Memoria in Aeterna

Bella figlia dell'amore,

schiavo son de'vezzi tuoi;

con un detto, un detto sol

tu puoi le mie pene,

le mie pene consolar.

Fairest daughter of love,

I am a slave to your charms;

with but a single word you could

relieve my every pain.

- - - - -

I.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

The incessant noise pounded behind my closed eyes, amplified by muffled conversation
and the swish of fabric and footsteps and squeaky wheels on linoleum and dozens of
little nuances that I could recognize and name. I knew those noises. I knew those things.

I knew that my feet were wrapped up in thick wool socks, an emblem for University of
Illinois at Chicago Hospital stamped on the ankle in faded black ink. I knew my
shapeless robe was patterned with small blue flowers and that the string holding the
fabric to my body was white and mechanically threaded. I knew that my sheets were
white and taut; my pillow beneath the white case yellow; the blanket draped over my

legs the same blue as my flowered robe.

I knew that my favorite nurse always wore faded purple scrubs and pink foam shoes
covered in dime-sized holes. I knew that the discolored necklace draped over the violet
fabric was in the shape of a cross. I knew that when she closed her eyes and lifted an
olive finger to trace the metal, she was praying. I knew that she did that whenever she
left my room.

I knew that my neurologist had long, blonde hair that she always tied back into a tight
bun. I knew that my own hair was brown and that it matched the color of my eyes.

I knew that my vitals were okay, though my oxygen levels were still worrisome. I knew
that the tape over my hand held intravenous lines in place and that the bandage over
my chest covered what used to be the entry point for a central line. I knew that if I
pressed the red button held in my palm, a dose of morphine would trickle through the
clear tube and into my bloodstream.

I knew where I was, at 1740 Taylor Street in Chicago, after reading it off the business
card of one of my doctors.

The thing was, I didn’t know why I was here.

I didn’t know my name, my parents, if I even

had parents or siblings or any family.

I knew that I’d been found on the pavement on 14th Street after jumping five stories,
because they’d told me that.

But I didn’t know why I’d jumped.

I knew that my injuries were severe: a shattered kneecap and a broken arm, six broken
ribs, a collapsed lung, a broken nose that was now mostly healed. A plethora of scars
and cuts dotting my pale skin.

I knew that I shouldn’t be alive.

But I was.

I lived.

And I would live.

I just didn’t know who

I was.

My eyelids fluttered until I only saw darkness, and I focused again on what I knew.
The quiet footsteps of the nurses. The dull yet all-consuming ache that faded slightly
when I stayed still. The incessant beeping of my heart monitor that faded into melody
as I let the morphine drip lull me to sleep.

***

II.
My thumb bounced up and down on the remote, flicking from channel to useless
channel. The neurologist had once mentioned that seeing a familiar person could spark
my memory, but these tan and beautiful faces meant nothing to me. The storylines
were alien. The jokes weren’t funny.
It was more bearable now that I’d been awake for twelve days. The frustration was
expected.
After my fall, I slipped into a coma for eight weeks. I had no forms of identification on
my person, and, in the nine weeks I’d been in this hospital– this sterile, cold, and
uncomfortably bright hospital– not a single person had come to claim the young Jane
Doe as a relative or friend.
All I really knew was that I didn’t have a criminal record, since my DNA and
fingerprints returned with no matches. The doctors estimated my age to be twenty-two
or twenty-three. They also noted that I had had both my tonsils and my wisdom teeth
removed, and that I had, at some point in my life, broken my right arm twice.
But it was impossible to piece together a person from some scraped together medical
records, so I stayed in the dark. If my life was so terrible that I had wanted to end it at
the tender age of twentyish, maybe it was better this way.
I did wish I knew my name though. I was getting a little tired of the sad looks and the–
“How are we doing this morning, honey?”
The plump and elderly nurse who had treated me several times since I “woke up” peered
at me grimly, her wrinkled cheeks awkwardly forced into what she assumed was a
comforting smile.

“I don’t know,” I replied, the same response I always gave to their banal questions.
Minding my plastered elbow, I lifted the remote from its resting place on my thigh. If I
moved slowly, the pain would remain subdued. Rotating my shoulder, I kept a clumsy
hold on it until I hovered over my bedside table. It fell with a clunk to the plastic
surface, and I smiled. I would have patted myself on the back if I could have.
“Dear?” My focus shifted lazily back to the nurse, and I nodded for her to continue. “I
asked if your knee was feeling all right this morning.”
I frowned in concentration, trying to pinpoint a specific pain somewhere in my leg.
When nothing jumped out at me, I muttered, “I think so. Is something wrong?”
“It’s just a little swollen, that’s all.” Her warm fingers lightly prodded the exposed skin,
and then the large metal brace, before folding the blankets back over my legs. “But if
you’re feeling up to it, we may try standing again today.”
Nurse Cope continued her normal routine, checking lines and monitors as she hummed
to herself. I fought away the clammy nausea that threatened at the thought of sitting
up and taking steps. For the past two days, I had been forced to roll from my back to
my side, to push myself up with my less damaged arm until I was seated, to rise from
my bed with the help of a nurse and a walker. And every time, a searing spasm jerked
through my torso, causing me to gasp and then wince at the pain in my lungs. It took
three of us thirty minutes to bring me to my feet the first time. Yesterday, it took
twenty-six, and I knew they would only push me further today.
Eight weeks of muscle atrophy had taken a toll on my strength.
I often imagined a day when I could walk and stand as easily as the hospital staff.
They smiled, multitasked and drifted around the unit as if their movements were
second nature. But since I couldn’t remember a day without this pain, I took the
victories where they came. Like setting a remote control on a table.
Or like two hours later, when I stood up three minutes faster than the day before.
- - - - -
“Have you checked on 3B yet?”
Outside of my room, I heard the warm voice of my favorite nurse, Angela, addressing
someone, and willed her to hurry up so I could get this over with. The exertion always
left me shaky and nauseous, and now that they were making me sit in the
uncomfortable chair in the corner every day for twenty minutes, the pain was even
worse.
“No, not yet. The poor thing,” another nurse answered.

