“Could be short-term, but there’s a chance it might last a long time. He has a pretty severe concussion.”
“He’s not going to remember anything?”
“There’s no way to say for sure until he wakes up.”
I nod. “Okay.”
She rests her hand on my arm. “He’s going to live and he’s going to make a full physical recovery.”
It’s not difficult to note that she specifiedphysicalrecovery. I take a breath and nod as I move further into the room. Dr. Morrison shuts the door quietly and I’m left with Torin, asleep on the bed. For a while, I just stand over him, staring at every detail that I can see.
He looks so broken and small.
I take a deep breath. When that doesn’t help to calm me down, I take several more. Then I pullover a stool and sit at the side of his bed. Gently, I take Torin’s hand in mine.
Touching him makes tears fill my eyes again. I don’t know what to do right now. So I just stare at him. I watch as he breathes, chestrising and falling rhythmically. And beg the universe to let him wake up and remember me.
I’mjolted awake when Torin’s hand moves. I sit upright and look at him. It takes me a minute to realize his eyes are open. He’s not moving at all, except for his eyes. They’re taking in his surroundings.
I hold my breath and wait for him to look at me. It’s several minutes before his eyes meet mine and we stare at each other.
Before I even have to ask, I know he doesn’t recognize me. Torin always has a smile for me whenever we look at each other. When our eyes meet—the expression I receive is just for me.
I may never see it again.
“Hi,” I whisper. “I’m Hugo.”
Torin blinks slowly but he doesn’t respond. Does he remember how to talk?
“I’m your boyfriend,” I add.
His lips part and he takes a deeper breath. Otherwise, I don’t receive a response at all. But his eyes don’t leave mine. He remains looking at me.
“Do you remember me?”
He blinks again. Two times. Three. Then he shakes his head.
I try not to break down, but I can feel my lip tremble and tears fill my eyes, partially obscuring my view of him. “That’s okay,” I whisper, voice shaking. “They said you might not remember things for a while. You hit your head.”
Torin doesn’t speak as he watches me.
“Are you hungry? Thirsty? Do you need anything?” I ask.
A minute goes by before he shakes his head. It’s subtle. Almost as if he needs to remind himself how to answer.
I reach across him and press the call button. Torin’s eyes don’t leave mine.
A nurse comes in, followed by Dr. Morrison. Torin doesn’t even glance at them. They check the machines and the tubes. The nurse changes the bag.
“Torin,” Dr. Morrison says.
It doesn’t appear that Torin hears her as he watches me. It takes her saying his name two more times before he turns his attention to her.
“Do you know your name?”
He finally has an expression and it’s amused. Dr. Morrison smiles.
“Ah. Good. You were just ignoring me for this strapping young man right here,” she teases.
