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I rarely see Jasmine looking so stressed. I try to brush it off. No person can ever be sunshine and rainbows all of the time. I notice a message on my phone and check it while waiting for her. I instantly wince when I see it’s from James.
Time is running out. We need your decision ASAP. The flight to Peru is scheduled.
Dammit. Why haven’t I called and told them I’m out? If I’m hesitating this long to tell them am I making the right decision? The only sure thing I know is I don’t want to leave Jasmine. That means I can’t go... doesn’t it?
The damn guilt consuming me is the worst. I’ve never felt bad about the possibility of taking a job, not a single time in my life. I know Jasmine cherishes our time together as much as I do. She already said she’d understand if I go on this mission. But how can we make it if we’re stationed in two different places? We can’t. Long distance relationships are hard under any circumstances, that’s why soldiers so often split up. We’ve barely reconnected. If I leave now, we will end, whether either of us wants that or not.
“Ready,” Jasmine says as she comes back into the living room. I place my hand on her back as I escort her from the room. She’s tense.
We take her vehicle since it’s bigger than mine and I feel safer in it. Maybe I’m over the appeal of convertibles after the two of us flew over the side of a bridge. Anyone would be under the same circumstances.
I sit in the driver’s seat of the SUV, my hands tightly gripping the steering wheel. Jasmine’s gaze is fixed ahead of us as she stares out the window. Something’s seriously wrong, but I don’t know what it is... and she’s not talking. We were walking on air yesterday, so I can’t imagine what’s happened in such a short time to make her pull away from me. If we weren’t on our way to a doctor appointment, I’d pull the vehicle over and demand she tell me.
As we drive through the city streets of Miami, I steal a dozen glances at Jasmine. Her face appears calm, but I see hints of worry in her eyes. What happened to being open with each other? Even as I have this fleeting thought, I wince because I’m once again not being fully open with her and my struggles. Maybe she senses this and that’s why she’s pulled away.
We’ll talk as soon as her doctor visit’s over. I don’t want anything more stressing her before she goes into that room. I want her to get an all clear, want her to be told she’s fine. I want to stop thinking of her as fragile when I know how strong she is, and I want her to have peace of mind. It will continue gnawing at my gut until I get to the bottom of this.
My phone buzzes, indicating I have a new message. I briefly glance at it, seeing the name of my handler at the FBI sending another message. Shit. I have to deal with this too. I’ll do it just as soon as the appointment’s over and I’ve spoken to Jasmine. It seems I’m a pro at putting things off. I’ve never been this man, never been the person to ignore my duties, but if I don’t want to face something, I pretend a problem doesn’t exist.
We arrive at the doctor’s office a few minutes later. I help Jasmine from the vehicle, though it seems she only reluctantly accepts. I have to bite my tongue to keep from demanding she tell me what in the hell is wrong. It’s driving me absolutely bonkers.
We make our way inside, and like I thought, the waiting area is crowded, filled with people having hushed conversations. I despise the smell in a clinic. They clean to the point it burns a person’s nose. I keep my arm around Jasmine’s back as she checks in, offering her silent support. My concern’s growing with every passing second; she looks miserable.
About twenty minutes pass before Jasmine’s name is called. I don’t ask her if she wants me to accompany her. I’m afraid she’ll tell me to wait. I simply rise and escort her through the door, hoping and praying she doesn’t make a scene and tell me to go away. The white walls of the sterile area seem to add to the tension between us.
The nurse weighs Jasmine, then we go into a small room where her blood pressure and breathing are measured. After several tests, the nurse finally leaves, telling us to wait for the doctor. Jasmine sits on the examining table while I take a chair against the back wall.
“Jazz, what’s going on?” I ask when we’re alone. I can’t stand this much longer.
“Now isn’t the time,” she quietly says, and my heart sinks. She’s not telling me what’s wrong, but she’s letting me know there’s a definite problem. I want to demand it from her, but I can only do so much in this office.
It doesn’t take long for the doctor to enter the room. He’s wearing a smile as he looks at both of us, and finally Jasmine’s lips turn up. She liked him in the hospital. He’s a good man. I liked him too. He greets both of us warmly.
“How are you feeling, Jasmine?” he asks.
“I’ve been feeling good. My exhaustion’s gone. I’ve been working out every day. It took a while to build up my endurance, but I’m nearly where I was before the accident. I’m still about five pounds lighter but I don’t see how it’s possible with the amount of food I’ve been eating. I must have a really fast metabolism,” she says.
“I can attest to that,” I add.
Doctor Michaels chuckles. “I remember that from the hospital.” He looks at the chart.
“You took your labs last week and the results are in. You’re doing great. I like all of your stats, your blood pressure, your breathing. Even your blood cell counts are up. I’m ready to one-hundred-percent clear you... physically,” he says with only a short pause.
“What aren’t you saying?” Jasmine quickly asks, picking up on his hesitation as much as I have.
“Based on your symptoms and your lack of memory and all you’ve described to me, the problem at play now is psychological. I’m not sure why you’re still blocked, but you are,” he explains, his tone and expression gentle.
Jasmine’s brows furrow in confusion. “What do you mean?”
He leans forward, his expression empathetic. “Sometimes when we go through such a traumatic experience like you faced, the emotional stress is too much for a person. Our minds are complex, and they do all they can to protect a body. Sometimes the way they do this is by blocking memories. The brain doesn’t want you to relive the horrific experience you went through. The problem is, though, that too much can be blocked. Our brains aren’t really good at self-regulating how much memory to take away,” he says. I want to demand answers, but I don’t. I wait for him to finish. This is about Jasmine, not me.
“So, my mind is like a maze and has hidden some of my memories so well, even it can’t find them?” It sounds so funny, I actually smile the slightest bit. The doctor chuckles.
“That’s a very good way to put it. This is certainly a good explanation for your current state,” he offers.
This makes me wonder if she’s subconsciously hiding things from herself. Was she truly as happy as I thought she was in our relationship? Or was she pulling away and didn’t know how to tell me? Was she pulling away then like she is right now? I’m more confused than I was when we left the condo a couple of hours ago. It’s killing me not to ask a million questions. I’ll let her ask what she needs first.
“You must release yourself and allow your memories to come back. I believe that’s all that’s holding you back now. I don’t see any further physical damage,” he says. “This won’t be an easy journey, just as everything else hasn’t been, but with the help of therapy, if you go like you’re supposed to, and have support from loved ones, you can recover nearly all that’s been lost. If you’d rather not recover it, you’ll live your life just fine. It won’t hurt you.”