“I know. Dr. Cullen is going to do his best but there is just so much damage.”
“Too much. And did you hear he’s Dr. Hale’s future brother-in-law?”
My ears perked up at that name. She was my neurologist, the one with long, blonde
hair that she always tied back into a tight bun. And she was the only one in this damn
hospital who had any grasp of the confusion I’d felt since I woke. She put me at ease
and wasn’t hesitant to berate someone for bothering me. I liked her.
“That poor family. It’s almost tragic.”
“The young prodigy, forcibly retired at the age of twenty-five.”
“It’s like a Lifetime movie.”
They continued to gossip for several minutes about the other patients on the floor while
I listened without shame. There was a young mother who both nurses agreed was a
“cold and nasty bitch.” Angela complained of the elderly man who made obtuse sexual
passes at the female staff. I tried to visualize these people, only slightly frustrated when
I couldn’t remember meeting someone to fit these descriptions. After sixteen days of
blank, the emptiness was becoming customary.
As desperate as I was for human connections, even I got bored of the business of
strangers eventually. I smiled in relief when I heard the other nurse mutter goodbye
and take off down the hallway. Angela rounded the corner a few seconds later, her
purple scrubs frayed at the bottoms where they dragged on the floor. Her fingers drifted
to her necklace and she smiled.
“All right, honey, ready to sit for a little while?”
Let the fun begin.
- - - - -
Wake up.
Eat an applesauce.
Fall back asleep.
Wake up so they can prod me with needles.
Watch two hours of television.
Have a nurse push me around the floor in a wheelchair.
Sit in the corner chair for thirty minutes.
Fall asleep.
Repeat.
The routine was grating on me, the intense boredom almost making me wish I was back
in the coma. It had been eighteen days since I’d woken. Any memory I had regained

was nondescript at best and didn’t teach me much. I remembered that I had always
blushed when I was embarrassed or overwhelmed, but everything else was vaguer. A
quick flash of a worn novel. Another of green trees in a rainstorm.
I had no one to talk to, nothing to do, nothing to distract me from myself.
My favorite parts of the day were the few moments I spent in my wheelchair.
Impressed with my ability to sit in a chair, something I found ridiculous, the nurses
had taken to rolling me around the hospital wing a couple times a day. The less
familiar hallway excited me as I caught pieces of conversations and took in the sight of
recognizable objects with fervor. A blinking computer set up on a pink table. A room full
of books and a small television on a wheeled cart. Faces twisted into smiles and
grimaces, some tears, some laughter. I absorbed it all, perhaps thinking that if I focused
hard enough, it would spark something in my hollow mind.
I was not like a child, no. I thought like an adult, processing the constant information
instinctually as it was given to me. Collecting and filing these images kept me
distracted from the empty space where my life had been.
But it was harder in my room.
I was familiar with everything here. With no one to talk to, I couldn’t stop from falling
into myself, scraping through my memories for something.

Anything to give me some

sense of identity. There was never anything there. I could not relate to anything or
anyone on a personal level. Perhaps that’s why I didn’t enjoy television.
The sun had already set outside my window, the starless city sky filtering through the
cracked blinds. It was quiet and I was miserable. I couldn’t take this anymore.
I wanted to see the hallway.
My wheelchair was parked two feet away from my bed, so I shifted as close as I could to
the edge. My cracked ribs had nearly healed while I was unconscious, so it didn’t hurt
as much to move anymore. I stretched my good arm out, laughing breathlessly when
my fingers found the handle. The wheels weren’t locked, so I pulled it toward me with
ease, twisting it the best I could. All I had to do was slip out of bed onto my feet, turn
my body to the right, and I could sit. Of course that was easier said than done.
Prostrate on the mattress, I took a deep breath and then rolled onto my side, curling
my healthy knee until it hung over the bed. Arm bent beneath me, elbow extended, and
I was sitting. The jarring pain had lessened as I moved around, but it still stung. I
calmed my breathing, my lungs too raw for deep gasps, and scooted forward until the
foot of my braced leg touched the cool linoleum.

My heart hummed as I prepared to take the next step. I pushed away images of myself,
collapsed and broken on the floor after this failed. The need to get out of this room
overruled my own safety at this point.
A shallow breath and my second foot joined the first, planting itself more firmly into
the ground. I held onto the armrest of my hospital bed until I was standing. My legs
shook with the strain, so before I really did fall, I shuffled my lone foot on the floor and
felt behind me until I found an armrest. Bending a knee, lowering myself slowly, and
then I was seated. My pulse and body trembled with nervous energy at my success. I
took a moment to attach the pole hooked to my IVs to the wheelchair, and to calm
myself down. Reaching toward my foot, I propped up one leg as I’d seen the nurse do,
and rested my damaged knee straight out before me.
The cast on my elbow impeded my movement more than I expected, but I quickly found
a somewhat comfortable way to grip the wheels, propelling myself forward with one
push against the metal. I continued at my slow pace until I was out of the room and in
the hallway, on my own for the first time that I could remember. It was

exhilarating.

But my excitement faded with the next rotation of my arms. I could already feel the
fatigue creeping through my muscles and I was barely five feet away from the doorway.
On my next push, I took a deeper breath without thinking to appease my elevated heart
rate. My lungs clenched and tore and my good hand left the wheel to press against my
chest. I fought to keep my gasps shallow and quick in the empty hallway while the pain
gradually subsided.
I felt so foolish. While most of the lacerations and more superficial injuries had healed
while I was in a coma, I was still very much battered. The doctors did not even operate
on my knee or elbow until I was stable and conscious. After defibrillating twice in the
first two weeks after my fall, my collapsed lung had taken longer than normal to heal.
Many doctors had warned me that my lung could easily collapse again, so what did I
do? I pushed myself, and now I was stranded and exhausted in the hallway. Though
my room was only a few yards away, I didn’t think I could roll myself back.
The faint sound of music drifted through the closed door to my left, and I turned my
head. Room 3B. This was Dr. Hale’s brother-in-law. If he was awake, all I had to do
was ask him to call his nurse. He or she could push me back to my room, chastise me for
leaving on my own, and then let me sleep. It was worth a shot.

Using as little energy as I could, I rolled toward the door. I bent forward to turn the
handle and pushed against the wood with my foot until it swung open quietly into the
room.
The red light of a stereo sparkled on the bedside table, a quiet orchestra filling the space
around his bed. The notes were foreign as usual, but undeniably beautiful. My eyes
drifted from the light to the man, and my brow furrowed in confusion. Dr. Hale was
gorgeous in her early thirties, but this man was significantly younger. Though
blemished with scratches and bruises, his pale skin was smooth over his defined cheeks. I
could see several stitches above his left eyebrow while butterfly bandages held together a
cut along his jaw. Light stubble covered the lower half of his face. His hair, dark in the
dim light of the room, was feral and messy, pieces falling over his eyes as he stared down
at his lap.
The fingers of his left hand danced along to the music, the visible muscles of his
forearm clenching as he moved, but he paid no attention to that. Instead his eyes
burned at the bulky brace over his right wrist. His knuckles were visibly swollen and a
jagged row of black stitches followed the line of his pointer finger.
Letting out a frustrated grunt, he stared more intently at his hand. I stared with him,
momentarily forgetting my own exhaustion as I watched this strange man try to do…
something. The music played on and we were both silent. My stomach felt nervous, as it
had before I’d taken my first lone step off my bed, and I couldn’t understand why. I
wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing, but I knew I was safe.
A few seconds later, his middle finger twitched slightly and a broken sound escaped
from his lips. And then another. And then his shoulders shook as he groaned and
grunted. Fat tears fell down his cheek and over his clenched jaw, the fingers of his left
hand moving from his lap to pull at his messy hair. My heart ached for him, though I
couldn’t understand why he was so distressed. I inhaled too sharply at the miserable
sight, and my chest throbbed in protest.
At my unintentional moan, the man fell silent, his head turning toward me sharply.
His expression transformed quickly from agony to fury, but I was in too much pain to
explain myself. Tears blurred my vision until I could barely see him.
“Get the fuck out of here!” His voice was frigid and louder than I expected, so I gripped
my wheels, clumsily backing out of the room as my arms gave out on me again and
again. My left elbow pulsed painfully. Oblivious to my suffering, or maybe just not
caring, he sneered, “What the fuck is taking you so long? I said get out of here!”

