Torin looks at me again and his attention remains stuck.
“How do you feel, Torin?” she asks.
He doesn’t respond, though his eyes bounce to her for a moment.
“He’s been answering yes or no questions. He… doesn’t remember me,” I tell her.
“I see. Are you in pain, Torin?” she tries again.
Torin shifts a little. His hand flexes in mine, making his eyes flicker down to where I’m holding it. His hand flexes again. He shakes his head.
“Good. Are you hungry?”
It’s a delayed response again, but it’s another no.
Dr. Morrison spends several minutes asking him questions and all he answers are the yes or no ones. She promises me it’s encouraging that he’s responding. I’m not sure I feel quite so encouraged, but I’m glad he’s present enough to have some knowledge of what we’re saying.
“What can I do to help him remember?” I ask once he’s asleep again. My tears fall freely now. It feels like I’ve lost this man before I even had a chance to have him. I can feel my lips trembling. I didn’t even get to tell him that I love him.
“We’ll begin more tests once he’s rested for a bit,” Dr. Morrison explains. “Cognitive rehabilitation therapy is something that we can talk about to help him to stimulate neural pathways, improve memory recall, and enhance cognitive processing. It’s not a short road.”
“Will he remember me?” I mean to say the words louder, but they come out in a trembling whisper.
“Maybe in time. Maybe all at once. Maybe partially,” she says gently. “We’ll have to give it some time and see. I know it’s hard, butyou need to be patient. Your frustration will only add to his frustration.”
I nod.
He wakesup several times a day and every time, we go through the same series of events. It’s frustrating that we start over again. He doesn’t remember me at all.Again.Even from the time he woke up earlier. And the day before that. Every single time, I have to reintroduce myself. It’s a new knife in my chest every time.
Anger floods me. Someone is responsible for this. I hope he died. I hope he suffers a very long death. He stole someone’s fucking life. Torin may not be dead, but he’s been ripped from the life he had.
Furious tears run down my face as I bury my head into the side of his bed, pressing the top of my head into his thigh. Though I’m careful not to squeeze his hand too tightly. I don’t want to hurt him.
But I need someone else to hurt. I need them to feel this pain. They stole Torin’s life from me. They stole Torin from me. He doesn’t remember me!
I’m not sure anything has ever hurt this badly. And I’m not even the one who was in the accident. I’m not the one in a hospital bed with machines tied to me.
Dr. Morrison comes in the room while I’m struggling with my anger, staring at Torin sleep. She rests a hand on my shoulder.
“He might not remember you, but something about you is familiar,” she says.
I glance up at her. “I don’t think it is.”
“It is. His heart rate changes every time he sees you. Every time he looks at you. He may notremember,but there’s a part of him that does, even if unconsciously.”
“Are you just saying that to make me feel better?”
She smiles sympathetically. “No, Hugo. Watch his heart rate.” She takes a minute to explain the numbers and the lines on the screen. “It’s always a little quicker when he’s looking at you or when you talk to him.”
I try to keep that in mind as I stare at this man. My man. How do I make him want me again?
“Doctor?” I ask as she heads for the door. She turns to look at me. “Is the drunk driver dead?”
“There were no fatalities in the accident.”
I nod, turning my attention back to Torin. I’m probably really bad at hiding the fact I’m disappointed in that outcome. It’s bad to wish harm on others. I know that, I even agree with it. I’m a very loud advocate of not wanting bad things to happen to other people.
But my anger simmers just under the surface directed toward this stranger who disrupted many lives. Not just a day in their lives, but their entire fucking lives.
