It wasn’t really new information. I had assessed most of it myself while floating out at sea, yet, said by someone else, it was too much, too soon.
A cup was shoved into my hands, jangling whatever was inside. I hissed from the sudden ache in my wrist. Cold seeped from the plastic container.
“Ice chips,” came that stern voice as if he hated giving me anything at all.
“Thank you,” I gritted out. My voice was hoarse and dry. Weak. Something I shouldn’t be, something I knew people took advantage of. How I knew that, I had no clue. But something in the back of my head was screaming for caution.
Whoever these people were, they had pulled me from the water and treated me—I had been dying, I was aware of that much—so they deserved my thanks despite my weakness.
Just reaching for the cup took immense effort. My arm shook, and pain shot from my side. I clacked my teeth hard until the jolt passed. The hole in my side, I almost forgot.
Cup in hand and pressed against my chest for support, I lifted my arm to scratch at my eyes and the burning itch in my left one, and to remove whatever weight pressed down on them.
“No,” said the woman. She batted my hand away.
It crumbled limp down to the bed sheets, my whole arm aching with exhaustion from that tiny movement.
I flinched, wondering if another slap was coming. My fist clenched as best it could, ready if needed, no matter how weak I felt, no matter how much these people had helped me.
“No lifting the bandage.” Her voice was commanding but gentle, not the least bit aggressive. I relaxed a tad. “Not until your eyes have time to heal, and even then, I’m sorry to be thebearer of bad news, but there’s no guarantee you’ll see from your right eye again.”
Again?I wasn’t sure whether or not that was reassuring.
“You had open globe surgery on your right eye almost three weeks ago. Your left underwent amniotic grafting to repair chemical burn damage. Can you tell us what happened?”
I didn’t remember anything about a chemical. My head flopped back and forth, and my lip quivered as I tried to remember. Why wouldn’t it come? Who was I? Why me?
The cup in my hand tipped, and the ice chips scraped along its side. Then I felt plops of them fall onto my cloth-covered legs.
The doctor sighed heavily. “Don’t be in such a rush. Slow and small movements. Your muscles have atrophied and need time to build back up. We’ll need to plan physical therapy.”
The cup was stolen away, and a single ice chip was placed in my palm.
“Best if you don’t chew. Suck on one,” the woman stated simply.
Slowly, I sucked on the ice chip melting in my hand. The liquid dampened my lips and gums, soothing a little of the ache in my throat.
“How about your name? Let’s start with your name.”
“I…” There was nothing but darkness to answer that question. It was such a simple thing. A name. Mine. Yet when I tried to search, there was nothing but bleak black and gray to sift through. My teeth clacked. My breath quaked. My jaw clenched as my head pounded. I wanted to remember. I needed to. Just my name, at least that. Why was this so hard? I grunted long and hard.
“Calm down. It will come back on its own.” The woman patted my shoulder. “This can be very normal with a head injury.”
Normal? This didn’t feel normal. I felt lost. Alone. Frightened. My skin prickled, and alarm bells rang in my head. I unwittinglyadmitted weaknesses in front of strangers. These people didn’t know me; that much was clear. Could I trust them? My instincts warred between yes and no.
The snap of metal clipping against wood broke me out of my panic. I strained to make out what it could be.
“Margaux, leave us.” I shuddered from how close my boat-savior stood.
His harsh, gruff command was delivered without feeling. Maybe I should have been worried about the lack of care in his tone, but what I focused on instead was the steadiness of his voice. Something about him centered me. There was no venom in the delivery, no hidden malice, it seemed. For some reason, that mattered more than whatever power this man had.
“Monsieur De Villier, this is highly improper. She has only just woken up. I need to perform a proper evaluation.”
“Now.”
His tone was so cold, I understood the way the doctor’s breath hitched. I didn’t need to see to imagine her fear, but I didn’t share it.
The room went quiet for a few seconds before heels clicked on the tile. The twist of a door handle. The swish of the opening and closing door, followed by more clicking footsteps. Then I was alone with this strange bear of a man who spoke with as few words as possible. Perhaps that should have scared me, but somehow it didn’t. There was something calming about his huffing presence that commanded the air from the room.
