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Once we reach the stairs, I place my hands on the armrests of the chair and attempt to stand up. Soreness erupts throughout my muscles.
“It’s okay.” Elizabeth tries to keep me down. “I’ll call Jason to come and help carry you up.”
“No need.” I stand, using the railing for balance. Something tells me I hate imposing on people or asking them for something I can do on my own.
The sound of the music continues thumping from outside.
“On second thought.” I sit back down and try to maneuver the chair without triggering the pain in my shoulders.
“You okay there, darlin’?” Elizabeth keeps me in place, stopping me from falling sideways.
“Yeah. I want to see what’s going on outside.”
“Well…umm…” Her gaze darts back and forth.
“What is it?”
“It’s better you don’t.”
“What do you mean? Who’s out there?”
“Your college friends.”
I smile. “One more reason to meet them.”
Maybe like Dr. Anderson said, seeing familiar faces will finally shake me out of this zombie trance and give me something to look forward to.
Like regaining my memories.
“Right.” She pauses, glancing sideways as if trying to find a way out—of what, I don’t know. “Maybe it’s because you don’t remember that you don’t care, but the old Reina would never let others see her this way.”
I glance down at myself and the simple denim dress the nurse helped me put on at the hospital. Before we left, Erika helped me wash and dry my hair. It’s neatly tucked into a ponytail, and I look presentable enough. There shouldn’t be a reason why Elizabeth would think otherwise.
“What way?” I ask.
She motions at my face. “All bruised and not in top shape.”
“Don’t tell me I used to get done up to meet my friends?”
“Done up?” She laughs in a heartfelt way. “You never stepped outside unless you looked like a goddess.”
Okay, that’s even more superficial than anything I’ve heard about my life thus far. Why would I care so much about my appearance when, according to the picture the detective showed me, I’m naturally pretty?
It’s not like I’m a model or something.
An urge pushes me to go see what’s going on
out there, but what Elizabeth just told me stops me in place. I can’t go against what the old me used to do just because I want to.
I must’ve had a reason for acting the way I did.
Deep down, I refuse to believe I’m that vain or plastic or another stereotypical cheerleader.
Unless I figure out my reasons for having them in the first place, I can’t break any patterns. I can’t ruin my life just because I lost my memories.
Besides, as Dr. Anderson said, all of this is temporary. I’ll remember everything sooner rather than later.
Right?
