Page 3 of Lust & Lies
The words didn’t fully register. I had to repeat them over and over again in my mind before they began to sink in.Amnesia. Me? I had amnesia? My mouth opened, but nothing came out.
I swallowed, my throat dry. “What does that mean?”
“It means your brain is having trouble processing memories from before the trauma caused by your accident. Right now, it’s not that your memories are erased. It’s just your brain isn’t accessing them properly.”
A sick, twisting sensation curled in my stomach. “So... will I ever remember?”
“Possibly,” he told me, flipping through my chart. “With traumatic amnesia, memories tend to come back in pieces, childhood memories first, recent memories later. Unfortunately, some memories may never return at all.”
“But... But... I remember some things. I know this is an IV. I know the term for you is doctor.”
“Yes, but do you remember the name of your primary care doctor or how he looks? Do you remember the last time you had an IV?”
Did I? I tried to recall either of those things. But there was nothing there.Nothing.
My hands clenched the sheet. “I’m sure I’ll remember it if I try hard enough, if I force myself to.”
His gaze softened. “I wouldn’t recommend that.”
“Why not?”
“Because pushing too hard could cause more distress. Your brain is protecting itself right now, processing things at its own pace. Forcing it could lead to anxiety, confusion, and even false memories.”
“False memories?”
He nodded. “That’s when you, without realizing it, start to piece together your memories based on what you feel or see on television. For instance, you may see someone on television in a red shirt. That night, you dream about yourself in a red shirt. Come morning, you’ve convinced yourself that you had a red shirt on when you had your wreck. Your brain is like a computer, and it’s also a storyteller. You take in data, and your brain automatically tries to create a story from that data. That could be confusing for someone in your condition.”
I guess that made sense... in a way.
“The best thing you can do is take it slow. Let your mind recover naturally. I don’t recommend filling her in on the gaps in her memory,” the doctor said, looking at the stranger.
My husband.
“Why not?” he asked.
“That will force her mind to try to conjure up a story of its own, which could lead to more false memories. Let her heal. Don’t rush her.”
Tuning them out, I searched my mind, desperate for something, a childhood memory, a home, a single moment from before I woke up in this bed. My favorite color. My favorite food.My first kiss. Nothing. There was nothing. The past didn’t exist. My chest tightened, panic building.
“I don’t... I don’t rememberanything?” I murmured, staring down at the sheet.
My words cut their conversation short.
“I know this is scary. Well, I don’t know,” Dr. Mercer told me. “Because I’m not in your shoes. But I want you to know that this may be temporary. Memories return on their own time. Don’t force it. And try not to let yourself get too agitated. I know that’s easier said than done. But stress slows down healing. I want you in a relaxed and calm environment as your brain works to put the puzzle pieces back together. You’ll be able to go home in a couple of days. But you’ll return in two weeks for a check-up.”
Home?My gaze moved to the man who was still holding my hand, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. I swallowed. Was I going home with him? I didn’t even know his name.
“Why am I going home so soon?” I asked. “I just woke up.”
“Your body has healed. And this isn’t your first time waking up. You’ve woken up a few times since you’ve been here. That’s how we know you have amnesia. You woke up and didn’t remember anything. You didn’t stay up for long. But each time you were awake, I had your husband, who has been by your side this entire time, ask you questions. You didn’t remember anything. And then you were out again as your body recovered. We’ll continue monitoring you for a few days. If we find a reason to keep you, we will. We won’t let you leave here until we feel you’re ready.”
None of that made sense. The fact that I never stayed up long should make them want to keep me here longer, to monitor me, not toss me out. Was money the issue? Did I even have any money?Shit!I didn’t know. Tears filled my gaze. I quickly blinked them back.
“If you have any more questions,” Dr. Mercer started. “I’ll be here for you to ask them. I’ll check on you again in a few hours. Okay, Mrs. Park?”
Mrs. Park?Noelle Park. That was my name... according tothem. I didn’t feel like a Noelle Park. I didn’t feel like... anyone. I was no one. Nameless. Homeless. Lost. I blinked, trying to keep the tears at bay, not wanting to cry in front of these strangers.
“Mrs. Park?” The doctor said, cocking his head to the side, frowning at me.