“I’m… trying,” I grunted out between pants.
“Mr. Masen, what is going on in here?” Nurse Cope asked from the hallway. Her hazy
form froze when she saw me. “Honey, why are you out of your bed? You’re supposed to
be resting,” she reprimanded.
I couldn’t answer, but she had seen me in pain before. She knew. “Oh sweetie, come on.
Let’s get you to your room.” Nurse Cope muttered something else to Mr. Masen, but I
could barely focus anymore. Every muscle in my body was fatigued, and I had already
started to fall asleep before we left the room. She shook me awake gently when we
reached my bed, and I was out the moment my head hit the pillow.

***

III.
“So I hear you like to wander the halls at night now?” Dr. Cullen joked lightheartedly.
His skilled fingers gently felt around the swollen tissue under my knee. He always
handled me with a compassion the other doctors lacked. I never felt as if he were making
small talk. He actually cared.
“I just…” The words stuck to my tongue, refusing to excuse my behavior. I had
disobeyed doctor’s orders, and spied on and infuriated Dr. Hale’s brother-in-law. I was
embarrassed enough as it was.
He raised a blonde eyebrow. “Got bored?”
I didn’t say anything, but nodded slightly, frowning at the smug smile on his face. My
predictability was both comforting and disconcerting. It was a strange feeling, having
instinctual reactions without remembering when I learned them.
“It’s understandable,” he said, adjusting the large brace and tightening the Velcro
straps with a crunch. “Listen, I’m not going to pretend I know what you’re going
through. But it’s common for patients to grow restless when they’re essentially
bedridden.” He moved his assessment from my knee to my arm, feeling my fingers and
slightly rotating what he could of my hand.
After several seconds he stepped back, grabbing my chart from the table. “All right,
dear.” I fought back my annoyed groan. “Your knee is a little swollen from your
adventure last night, but it’s healing nicely. You’ll need the plaster cast on your arm
for a few more weeks.” He asked the typical follow-up questions: any new pain, concerns,

questions. As usual, I didn’t have an answer. I wasn’t entirely sure what normal felt
like. He walked toward the door, white coat swaying behind him like a cape.
“There is a recreation room on the unit. They have movies, video games, books, and
puzzles, all for the patients on the floor. Don’t be afraid to speak up when you need
something.” He smiled warmly at me, and turned down the hallway toward his next
patient. Nurse Cope entered my room almost immediately after he left.
She performed menial exams, and I pondered over Dr. Cullen’s suggestion. I certainly
didn’t want to watch a movie. Television had been disappointing, and the idea of a
longer show on that tiny glowing screen was unappealing. I barely remembered the
concept of video games. But reading? When I thought of opening an old novel, my
stomach calmed and the never-fading unease settled slightly. The specifics were hazy,
but I

knew that I had enjoyed reading. It was too familiar to be coincidence.

“I want a book.”
The old nurse peered up at me, sunken eyes wide in an aged face while her hands
continued to pump the bulb of the blood pressure monitor.
“A book?”
My confidence from just moments before faltered at her incredulous gape. I waited
until she tore her eyes from my face to scrawl down my numbers. “Dr. Cullen
mentioned a recreation room. He told me there were books for the patients to read. I
want a book.”
Nurse Cope continued her repetitive tasks in silence. Her shirt was strange; a
geometrical v-neck covered in rainbow-colored kittens that I assume was worn to bring
comfort to sick children. I wondered if I ever had a cat. Given my reaction to her shirt,
I decided probably not. Wrinkled purple scrub pants, knotted at the waist and three
inches too short, bunched up when she moved to my knee, shifting the blankets to make
her standard evaluation. That concerned expression never left her face, and I couldn’t
decide if she was worried or if she smelled something extraordinarily unpleasant.
Yanking at the Velcro, she freed my arm from the black strap. It scratched against
itself as it flopped to her side. She lightly squeezed the bags suspended beside my bed,
seemingly satisfied with the amount of fluid left. And all the while, my indignation
grew. A book, a puzzle, hell anything to pass the time was not an unreasonable request.
I was tired of being treated like the pitiful case I had become. So what if I couldn’t
remember my life. That didn’t make me a child.

She walked toward the door then, and right before I was about to demand an answer,
she glanced over her shoulder with that irritating and grim smile.
“I’ll have Nurse Weber take you there after your afternoon check-up.”
- - - - -
I was nearly trembling with excitement when Angela finally stepped through the
doorway, fingering the cross around her neck. We grinned at each other, and she
laughed when I pointed at the wheelchair.
“Hold on,” she tried to restrain her giggles, “I

do have to check on you first.”

Angela passed those few minutes telling me about her fiancé while I listed with rapt
attention. I loved to hear about her life. Once I shoved away the small part of me that
was jealous of all she had, I really enjoyed her normalcy. Since I’d woken up, I had
heard about her family, her dog, Ben Cheney the super fiancé, and her little brothers.
She gave me something to imagine. A life. A family. And though my chest always felt a
little emptier after we spoke, basking in her palpable happiness was worth it.
She continued to talk as we moved down the hallway. “Gosh, he was so embarrassed that
the ring didn’t fit. I told him so many times that it didn’t matter to me, but he gets so
stubborn about some things. When he finally got it resized, he insisted upon proposing
again. I didn’t have the heart to fight him so I just went along with it.” I laughed with
her, my healthy toes tapping excitedly on the footrest.
Something beeped behind me. Angela slowed her steps as we approached the propped-
open wooden door, and came to a stop just outside of it. She bent around the side of my
chair until I could see her. “That was a page. I have to go check on another patient. If I
wheel you to the bookshelf, will you be okay for a few minutes?”
I smiled. “Of course.”
“Great. And obviously flag down one of the other nurses if you need something.” We
moved forward into the room, my eyes immediately drawn to the small wooden shelves
filled with tattered books. The chair jerked slightly as she kicked down the brake. I ran
my fingers over the worn bindings, completely enthralled by the unfamiliar words.
“Oh, and if you need help reaching something, I’m sure Mr. Masen here will be more
than willing to help.”
Shit.
I hesitantly glanced over at the other person in the room. A young, scratched, and
frowning face stared back; and I immediately looked over my shoulder, hoping to catch

Angela and beg her to take me back to my room before she left. But I only caught a
peek of her pink shoe before she rounded the corner.
An awkward silence settled over the room. I focused intently on the discolored brown
carpeting, and fruitlessly trying to keep my eyes away from him. He was in his own
wheelchair; arm in a sling while his other one rested on the pages of a magazine. But he
wasn’t reading anymore. He was simply

glaring at me.

