Page 99 of Brain Damage

I hear his voice: “Charlotte?”

My vision is fuzzy but I can see Clark’s face above mine. “Please,” I croak. “Please. Call 911.”

I expect him to pull out his phone and dial 911. But instead, he just stands there.

“I can’t believe it,” Clark mutters. “I can’t believe that incompetent loser shot you in the head and you’re still somehow alive.”

I watch as Clark sits down on the couch to my left. I don’t understand it. Why isn’t he calling for help?

“Clark,” I gasp. It occurs to me that every word could be my last.

“I don’t understand it,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s like there’s no way to get rid of you.”

I don’t know what he’s talking about. I want to beg him to please, please, please call an ambulance. But I don’t have the strength to say it anymore. My vision is growing fuzzier every second.

“No,” Clark says quietly. “I’m not going to call 911. Not until I’m ready.” He stares down at me with his beautiful blue eyes. “Not until you’re dead.”

“Please, Clark,” I whisper with my last ounce of strength. Pretty please with sugar on top. Don’t let me die.

“Don’t try to manipulate me, you bitch,” he says. He leans in towards me. His lips part, and he hisses the words in my left ear: “You deserve this.”

71

My old apartment fades out and now I’m back in my hospital room again. I’m lying in bed and staring at my husband. I feel dizzy, like I might pass out. My heart is beating much too fast.

“You left me to die,” I say softly.

Clark frowns. “What did you say?”

“You left me to die,” I say again, this time enunciating each word clearly.

Clark’s face changes. All of a sudden, he starts looking very nervous. He shakes his head at me. “What are you talking about?”

“I remember it.” My heart is beating so quickly now, it actually hurts. My temple is one big mass of pain. “You sat down on the couch and told me you were going to wait for me to die before you called for an ambulance. Except you didn’t wait long enough.”

“That’s ridiculous.” His dark eyebrows knit together. “You’re hallucinating. You realize you have a brain injury, don’t you?”

“I remember it,” I say firmly. “I know what you did. And I know you were married to Regina Barry. That she left you, and that you blamed me for it.”

The color drains out of Clark’s face. “What are you talking about? Who told you that?”

“Regina did.”

Clark just stares at me for a minute, as if weighing his options. I glance over at the door to the room. It’s closed. I can’t even see the light of the hallway through the space under the door. Based on the screams I sometimes hear at night, I know that the rooms are not soundproof, but considering I’m a brain injury patient, would anyone come running if I started to yell?

Where is that call button?

“What did Regina tell you?” he asks in an oddly calm voice.

“Enough.”

Clark takes a step back. He stares at the wall over my bed, his breathing disturbingly even.

“I’m not a bad person, Charlotte,” he says softly. “I’m really not. I didn’t mean for things to happen this way. Honestly.”

I shake my head. “Did you ever even like me?”

“It’s not like that, Charlotte.” For a moment, he squeezes his eyes shut and he looks like he might cry. “My career was totally screwed… everything I ever worked for. I had all these debts, no job, and Regina was the only good thing in my life. Then she left me, and it was your fault. If you hadn’t fixed Regina’s skin, she never would have had the guts to leave.”