya greatly appreciated.

“Viktoriya,” she said and swallowed her spit again. “Viktoriya Mikhailovna Volkova. Is Russian.”

The nurse nodded and wrote something down on her clipboard. “Good. What year is it?”

Ha, the year, that was funny. Everybody knew what year it was, these questions really were routine. The year. It formed in her mind but didn't contextualize into anything beyond the building pain behind her eyes.

“The year, Ms. Volkova,” the nurse repeated as she looked down upon her.

It was such a basic fact and it was right on the tip of her tongue. If the pain shooting at the back of her head and behind her eyes was just a little less, she was sure the answer would come to her. How was she supposed to focus, when the left half of her brain was being split from the right?

“What's today's date?” The nurse then asked instead. Viktoriya frantically looked to her rival, in hope she had the correct answer. Dakota stood quietly beside her hospital bed and looked near horrified.

“Wait no,” Viktoriya said. “I know—I know what year it is, just give me a second.”

“You have ten seconds to reply to the questions being asked, Ms. Volkova,” the nurse said and gave her a pointed look. “Unless you answer within this window, I'm forced to log it as unanswered.”

This was all so fucked up. Her head was pounding beneath her skull, and she was expected to answer questions only a second after waking up. “No, just—hold on—I know it. I know the answer.”

The nurse looked at her for half a second, before turning back to her clipboard. “Who is the current United States president?”

“Fuck, no. Just give me a second!” Viktoriya desperately wanted to cry. Here she was, raising her voice at this nurse because she wouldn't give her enough time to think about an answer for the questions. What had happened to her? Had she been knocked unconscious while on the ice or something? Where were her parents, and why wasn't she in Russia? If her head would just stop throbbing, then maybe she'd have more answers.

“Is… uhm…” Viktoriya took a hand to the back of her neck and tried to see if she could somehow massage the pain away. “I—I don't know. Thought it was…”

She glanced over at Dakota once more. Why wasn't she doing anything to help her? She was just watching her struggle. She needed more time to think about the questions. The fluorescent light alongside her aching pain made it difficult to focus on anything at all.

“Thought it was… 2014,” Viktoriya muttered. It sounded right enough, but why was she back in America and not in Moscow, then? Nothing made sense. “Yeah. It's 2014 now, yes?”

The nurse wrote something down on her clipboard. “The current president?"

“She's from Russia,” Dakota said after a moment's silence. “She might not know who the current president is.”

The nurse scribbled something down on her clipboard. “Noted. Viktoriya, can you tell me who the current Russian president is?”

“Is okay,” Viktoriya tried to smile, tried to laugh it off, but the entire thing came off as awkward. Nothing about this was funny, and it was starting to freak her out. How badly did she hit her head? “The current president is Obama.”

“Good,” the nurse said and lightly padded Viktoriya's shoulder. “What’s today's date?”

“Don't know—February maybe.”

“And can you tell me where you are right now?” The nurse continued.

“The hospital,” Viktoriya said. “America. I don't know where. Wanted to say Moscow, is wrong I guess.” She swallowed another lump that had gathered in the back of her throat. “After the competition I… I don't know.”

“You’re at the Henry Ford Hospital, at the Intensive Care Unit. And that was my next question, actually, the last thing you remember. What was this competition? Is that the last thing you remember?”