I know I had probably embarrassed him the night before, but this was a little
ridiculous.
“I wouldn’t have come here if I knew you were going to be here. I’m sorry,” I wasn’t
quite sure why I was apologizing. “I’ll just grab a book and… um, leave.” I pulled the
lever on my wheel to unlock the break, only wincing slightly at the dull ache in my arm.
All of my muscles were painfully stiff from the night before. It was my own fault.
Turning slightly I grabbed the first book in my reach, a small blue one with raised
white letters on the cover, and dumped it onto my lap. I kept my focus on quick, shallow
breathing when I gripped the round metal and rotated my chair toward the door. If I
had enough energy just to get into the hallway, then I could wait for Angela away from
this intimidating man.
“Wait,” a low voice called from behind me. “Please… don’t.”
Though I desperately wanted to keep going into the hall, I knew that I realistically did
not have the energy for that. I turned slowly until I again faced the room, and him. I
kept my eyes on his feet, covered in the standard hospital slippers, too afraid to look him
in the eye. He didn’t sound angry, but I was terrible at reading people.
My pulse quickened when those feet came closer; his chair only moved slightly, the sling
making it impossible for him to do much besides moving in a circle.
He cleared his throat, breaking the tension. “You don’t want to read that one.”
His words gave me the courage to glance up toward his face, my chin low as I looked
through the shield of my long bangs. “Why not?” I wasn’t normally this nervous to talk
to other people in the hospital. But then again, none of them had ever yelled at me.
I felt my eyes widen when he planted a foot on the ground. He pulled at the carpeting
with his toes, alternating with pushes of his free arm until he was parked in front of the
bookshelf. The cuts on his face looked more gruesome from this close, and his hair was a
dark red in the fluorescent lighting. His lips twitched up once before his face cleared
back into a solemn blank.

“Because Herman Melville writes some of the most dense and ostentatious prose I’ve
ever read. I don’t know if I’ve ever come across someone who enjoyed reading his novels.”
For the first time, I took a decent look at the book I had taken haphazardly from the
shelf. The words

Billy Budd stared up at me. Glancing back to his serious expression, I

took once more look at

Billy Budd and returned it hesitantly to the lower shelf. I let my

fingers dance again over the spines and tried to fight away the frustration. The novels
here were so varied. Male authors, female authors, self-help guides, and a few with
particularly ornate covers, “Danielle Steele” printed in swirling white letters. I was
completely clueless. I needed help, and he

had been somewhat less scary today.

Taking as deep a breath as I could, I turned to the man next to me.
“Mr. Masen–”
“Call me Edward.”
I blushed again. I really wished I knew why I was reacting this way to him. “Uh, okay.
Edward, what do you recommend? I have no idea what I’m looking for.”
His brow creased slightly at my question, a small line appearing between his eyebrows,
but he quickly returned to a smooth expression. “Hm.” His left hand slid over the books
as mine had until he something caught his attention. He withdrew a thick novel from
the shelf and held it out to me. “Here. Everyone likes Stephen King.” He said it as if it
were an obvious truth and frowned again when I didn’t return his enthusiasm.
I took the book from him,

Misery, and gave him a weak smile. I turned it over in my

hands to read the back cover and was only two sentences in when he spoke again.
“I shouldn’t have yelled at you yesterday.”
I let my bangs fall over my eyes again, too mortified by that incident to look at him
properly. “I tried to explore a little by myself and… I needed some help. I didn’t mean
to bother you.”
“I know that now. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.” He glanced to his injured arm so
quickly that I almost missed it, and met my eyes again, a sad smile pulling at his
cheeks. “Everything is depressing enough here as it is. I don’t want to make anyone else
miserable.”
My right arm wrapped itself loosely across my stomach. “Well, thank you Edward.”
He almost smiled again, and I could feel the blood returning to my cheeks. I wasn’t
sure what it was about him. Edward had a very nice face, especially when he kind of
smiled. His stubble had grown a little longer, but not yet into a full beard, and his eyes
were a lovely shade of green. But Dr. Cullen was handsome as well and he didn’t make

me nervous. I decided it must be residual embarrassment from yesterday. “Hey, you
didn’t tell me your name.”
My cheeks heated up at his simple request, and I hated that I couldn’t give him an
answer. “I don’t know.”
He frowned, dejection softening his voice. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want
to. I didn’t mean to–”
“No, that’s not it.” My fingers gripped the book, twisting it nervously. After several
quiet seconds, I sighed, “I don’t know my name.” His brow furrowed again, and he
clearly didn’t understand, so I continued. “About eleven weeks ago I jumped off a
building on 14th Street. I woke up from my coma three weeks ago. I don’t remember
anything about my life before the fall.” I often thought it should be more difficult to
tell what little I knew of my story, but my suicide attempt didn’t upset me. It was
almost as if I were recounting the sad tale of a stranger.
“Wow, I am such a prick,” he mumbled to himself, and I wanted to reassure him but…
he kind of had been a prick. If Nurse Cope hadn’t heard him from the hallway, I
probably would have passed out in his room from the pain. Instead I’d been wheeled to
my room exhausted and humiliated. “I’m so sorry. If I had known, I never would have
yelled at–”
“Edward, it’s okay.”
“No, it’s not. Fuck.” His left hand pulled at his hair, much like it had the night before,
and his jaw clenched in some restrained anger. I didn’t know what to say.
Angela chose that awkward moment to step back into the room. “Ready to go back to
your room?”
I glanced over to her and nodded. Edward still hadn’t really moved, and was
aggressively staring at the magazine rolled up in his left hand. He had tried to make
amends this afternoon, and I didn’t want our feeble acquaintance to die as quickly as it
had started. I still craved human interaction.
“Edward?” I asked when Angela gripped the handles of my wheelchair. He looked up
from his lap, his expression softening slightly. “Maybe I’ll see you here some other time.
After I finish this book. I could always use more recommendations.”
He smiled weakly again, smoothing down the messy hair on the back of his head. “Yeah,
maybe.”
The trip back to my room was quiet, my eyes and fingers running over the book
Edward had picked out for me. I prayed that my instincts had been right, that reading

had been something of a pleasure for me before the fall. I didn’t know if I could handle
the disappointment if I was wrong.
Once I was back in my bed, I propped up two pillows behind me so I could sit up nearly
straight. I flipped open the cover and moved quickly through the blank and title pages.
And then, at last, page one.
I settled comfortably under the blankets and began to read.
- - - - -
With my mouth stretched wide in a yawn, I read the final sentence and closed the book.
A gratifying blend of emotions washed over me. The tension of suspense, the pride of
having read the entire book, the pure satisfaction that I

had been correct. After reading

only three pages, something sparked inside of me. The words flew off the page as quickly
as I could read them. And now, only two mornings after Mr. Masen– Edward had
removed it from the bookshelf with scratched fingers, I held

Misery completed in my

hands.
The familiarity was astounding as some small portion of my identity revealed itself. It
wasn’t much. Plenty of people enjoyed reading and it was by no means a defining trait,
but it was

something. I was a woman in my early twenties, and I loved to read.

