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Dr. Anderson nods as he goes through a pad in his hand. “We thought we’d lose you to the vegetative state, Miss Ellis. You’re lucky.”
Lucky? Is he blind? Can’t he see the looming presence by my side? It’s like he’s waiting for the doctor and the nurse to leave so he can pounce on me.
Cut me open.
Eat me alive.
I try meeting the nurse’s gaze and asking her for help, but I don’t get the chance.
Or more like, the asshole blocks my communication. Whenever I try to catch her eye, he tightens his hold on my hand, making me wince.
Motherfucker.
“What…what happened to me?” I finally ask the question that’s been playing in my mind since I opened my eyes.
“Blunt-force trauma to the head.” Dr. Anderson’s brows soften. “A hunter found you in the forest near the edge of town.”
My nose scrunches. “What was I doing in the forest?”
“That’s what I want to know, Reina.” Those deep green eyes are so close I can feel the malice rolling off my skin and seeping into my bones. “What were you doing there? Were you thinking about leaving Blackwood?”
I try to pull my hand from his, but he grips me harder, disallowing my release. “I…I don’t remember.”
Then it dawns on me. I don’t remember.
And it’s not only about why I’m at the hospital or the asshole holding my hand or even my name.
It’s everything combined. I have no recollection of my entire life prior to waking up here.
Oh, God. Oh, no.
Is this some sort of a telenovela?
Dr. Anderson nods. “Short-term amnesia is common in such cases. Now that the swelling has gone down, the memories should trickle in eventually.”
“Swelling?” My eyes widen.
“Yes.” The doctor flips through his file. “When you first arrived, there was swelling caused by blunt-force trauma. It’s the cause of your two-day coma, but we’ve been monitoring it and gradually reducing it, and we’ve succeeded. As I said, you’re young, and short-term amnesia isn’t uncommon.”
“You…you don’t understand,” I croak. “I don’t remember anything about myself.”
Dr. Anderson nods with thoughtfulness. “All tests came back with no problems, but we’ll run one more MRI and CT scan to make sure. You have basic common knowledge, and everything else will trickle in.”
“What if it doesn’t?” I ask, voice spooked as if I were out in a dark winter night.
“Then it’ll be a case of retrograde amnesia.”
“And I can’t be cured of that?”
“The brain is a complex organ, Miss Ellis. We still know so little about how it works. Unfortunately, there’s still no cure for amnesia, but if you return to your normal life and surround yourself with friends, family, and familiar items, especially scents, it might help in regaining your memories.”
Might.
As in even the doctor doesn’t know how the hell I go back to normal.
But then again, what is normal?
Surely it doesn’t include the asshole holding my hand or the pain pulsing at the back of my head.
