Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 104185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104185 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 521(@200wpm)___ 417(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
“We’re here. Hold on, I’ll come around and help you.”
The windows were tinted, and when he opened my door, everything got worse. The sunlight made my head throb. His cool hand grasped my wrist and guided me to my feet, although I wasn’t sure I could walk. The world spun. Objects moved in unexpected ways. I could barely focus on the arm slipped around my waist as he carried me across the sidewalk and through a glass door. Moments later, I was seated in a chair.
He sounded so concerned, it was almost heartbreaking. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” I told myself out loud.
He didn’t look convinced, but he moved across the empty waiting room to the counter to check us in.
As my eyesight adjusted to the fluorescent lights and my vision began to steady, I took in the surroundings. Like everything this morning, this was not what I had expected. Sad-looking vinyl covered chairs displayed various states of wear. The water stain on the ceiling hinted at a roof leak. On a side table, the magazines were in a language I didn’t recognize, probably Croatian.
A warning flashed through me. This didn’t seem like a first-rate medical facility.
At the counter, a hand slid back the glass window, and a young woman rose into view, and after a quick exchange, she nodded to the door.
“They’re ready for us,” he said. When he sensed my hesitation, he added, “The doctor speaks English. You want to get those staples out?”
The doctor was a man in his late fifties, with white hair, a stocky frame, and kind, intelligent eyes. His accent was thick, but I was able to understand him.
I was lucky enough to have not one, but two types of amnesia—physical and psychological. Like Ryan had told me on the balcony, the accident was horrific enough I’d probably never remember it. But my long-term memories would return, the doctor promised.
It could be as little as a week, or “bad case scenario,” he said, a few months. The oldest memories would surface first, and the rest should come back in a linear progression.
It turned out the young receptionist was also the nurse. While the doctor pulled the staples from my scalp, she held the plastic cup he dropped them into, one by one. Ryan held my hand during the procedure, but I found his touch unsettling rather than soothing. I was weirdly relieved when his phone chimed with a text and he had to step out to make a call.
As soon as he was gone, the doctor and nurse exchanged a look. She asked him a hushed question in their language, but he silenced her with a quick, disapproving-sounding retort. She cleaned the tray, dumped the trash and her gloves in the garbage bin, and scurried from the room.
The doctor plodded to the sink to wash his hands, and I seized my opportunity. “The accident,” I asked. “Can you tell me about it?”
“Car accident,” he said.
“Was it one car or two? Did it happen here?”
He froze mid-wash. “Not here. One car, I believe.” He resumed washing but hurried to finish. “You should be asking these questions to Mr. Juric, I think.”
“What about Ryan’s injuries from the crash?”
The doctor’s eyebrows knitted together like he wasn’t sure if he should tell me. He opened his mouth to say something, but then the door swung open and Ryan leaned in. The Croatian flowed as he motioned for the doctor to join him in the hall.
It meant I was left alone in the room.
Questions continued to pile up. It was reassuring my memories would return, but what about the relapse? Would it happen again?
I hardly noticed the nurse when she came back in and pulled something down out of a cabinet, refusing to look at me. As she left, she tugged the door closed behind her, but it failed to latch and swung open a few inches. Had she done this on purpose?
There was just enough space to give me a look at the discussion happening in the hallway.
Croatian sounded somewhat Italian as Ryan spoke. He was in control of the discussion, hardly letting the doctor get a word in, and the more he said, the more worried the doctor became.
And then something dark and cold was said that made fear fill the doctor’s face. He disappeared, only to return moments later with a handful of what looked like prescription bottles with no labels. He practically threw them at Ryan.
The whole thing was . . . disturbing.
My fiancé became a stranger all over again. He’d come off condescending and threatening—the complete opposite of how he’d been with me all morning. When he moved for the door, I swung my gaze away and pretended to look out the window.
“We’re all finished up here,” he said, carefree. Like the conversation in the hallway never happened.