Edward had made a great selection for me in Stephen King, and in the few moments
I’d been distracted from the printed word in the last two days, I’d allowed my thoughts
to drift to him and how his behavior had altered from our first encounter to our second.
At first glance, I had seen a bitter man taking out irrational fury on a weak
bystander. I woke the next morning angry with him for giving me this shame, and
angrier with myself for deserving it. Clearly something terrible had happened to him.
The nurses rarely gossiped so frequently about one patient, and the anguish on his face
when I’d disrupted him had nearly made my stomach ache. But his words had been
venomous. After being treated like glass for so long, the blow

had stung. Still, I figured I

could avoid the grieving stranger until he was discharged, leaving the incident a small
blemish on my limited memory.
But two days ago, from the moment Angela had left me, he had seemed apologetic.
Remorseful. Guilt had flowed between us only to ebb away after a simple reading
suggestion. He eased into his sad smile and brushed fingers through his matted hair,
and even seemed willing to give me recommendations in the future. I left the room
knowing very little about him.

When a person sees the world as I did, a wealth of information to be filed and stored for
later reference, everything and everyone eventually fades into mechanics. Patients took
the same walking route through the halls every day. Nurse Cope would call me “honey”
regardless of how many irritated glances I threw her way. Even Angela was simple to
figure out; her world was summarized by an engagement ring and the cross around her
neck.
But not Edward. He didn’t follow any pattern I had seen before. His complexity both
confused and intrigued me, and I found myself wanting to learn more about him. I
wanted to know why he was bruised and battered. I wanted to understand why he
smiled when his eyes betrayed his sadness. But mostly I wanted to return to the fleeting
ease I had felt sitting with him in front of the bookshelf in the recreation room.
There was a big chance that he would ultimately treat me like everyone else; that he
could only see me as the pitiful girl stranded in the trauma ward at University of
Chicago Hospital. But if there was even a

chance that we could talk without pity or

guilt, I had to try. I was beginning to think I couldn’t make it through my recovery
without someone to talk to, even if we just discussed books.
The rest of the morning passed in its typical fluorescent blur. Prick, squeeze, prod.
Questions, nurses, charts, and oxygen levels. And before I knew it, I was in my
wheelchair chatting with Angela about Stephen King as we moved toward my new
haven.
“I don’t know how you read that entire thing. The movie was so scary!”
I frowned in confusion. “There’s a movie?”
“Oh yeah. A lot of King’s stories have been made into movies, some better than others.
Kathy Bates actually won an Academy Award for playing Annie.” I nodded along as
she spoke, even though the name was unfamiliar and films disinterested me. Angela’s
voice brought an easy smile to my face. I liked hearing her speak. I wasn’t the only one
either. Her light energy made other nurses laugh and put patients at ease. “I think Ben
has a copy at home. I’ll bring it in for you tomorrow if I remember.”
“I think I’d like that.” She had been so nice to me, and if borrowing her movie could
make her smile then I’d do it. The rubber wheels squeaked across the linoleum as she
turned my chair, the silver break handle clicking against the doorframe of the
recreation room when we entered. I quickly scanned the room and frowned slightly. A
man dressed in faded jeans sat beside a robed woman on the small couch. A wrinkled
face reflected the light of the old computer monitor, his casted foot propped on a folding

chair beside the desk. And the knotted auburn hair I didn’t realize I was hoping to see
was nowhere to be found.
I tried to reclaim some of my early excitement, tossing Angela a smile before she left the
room. My chair moved more easily toward the shelf than it had before; a full day of
rest had more than alleviated most of the lingering pain in my muscles.
The books were stacked haphazardly onto the shelves, not alphabetized and not even
facing the same direction, bindings cracked and torn. This small library was neglected
and probably unimportant to the staff and patients, but it was growing important to
me. I was probably more dependent on this small escape than was normal given that I’d
only read one book, but I didn’t really care. Anything that gave me comfort, made me
feel more normal even if only for a limited time was special. I was attached.
I read quickly over the visible titles, slightly disappointed when I didn’t see any other
Stephen King novels. I took in several names - Austen, Fray, Grisham - but was
ultimately stuck with the same problem as I had been before. None of these names
meant anything to me. I placed a finger on top of a black novel, pulling until it
tumbled onto my lap. A child rode a swing in silhouette on the cover, “James Patterson”
written in blue across the bottom: another crime novel. I pulled three more novels off the
shelf, reading the summaries and judging the chosen pictures.
“Need some help?”
My face rose into a strange grin before I even turned my head.
“Hello, Edward. I was hoping I’d see you in here.”
He ducked his head and I chuckled nervously, my unsteady exhale trembling the
uncomfortable sound. He twisted his neck to follow his nurse as she left the room then
turned back to me. “Are you finished with that last book already?”
I nodded fervently. “I couldn’t put it down.”
“That’s my favorite King story,” he added with a ghost of a smile. “Here, let me see if
there’s anything else here worth reading.”
“I don’t want to impose–”
He cut me off. “Trust me, it’s the least I can do for acting like such an ass.”
“You weren’t–”
“Hey,” he protested with an amused smirk, “just let me help you with this, okay?”
I watched his face as he looked over the options, noticing in wonder that the angry
bruises along his neck had faded into a blend of yellow and purples. His mannerisms
were fascinating. A moment of light passed through his eyes each time he read a

recognizable title, his lips twitching into a smile or a frown depending on his opinion.
He commented on a few of them, fingers tapping rhythmically along the plastic covers
as he spoke. A deep longing weighed down my good temperament. I desperately wanted
to experience that familiarity, but until that moment came I could only stare
captivated as he reacted to memories and his own history. I was certain he didn’t even
realize he was doing it.
Edward undoubtedly interested me. Like Angela, his voice flowed over me like a blanket,
warm and comforting. Even when discussing something as banal as plot summaries, he
was intriguing to me. His words revealed a hidden complexity. Again I felt the desire to
understand him pressuring my mouth to move, for my lips and tongue to form
questions until I could file him away as easily as the others. After several minutes of
listening, I was growing antsy. I couldn’t understand him until I knew him a little
better.
“So,” I breached the subject carefully, hoping to maintain the light atmosphere between
us. “I told you why

I was in stuck here in the hospital the other day. Why are you?”

