THREE
Lucy
It’s not.
I squint my eyes open, wondering how much time has passed. I’m still in the seven-star hospital bed. The sunlight filtering in is more subdued now, so it must be later in the day.
Or, knowing my luck, I’ve missed another fucking year.
My headache has dulled to a faint vibration, but fatigue’s ready to drag me back under. I blindly reach for the water glass on the bedside table and nearly send it flying, along with some flimsy papers.
Curiosity piqued, I pick one up—it’s all about retrograde amnesia. There’s a disgustingly cheerful couple plastered on the front page, announcing: “You may not remember the past, but the future looks fabulous.”
Is that supposed to be comforting? We’re talking amnesia here, not a Bahamian cruise.
I pull a face, or at least I give it a shot. I’m on enough drugs to sedate a whale, so even face movements are hard.
“Lucy.” A nurse steps into the room. “You’re awake.”
“Hey,” I croak, water dribbling from my chin, having missed my mouth entirely. “How long was I out this time?”
“Only a few hours,” she says as she comes closer to the side of my bed. “I need to take some blood tests. By the way, I’m Katie.”
“Sure, Katie.” I muster up a weak grin. A flutter of unease has me asking her to confirm the year, in case I’ve somehow lost or gained more time.
“That’s it.” She smiles back sympathetically. “Don’t worry, the doctor will be in shortly to talk to you about the next steps, now that you’re awake. You’re in the best care here. Dr. Ramirez is a rockstar in the world of head trauma medicine.”
“I’m so drowsy,” I moan, lifting my arm a couple of inches off the bed. “Everything feels heavy and sluggish, like I’m swimming in syrup.”
“That’s the pain meds. We’re tapering you off those.” She swabs some antiseptic onto a cotton bud and gently applies it to my skin before fastening a band around my arm. My arm clenches as the blood flow slows down.
“Is my mom here? Does she know?”
“She’ll be back soon, she dashed out to grab a bite. She flew in from England this morning. Brace yourself, sharp scratch coming now.”
“FromEngland? But she wasn’t in England.” Mom wasn’t visiting Aunt Meg. I avert my eyes, feeling the prick of the needle piercing my skin. “She shouldn’t be… I don’t remember,” I whimper.
“Try not to worry, Lucy. You’re on a high dose of medication. You’ve had some friends drop by too.”
Must be Priya and Libby. Maybe Matty? They’ll jog my memory. A few stories from them and it’ll all come flooding back.
Hopefully, I’ve won the lottery. That could explain why I’m holed up in this swanky hospital.
“Hey, do you know where my phone is?”
“I don’t think you came in with one. You must have lost it. Your belongings are all in the locker—you have your purse and driver’s license though.”
“But I don’t drive.”
“You must have learned.” She smiles at me as she places a cotton ball over the puncture wound. “All done.”
She moves away to record my info while I stare at the ceiling.
Maybe not having my phone at this point is a blessing. Am I really ready to have my past unveiled via a screen?
The cocktail of drugs numbing my senses is the only thing stopping me from losing my shit. Questions race through my head like wildfire.
What the hell’s been happening in my life?
