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“Asshole!”
13
Ire
“What happened?” I went to rub the side of my head, but an older man stopped me.
“Careful. You have a nasty gash.”
“Who are you?” I looked around the dimly lit room, not recognizing it. “Where am I? The hospital?” Jesus, I hoped I wasn’t in the ER. I hated doctors and the smell of ammonia. I had too many awful memories of both from when I was a kid.
“Oh, fuck. I’ll get Storm.” A concerned man darted out of the room.
I didn’t recognize him either.
The white-haired dude cleared his throat. “Um, I’m Dr. Stewart, but my friends call me Patch.”
“Patch? What kind of name is that?” Movement from my other side caught my attention. A blonde woman stared at me with her hand over her mouth. I’d never seen her before either.
“A road name. Can you tell me your name and what you can remember?”
I eyed the nervous doctor. “Drew Rivers is my name. Now tell me where I am, Dr. Stewart. This place doesn’t look like a hospital.” If my head didn’t feel like it was floating in outer space, I’d march right out of this place.
“That’s because it isn’t one. What’s the last thing you remember, Drew?”
I squeezed my eyes shut and scrubbed my hand down my cheek. “It’s kind of fuzzy.”
The other dude returned. A man with dark hair, a full beard, and intense gray eyes came to my side. “Hey, brother. How do you feel?”
“I’m not your brother. Where the hell am I?” I tried to shift upward in the bed, but the pain in my damn head kept me on my back.
“Storm, it should be temporary,” the old man told the guy staring at me like his puppy had just died.
“How do you know?” the Storm guy asked.
“Stop talking about me. I’m right here. I don’t know any of you or where I am, so someone better clear it all up for me.”
Storm looked at the doctor, who nodded. “I’m Storm, and you’ve met Patch.” He addressed the guy behind him. “He’s Lynx.” Then he pointed at the woman. “That’s Libby. She’s Patch’s assistant.”
“You all have some strange names. This has got to be a fucking tripped-out nightmare.”
“It’s not,” Storm replied through gritted teeth.
“No? Then why am I here?”
“You live here. Tonight, someone hit your head with a bat. You were unconscious for a while. Soon, you’ll remember everything.”
“Are you saying I lost my memory?” Fuck that. I know who I am.
The old dude approached. “It’s not uncommon to experience memory loss after a blow to the head. The good news is you’ll be just fine. In time, you’ll get back all your memories.”
I studied both men. “Shit, you’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Yes, quite serious,” the old dude said.
My heart rate skyrocketed. “So what do I do now? How do I know you all aren’t bullshitting me? How do I know you haven’t kidnapped me?”
This wasn’t right. These people were lying to me.