The question had seemed tame enough, but Edward stiffened almost immediately. His
fingers clenched around a book, his slinged arm shifting minutely closer to his chest.
His entire posture radiated discomfort, and I was almost ashamed for making him so
tense. “Uh, I was in an accident.”
“What kind of accident?”
His eyes bore into Sue Grafton, the words slipping out mumbled and quiet. “A car
accident.”
“Were you badly hurt?” I was well aware that I sounded pushy, continuing to ask
questions even after he clearly wanted to stop talking about it. But I couldn’t help it.
Even his unwillingness to share information intrigued me.
“I have a lot of internal injuries, some broken bones. My hand is pretty messed up. I’ll
need surgery on it.”
He managed to keep his expression vacant; his voice cracked slightly on the word
“surgery,” but that was the only sign of his internal agony. If I hadn’t seen him break
down when he thought no one was watching, I may have even bought his nonchalance.
I had been in too much pain that night to take in enough details, or to make any
attempt to understand his tangible frustration. There was soft music and shaking
fingers, and something that had drawn tears from his guarded eyes. But I was afraid if

I pushed him too far today then he might avoid me, depriving me of this limited
contact.
“That sucks, Edward,” I sighed, wishing I had any idea how to comfort him. Instead it
came out much blunter than I intended. A blush struck my cheeks for the first time
today. I really needed to work on my filter.
A quick laugh erupted from his throat, earnest and sad. “Yeah, it does suck.” A small
smile lingered on his face though as he glanced over the book resting on his thigh, and I
relaxed, placated by his weak contentment. Unfortunately this just gave me the
confidence to continue.
“Why was that so hard for you to tell me?” I probably should have been embarrassed by
my lack of tact, but if he didn’t seem too bothered by it then I wouldn’t be.
Running those long fingers through his hair, he sighed then lifted his eyes to meet
mine. “It’s just nice to talk to someone without getting those pitiful stares, you know?”
The breath caught in my throat as my own thoughts slipped through his chapped lips.
I wasn’t alone. For once, about something that

mattered, I wasn’t alone. Though we

were worlds apart, Edward Masen felt as isolated as I did. And that reality was too
fresh, too significant to verbalize. So I took a deep breath and muttered the only words
that made sense at that moment.
“Yeah, I know.”

***

IV.
“How can you think she was making it all up? She saw the ghosts several times and
then Miles

died at the end!”

“But the governess was delusional. She idolized Jane Eyre…” He paused at my confused
face. “It’s a Charlotte Bronte novel. Jane is a governess who falls in love with and
marries her employer.” I nodded in understanding, filing away that piece of
information, and he continued. “Anyway, she idolized Jane Eyre. She wanted so
desperately to be the hero for her wealthy employer that it probably led to an active
imagination. Plus, no one else ever admitted to seeing one of the ghosts.”
“Well what about Miles?”
“I’ve… never been able to figure that out actually.” I smiled at the waning confidence
in his voice. He had chosen

The Turn of the Screw for me yesterday, a shorter ghost

story by Henry James. Part of me wondered if he chose a shorter story so we could talk
again sooner. I hoped that was the case.
“Maybe the author did that on purpose. Maybe he wanted people to disagree.”
He grinned. “Yeah, maybe.”
We talked about

Misery for almost an hour yesterday, and he remained the most

confusing person I had ever come across, though I had admittedly met very few. At
moments he was distant, rationing his words and exuding an awkward energy that
made me uncomfortable. But as soon as conversation faded, when I was considering
asking a nurse to take me back to my room, he would jump to life with intricate
questions or observations about the text. He clearly wanted to talk to me, but avoided
anything too personal.
But I didn’t mind. His eyes were exciting when he spoke about something he cared
about.
Our chairs were huddled together beside the television stand. I imagine we were a pitiful
sight to behold, bruised and pale people arguing over a selection of books from the
donated library. But my conversations with him were fleeting moments of normalcy for
me, matched only by my time with Angela and the hours I spent reading. I wouldn’t
pity him for whatever was making him hurt and, in return, he would give me this time.
I think he needed it as much as I did.
“So, that’s two novels in three days. You’re a quick reader.” The simple sentence felt like
a compliment, but I wasn’t really sure I deserved it. After all it’s not like I had
anything else to do.
“I’ll have to thank Dr. Cullen. I begged the nurses to bring me here at his suggestion.”
“Or thank me for my wonderful recommendations.” His eyebrow quirked as if he were
trying to lift it, but his forgotten stitches stopped the movement almost immediately, his
nose scrunching up in pain. I tried to stifle my smile, but the sensation of unexpected
soreness was so familiar to me that I couldn’t. His chin dropped slightly so his eyes
could glare at me more easily, but a small quirk at the corner of his stern mouth told
me he wasn’t serious. I made sure to at least appear apologetic.
“I really do need to thank you for your help. Every day here is just so similar… the
monotony was starting to drive me crazy.”
Edward inhaled, jaw tightening into a grimace, and huffed out a breath to release some
irritation. His narrowed eyes told me he wasn’t going to share his thoughts. My social
skills were entirely lacking; I had no idea if I had said something to disturb our light

banter, and if I had, I didn’t know what to do to fix it. The unfocused resentment that
lingered on the edge of my thoughts at all times could have easily moved in, pulling me
further into depression. But I couldn’t let it, not if I wanted to get through another
day. So, I just waited until he regained his composure.
Like I predicted, his expression cleared up a moment later, and I cheered internally at
the small success.
“So, you’re enjoying reading then?” he asked.
“Yes.” An easy smile worked its way onto my face, “I am. It’s one…” But I stopped
myself. I didn’t want to wander into personal territory that might upset him.
“It’s one what?”
I shook my head, instead flipping through the pages of his newest selection for me.
“Hey,” I glanced up and he was looking at me, his face still stern but hinting at some
softness. “You can tell me.”
“I…” I wasn’t sure why this was so hard to verbalize. I rarely articulated it to anyone,
with the sole exception of my neurologist. My fingers trailed over the binding, fanning
the pages in a soft whir and keeping my eyes away from my audience.
“I told you I don’t remember anything from before my fall, and I don’t. Everything
I’ve ever experienced outside of this hospital is essentially a blank. But I have had some
vague - incredibly vague, really - flashes. And something about holding that book in
my hands… with worn ivory pages, my knee folded into my chest… somehow I just
know I’ve done it before. I think I may even have loved reading in the past. So when
you handed me that novel, and I found some peace in the pages? It was the first time
since the coma that I had… anything.”
I trailed off into silence again. He didn’t speak either, and I was a little mortified I had
given this man, who was essentially a stranger, insight into the only thing that meant
anything to me. This uncomfortable quiet put me very much on edge. I hadn’t said
anything that wasn’t true, so the embarrassment was unnecessary. Who was he to judge
me for speaking my mind? At least I could talk about it.
With a new sense of self-righteousness, I lifted my chin and met his eye… and he was
smiling at me.
“You’re very observant,” he said, his eyes clouded in his attempt to understand me. His
expression was undeniably warm despite the conflict, and I was just confused again.
“Huh?”

