I’ll do, what? Who did I scream that to?
I have no context, but the fear that lingers has me in its chokehold.
Vaguely, I’m aware of Tommaso trying to speak to me, but I’m fully inside my mind now, warring with myself—trying to remember, to grasp those wisps of memory while a part of me desperately warns me not to remember.
There’s the sound of something heavy hitting the floor with athud.
‘Mamma,’ I choke.
Pain erupts in my temple and along the side of my face, then explodes at the back of my head. Nausea overwhelms me, and bile pushes into my throat.
Another vague memory of me, paralyzed with horror and pain, leaning against something, fighting the urge to retch, assaults me.
And I can’t hold it; I don’t want to fight it. I need to expel this toxicity within me.
My body lurches, and my head screams in pain—this time, not from the phantom memory of pain but in real-life. And it’s agonizing. I scream as I retch, unable to stop as my body purges.
Wisps of memories taunt me, sitting on the periphery of my mind. There, but blurry and unfocused. Unattainable.
And I don’t want them. If this is what happens and is just a taste of what would happen if my memories do return, I don’t think I can take it.
“Gina.Il mio sole. Look at me, love.”
Slowly, I become aware of Tommaso and where I am. We’re in a bathroom, and he’s holding me while sitting on the floor beside the toilet.
He gently holds my chin. “Do you need to get sick again?”
“No.” I sniffle, trying to stop the last of my tears.
My head is throbbing, and the sunlight coming in through the skylight is too bright, so I shield my face against his chest. Seeking refuge and comfort from this man, my husband.
He rises with me in his arms, setting me on the vanity and cleaning me up as I rinse my mouth with mouthwash. I don’t have the energy to brush my teeth.
Then he lifts me in his arms again and carries me into a bedroom. Beyond processing that it’s as beautiful as the rest of the house, I don’t take in any more details.
My ravaged head can’t take it.
He slips off my shoes, and I catch his hand, needing him to be with me. “Stay with me. Please.”
He’s given me so much of his time, not leaving my side at the hospital. I know he must have no shortage of things to do as a powerful businessman, but I need him.
His kiss against my lips is achingly tender. “Of course.” He goes to the balcony doors and pulls the drapes closed, blanketing the bedroom in darkness.
In the shadows, I see him unbutton and take off his jacket, and the bed dips on the other side. He rolls me toward him, onto my side so I’m not putting any pressure on the injured side of my face or my head wounds.
He moves closer to me, wrapping his arm around my waist. “You had some flashbacks of memories?” he guesses.
I nod, biting my lip as I work to control my emotions. “I don’t want to remember,” I whisper.
His eyes move between mine as we lie face-to-face. “It won’t always be like that.”
He doesn’t know that, though.
“Please, promise me you won’t pressure me,” I whisper.
“Gina...” His face is pained. “I need you to know…things.”
I shake my head, cupping his cheek. “Not now. Maybe when I’m stronger.”
