Page 63 of Deliria

Actions have consequences.

And it’s about time I teach my wife this lesson.

Scarlett

Everything is hazy, a swirl of white and distant murmurs that pull at the edges of my consciousness.

I try to swim up through the fog, but it’s like moving through quicksand. My body is too heavy, and the world around me is too unyielding.

My eyelids flutter open, and the harsh fluorescent light of a hospital room stabs at my eyes, making me wince. I’m here, but I’m not really here, my body is a prisoner to the drugs coursing through my veins.

I turn my head slightly and the movement sends a wave of nausea rolling through me.

Yet, through the drug-induced haze, I see them; Vincent and Alex. Standing at the foot of my bed, their voices low, their words a tangled web of conspiracy that I can’t quite grasp.

Vincent’s voice is tense, a sharp contrast to the casual indifference he usually wears like a second skin. “…we need to be smarter this time. Much smarter. We almost lost everything. It was pure luck and nothing more that saved our arses...”

His words don’t make sense to me, but they trigger a sense of dread that coils in my stomach.

What did we almost lose? I want to ask, but my tongue feels too big for my mouth, my throat constricted by the weight of my confusion.

As I listen, I try to move. It feels like I’ve been here, in this bed so long that I’m stuck to the mattress.

But the instant I attempt to shift my weight, a searing pain shoots up my leg, and a cry escapes my lips before I can stop it. The sound is foreign to my ears, a desperate, animalistic noise that seems to echo in the sterile room.

Instantly, Alex is at my side, his face a mask of concern. “Scarlett, my love, you mustn’t move.”

His voice is soft, soothing, but there’s a tightness around his eyes that betrays his worry. He takes my hand in his, his thumb stroking my skin in what I suppose is meant to be a comforting gesture.

I look up at him, my mind awhirl with questions.

Why am I here?

What happened to me?

But when I try to speak, the words dissolve into nothingness. My throat is dry, and my tongue feels heavy, like it’s been coated in cotton, lathered in some thick substance that won’t ever come off.

“Wwwater.” I manage to gasp.

He’s quick to grab me a cup, lifting it to my lips, allowing me to slowly drink. I never thought such a thing would taste that incredible, and I gulp it down so greedily that it drips over my lips and down my chin.

Alex dries it off with his sleeve, replacing the beaker before he once more takes my hand. “Thank god you’re awake.” He says like he didn’t believe I’d ever wake up.

“What, what happened?” I don’t remember anything. I don’t know how I got here. Where even am I? What hospital is this?

Alex leans in closer, his gaze piercing through the fog that shrouds my thoughts. “You were in an accident, love. You’re in the hospital. You have a broken leg, and there’s...there’s been some damage to your brain. You hit your head really hard.”

His words are like a puzzle, each piece falling into place with a sense of finality that chills me to the bone.

An accident? Brain damage?

The concepts are alien, detached from the reality I’m struggling to piece together.

I stare at him, searching for some recognition, some thread of truth that I can hold onto, but there’s nothing. Just the unsettling feeling that I’m adrift in a vast, empty sea, being thrown from wave to god awful wave.

“Memory loss,” Alex continues, his voice barely above a whisper. “The doctors say it might be temporary, but for now, you might find things...confusing.”

Confusing is a fucking understatement.

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