He chuckled softly and shook his head. “The way you speak, how you explain your
thoughts. It’s just incredible. You see so much.”
“Um… thank you?”
Edward laughed again. He had trimmed his beard since I’d seen him yesterday and
was back to short scruff; the butterfly bandages had been removed from his jaw,
exposing a jagged gash that was just starting to heal. Colored swirls of bruising still
covered much of his skin, but when he smiled… the imperfections were almost easy to
ignore. “It’s a good thing, I promise.”
“Knock knock.” Our heads turned toward the door where Nurse Cope stood, her bleak
smile contrasting with her bright, flowered scrubs. “Ready to go back to your room, Mr.
Masen?”
I saw him glance at me out of the corner of my eye, and it made my stomach twist in a
strange way. “Yeah, sure. Let me just grab my book.” He lifted the bound pages from
the flat surface beside him, dropping it into his lap
“You know if you ever wanted to come by my room,” he pushed his fingers through his
hair as he spoke, “maybe after lunch hour to talk about… books or something… I’d like
that.”
“Oh… uh, okay,” I stuttered, perplexed by his nervous energy but relieved when he
smiled again before he left.
I didn’t know much. I couldn’t always keep up with his mood swings or cryptic speech.
But looking down to the novel in my hands, I knew that I’d be in room 3B after lunch
tomorrow.
- - - - -
“Any headaches or nausea after extended periods of movement?” I raised my eyebrow at
Dr. Hale, and she nearly smiled. “Okay, any headaches or nausea after sitting up for
more than thirty minutes.”
“Oh, then no.”
She scratched some quick notes onto her chart and then stopped, manicured fingernails
tapping on the plastic clipboard. “And have you recovered any memories or experienced
any flashes like the few you had last week?” Her voice softened as if she knew my answer
even before asking. Dr. Hale was impartial as a rule, and I’d overheard some nurses
complaining about her cold nature. But no one could deny how much she cared about
her patients.

“No, nothing.” The answer wasn’t difficult anymore. “Though I have followed through
on one of the others.”
Her pen resumed its path across the paper, even as her eyes again met mine. “Oh?”
“Yes. I’ve been reading some books.”
Setting her clipboard on the counter, she turned to pull the results from my latest CT
scan from a large manila folder, clipping them in front of the light box even as she
spoke to me. “Well I’m glad you’ve found something to occupy your time.”
I had heard very little from the nurses about the relationship between Dr. Hale and
Edward Masen. She was set to marry his brother, but that was all I knew. If anyone
would be able to tell me more about him, it would be family. I watched her reclaim her
chart, dotting notes into the margins, and figured it was worth a shot.
“One of the other patients on the floor has been giving me recommendations. Edward–”
“I’ve heard,” she cut in sharply. I stiffened slightly, fingers gripping my blanket, and I
regretted even trying to bring up the subject. Dr. Hale cleared her throat and
momentarily stopped writing. “I’m sorry, that was inappropriate. I know you probably
don’t understand the issues of medical ethics, but I can’t discuss another patient with
you.”
I blinked slowly with a smile, though her apology had only pointed out something I had
noticed only recently during my conversations with Edward. The blaring gaps in my
understanding of people made it incredibly difficult to hold a conversation. I lacked
basic social etiquette, often asking inappropriate questions in my quest to know
everything I could. Once Dr. Hale mentioned patient privacy, the idea made perfect
sense, but it didn’t come naturally. It was fucking frustration.
My mood had fallen significantly, my earlier excitement to talk with Edward after
lunch fading into a soft hum, and I couldn’t bring myself to glance up when she spoke
again.
“All right, well, your CT shows that almost all of the swelling has gone down, and as
we’ve discussed before, the permanent damage seems to be minimal. Given the length of
your coma, you remain a lucky woman.” That assertion always made me scoff, but I
managed to restrain it this time. “I just need you to focus on getting better now, and
don’t stress too much about your amnesia. We have to let these things progress as they
will.”
“Okay.”

Dr. Hale gathered her things, carefully slipping a silver pen into her pocket so that it
caught on the fabric. “I’ll stop by tomorrow to see if you’ve made any progress.” She
clipped papers to her plastic board and slid the opaque scans back into their proper
folder before heading toward the door, low heels clicking on the tile. But as she
approached the hall, her quick steps faltered. Soon they stopped entirely and she turned
back to see me. Her face was uncertain, dainty fingers pushing wisps of blonde hair
away from her eyes.
“Can I ask you a personal request?” The pitch of her voice rose and her hand gripped
the doorframe like a lifeline. I had never seen her so removed from her doctor persona, so
I nodded, irrationally excited about this break from character. Dr. Rosalie Hale was
flappable: filed and stored for later.
“If you see… him? Tell him Emmett is worried, and he’d love to hear from him.”
Before I could ask any questions, she spun around again, visibly shaken but
dominating as she clicked down the corridor.
- - - - -
Tyler wore a knowing smirk as he pushed me around the circular ward, giving me three
laps of semi-fresh air before he would take me to 3B. Tyler Crowley, one of the young
volunteers who frequented the unit, could always be counted on for a potentially
inappropriate joke and had me laughing whenever we spoke. We had giggled over Nurse
Cope’s impossibly unflattering scrubs, wondering how they could fit her so strangely. I
listened to him moon over Dr. Cullen and his apparently perfect ass; because I was a
bit slow about these things, he’d had to explain that he was gay when I didn’t
immediately understand. And today I cursed my blush as he teased me about my “play
date.”
“We talk about books, Tyler.”
“Sure, sweetie, whatever you say,” he muttered suggestively.
I lifted my hand to show him the small novel I had tucked beside me in my chair.
“Seriously. Books.”
He stopped pushing me for a moment, learning forward to stare at me in disbelief.
“You’re serious?”
I rolled my eyes. “That’s what I said.”
“But how can you just talk literature with him? He’s a fine specimen of man, even if he
is an asshole.” He paused for a moment. “Actually, that may make him more
attractive.”

