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Chapter Nine
Ivy
Istareattheclothes on the hospital bed.
Soft to the touch black denim with rips in the knees. A man’s hoody in navy blue and a matching tank top. And a bra and panty set in a brighter version of my favorite color that looks like it costs more than I have in my bank account.
The clothes came via courier this morning, according to the nurse who delivered them to me about half an hour ago. The box of strawberry Pop-Tarts is a nice touch.
The note in my hand reads;
Baby,
I don’t have the right words to convey how truly sorry I am that I wasn’t there when you needed me. If you’ll forgive me I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you. I won’t let you down again, Ivy. I promise. I’ll be there when you’re discharged to bring you home. I’ll be there no matter what you need.
Rogue
I flip the rectangle over and stare at the back of the card. It’s as blank as my memory from the last few months. The doctors say that it’s a trauma response. I couldn’t handle what I did to myself so I blocked it and the reasons for my actions out entirely.
It’s weird because I have long-term memories. Everything up until the time I spent in Sunny is crystal clear. My dad’s death still hits me hard when I think about him.
I have college homework that I know was due months ago, but I don’t remember doing it. Or even going back to college after last summer.
And the weather turned cold. It’s like I went to sleep in the summer and now it’s almost Christmas.
The man who bought me panties? And signed the card? He’s a wild anesthesia dream that I had post-surgery. Or, at best, a crush I have on someone so famous I could never be in his orbit, let alone talk to him. Let alone get naked enough around him that he knows my cup size.
I cover the bandage on one of my wrists with my other hand. The wound hurts a lot. It aches down to the bone. I get these pins and needles because I managed to cut into the nerves. The pain meds they have me on help, but they suck. I feel sick all the time. Sleepy. Confused.
I don’t know why I did what I did. I don’t know what I was thinking or feeling. I have no clue why I had so much sedative in my system at the time. Or where I got the prescription drugs from.
I don’t understand why Rogue Maddox is sending me packages and apologizing. Or why he thinks that I am going anywhere with him.
The doctor steps into my room. She has auburn curls that bounce around her shoulders and her identification on a lanyard. We’ve talked a lot these last few days. She checks the tablet that she carries. “How’s the memory this afternoon?”
“Still missing.” I drop the card on top of the package.
“Do you have somewhere safe to stay? Somebody who can be with you?”
“I think so.” I fidget with a strand of my hair. It’s greasy because the shampoo they gave me to use isn’t my regular brand and no one brought me anything from home. The box from Rogue is the first thing that I’ve received from outside the hospital.
Not that it matters that I didn’t have any of my things. Showering is practically impossible with one wrist bandaged and the other in a cast; never mind scrubbing my scalp. Showering without a nurse doing most of the work will be a dream come true. Well, it will be once I have the cast off.
“Who sent the package?” the doctor asks.
“Rogue Maddox.” I say his name like it might spark something for me. Of course it doesn’t. I know who he is. I’ve seen all his movies. Followed his social media. He fascinates me like a bird in a cage fascinates a cat. We’ve never met. As far as I’m aware.
The nurses say differently. I hear them talking about me when they see me. Rumor is he came to the hospital. That he was the one who brought me in. That we’re married. That he hurt me.
She frowns and picks at a thread on her pants. “Will you stay with him?”
Possibly. I can’t imagine moving in with the famous playboy. A man that I don’t know from Adam. A man who may have caused me physical harm. Not unless there’s no other option. “Have you heard if my friend Adira has tried to contact me?”
“Adira? No, I don’t think so.”
“Liam?” I ask with my metaphorical fingers crossed. I don’t expect that he would go by that name now, but it doesn’t make sense that he hasn’t at least tried to find out if I’m okay. We’ve been besties for so long. Through thick and thin.
