“I understand,” I mumble, rubbing my eyes and having to shut them because of a growing pain.
“Do you have a headache?” he asks, taking a step closer by the sound of his voice getting louder.
I shake my head answering him while also trying to shut off a series of images that appear behind my closed eyes. I open them, hoping they disappear. Of course, he’s watching me closely, assessing everything I do.
“Do you remember what happened?” Dr. Carlisle asks, his head tipping slightly as he waits.
“No.” I really don’t. I can’t remember much of the night after I walked through the doors. “The last thing that’s clear is the audience. They were clapping, so I assume it was at the start or the end of my speech.”
“Nothing after?”
“Not like an actual memory, broken fragments but I couldn’t confidentially say they’re connected either.” I rub my eyes again, taking a long exhale, feeling tired all of a sudden.
When I look at him again, he’s erring more on the side of compassion than clinical specialist.
“Some patients suffering trauma lose their memories of the event. Sometimes those memories return, sometimes they don’t. Either way, they are your brain’s natural coping mechanism. We have on-hand specialists in our trauma unit ready to speak with you and I have all their details on your file even though Allan and Margot have a private practitioner waiting to see you. Whatever we can do, Heidi, no matter how small it is, I want you to tell us. We’re all deeply…”
“Please stop. I appreciate everything you’ve done.” Factual information I know I can deal with, I’m pretty sure I can’t say the same about hearing his ‘feelings’. Listening, seeing, or feeling anyone’s pity or compassion right now, I know I’ll implode.
“Of course.” He stops, before he smiles sadly. Placing my patient file next to me, he leaves to walk off but stops at the end of my bed. “Every doctor, nurse, and specialist is here to help. And you have all my contact details already. No matter the time, if you need me, you feel free to call.”
“Thank you.” I reply. And that is all I can manage.
Dragging the file closer, I move it to my side of the bed when Margot offers to take it. A rush of near feral ownership makes me hiss at her. The moment the noise falls from my lips, a deep flush of embarrassment makes me lock up tighter than the rush of pain.
Of course, the medical team rush to help, but I recoil like I’ve been struck by a bolt of electricity, and the mood of the room drops as they freeze on the spot. But the damage has been done. “I need some time alone to completely understand everything that has happened.” Is all I manage.
The doctors leave without another word. In part because of our legacy. We have been involved as benefactors here for decades but there is the added familiarity due to Margot’s illness.
“What happened to Grandma’s watch?” My question comes from nowhere, surprising me and locking both my parents up.
“It’s hasn’t been found,” Allan answers almost before I finish speaking. His voice sounds hollow.
I squeeze my eyes, fighting off a sudden feeling of nausea. And deep, deep guilt. “I’m so sorry, Margot.”
But it’s Allan who speaks again, “Heidi, a watch is not important.” My father squeezes my hand before he leaves.
Margot brushes my hair off my face, and I have to fight myself not to recoil from her touch. “I’m sorry. You know the best thing for me to do right now, is let them over-medicate with pain relief and sedatives to let my body heal.”
“Okay, baby,” she says without turning around. I don’t need to see the tears on her cheeks, I can smell them. And I also feel her deep sadness. She stops again, keeping her back to me, her voice small and soft. “Heidi, never forget how proud I am of you.”
She takes with her the pressure that had been steadily building up in the room since I woke up. And the second the door closes behind her, everything in me lets go. I slump over on my side, exhausted but relieved at the solitude.
I don’t think—my head is literally empty. All I do is watch the night pass out the window of my private room.
There comes a point close to midnight where I feel the familiar reach of Ayden’s presence. He stands at the door, and I can hear him trying the knob. But the nurse sitting with me refuses to unlock it. It was the only thing I asked for when she questioned if I wanted anything.
No one ever said life would be easy, full of rainbows and unicorns. And no matter how special a scent-matched connection should be, I can’t be with someone who can lie to my face and make me believe they love me when they clearly never did. I’d rather be alone.
The night offers a million twinkling stars for me to get lost in. And the more I stare at nothing, the more a deep insight unfurls inside, I will be okay. There’s an accompanying sense that being okay is more than enough.
* * *
Morning brings more questions than I have the energy to deal with, but it also brings back the sweet nurse who was here when I arrived. And her first job is to get me in the shower.
We completely avoid talking about the bruises and the various waterproof dressings on my body.
“I found this in your bag,” Iris says, and I nearly crack when she passes over my favourite body wash from home. “Wash up dear, I’ll wait in your room. There’s clothes here too.”