My skin flushed again at Tyler’s crude wording; I hadn’t taken much time to consider
Edward’s obvious physical appeal and now was not the time to start. “I don’t– we
just…” I struggled to explain our discussions, all the while knowing that Tyler would
never really understand. I settled lamely on, “He’s not an asshole.”
He snorted, “Maybe not to you.”
“What do you mean?” I asked with a frown.
“I’ve gone into his room twice, ya know, to ask how he’s feeling… if he wants any water
or pillows or whatever. The usual. And both times he just glared at me until I left the
room. Plus I’ve heard the nurses bitching in the staff room about how difficult he is.
They’ve had to turn away people twice,” he emphasized this figure by lifting two fingers
into a sharp peace sign, “because he refuses to see any visitors. That shit’s weird.”
That was a side of Edward I hadn’t seen since our first meeting five days ago, and he
had treated me so kindly since that I assumed it had been an atypical occurrence. I
tried to file these new details away, but my mental dossier on Edward was so
disorganized that I couldn’t find the space. Why would he treat me any differently
than the other people at the hospital? If he had willing visitors, why would he turn
them away?
“I barely know him,” I said, my own honest explanation for these conflicting accounts.
It didn’t really bother me. The challenge was a bit of excitement in my boring day. “He
picks out books for me and we talk about them. That’s it really.”
We passed rooms 2 and 3A, and then Tyler slowed the chair to a stop outside of his
door. “Now you kids play nicely. Don’t make me regret leaving you unchaperoned.” I
glowered at him though I barely understood his teasing, but he just ignored me,
stepping ahead to knock once on the door before pushing it open.
“Delivery for you, Mr. Masen.”
Tyler chuckled when a new blush burned my cheeks and I rolled myself past him,
halfheartedly aiming for his feet as I went. He moved his toes just before impact. I
scanned the room quickly, noting how the set-up cast different shadows in the
fluorescent lighting and that the stereo on his bedside table was switched on, and then
looked at him with a weary smile. Gesturing behind me at Tyler, I exaggeratedly rolled
my eyes. He laughed.
I pressed against the handles of my chair, propelling myself forward until I was nearer
to him and my toes touched the bed frame. He lay above the crisp blue blankets on the
gurney, head propped up by two flat pillows and legs covered in loose cornflower scrubs;

the left leg had been pushed up past the gauze taped onto his shin and his bruised toes
peeked out from the bandages. The right side of his body was significantly more injured
than the left as if the car had crumpled from that side. Maybe it had.
“Where did you get pants?” I asked, still a little embarrassed from Tyler’s teasing and
struggling to not notice his attractive features. I hated him a little bit for pointing that
out. My legs had always been bare but this was the first time I had felt underdressed.
“Um… the nurses. You can ask for them?” A black plastic folder was open in front of
him, corners worn from frequent turning and I could just barely make out the strange
lines and figures covering the pages from my vantage point. He noticed me staring and
slowly closed the binder, keeping his small smile but hiding himself nonetheless.
I considered asking him what he was reading, but decided against it. He looked
uncomfortable enough and that only made me uncomfortable. Instead, I looked away
from him, silently comparing his room to my own in the daylight and taking notice of
the quiet music coming from the speakers. A white cord connected the stereo to a thin
rectangular box that lit up when he reached over to run his finger over it.
“What is that?” I asked, pointing to the box, which as I moved closer appeared to be
something electronic.
“My iPod?” I nodded and chose to ignore the disbelieving smile he gave me when he
answered. “It’s an mp3 player… it plays music.”
I looked quickly toward the window, hoping my hair would hide my creeping blush.
“Oh.”
“Stop it. Don’t be embarrassed. You have no reason to be embarrassed.” That didn’t
help with my red cheeks, but gave me the courage to meet his eyes again. His lips curled
down into a strangely serious frown. “I really wish I knew your name,” he muttered
almost distantly. I really needed to change the subject if I wanted to be able to speak to
him sometime today without stuttering.
“I like this music,” I blurted out. “The man’s voice is very beautiful. What language is
that?”
The comments were non-sequiturs but distracted his focus enough to loosen his stern
expression, leaving him confused but much easier to look at. “It’s Luciano Pavarotti
singing an opera called

Rigoletto. It’s Italian.”

A woman sang in harmony with Pavarotti, though they were not reciting the same
lyrics. “What is he saying?”
“

Bella figlia dell'amore, schiavo son de'vezzi tuoi.”

The way Edward’s mouth moved when he spoke Italian did funny things to my
stomach, so I paid careful attention to the sound of these strange words. I even
attempted to mimic him, speaking slowly. “Bella fig leah dell amoray?”
He chuckled, “Something like that.”
“And how does Bella… whatever translate into English?” This was the first time I had
heard a foreign language since I’d woken up and the concept was incredibly fascinating
in practice.
He peered at me curiously and smirked, “Bella.” The word fell off his tongue like a
caress. “That name suits you, you know?”
“Uh, well. What does it mean?”
“I think I’ll call you that from now on. ‘Bella.’ It’s much better than ‘honey’ or ‘sweetie’
or whatever else it is the nurses call you.”
“Edward!” I blushed despite my annoyance, unaware he’d been paying that close
attention to my interactions with the nursing staff. “English. Please.”
“Bella! I don’t think I want to.” Edward mocked in a surprisingly high voice. He lifted
an eyebrow, barely stifling his laughter, and my jaw nearly dropped when I realized he
was

teasing me. A small smile played at his lips as he twisted the volume knob to the

left, softening the sound emitting from the speakers. I was not used to being treated so
normally and it took me a few moments to realize that the twisting in my stomach was
not unpleasant. It was so easy to take things too seriously here; the playful teasing
felt… nice.
But that didn’t mean I was going to let him know that. I glared at him, pouting
slightly when his smirk barely faltered. “Let’s just talk about the damn book.”

***

V.
We met again like that the next day, talking less about books and more about each
other as the hours progressed. In fact, we continued to talk like that for the next several
days. After one uncomfortable hour of watching Edward nibble on his tray of food, I
had taken to bringing my meals with me. It was wonderful having someone to dine
with, and when I told Edward that, he just smiled and said, “I take so much for
granted every day.” He refused to explain what he meant by that.

His room, though very near to mine in proximity, was furnished much differently;
more spacious and full of new details that I absorbed liked a sponge. He briefly
explained that his connection to Dr. Hale, who he referred to as Rosalie, got him
upgraded to a better room. The tables and cabinets were crafted from a dark walnut
wood instead of the gray plastic that I saw every day, the television a sleek black and
attached to the wall by a matching fixture. He even had nylon curtains rather than
cheap plastic shutters. Edward let me explore what I could when the mood struck,
asking the odd question but mostly just watching me take in the room.
It was exhilarating for me to watch him here where he was more in his element, music
playing constantly, arm free from the sling but still held in place by bulky plastic and
Velcro straps. What amazed me, though, was that he seemed just as interested in what I
had to say. I didn’t know why but I certainly appreciated it. It made my constant
questioning seem less out of place.
We had settled into an easy routine where we pushed each other for information until
the subject was closed or exhausted. Generally, Edward was the one who steered the
discussion away from topics that made him uncomfortable. I almost learned as much
from his silences as I did from his moments of loquaciousness.
Though music was clearly a big part of who he was, he did not like to talk about it at
length. I didn’t realize how extensive his musical knowledge was until I tried speaking
to Angela about the song that “gave” me my new nickname. She blinked at me in
confusion and then told me that she had never met someone interested in opera.
The next day, I learned why as I pieced together some facts from his brief responses. He
fidgeted while I asked my questions with growing hesitance, picking at his brace until it
clicked and giving me one or two words at a time. He played “piano” for an “orchestra,”
classical music rather than jazz. The “Chicago Symphony Orchestra” had hired him
about a year ago almost immediately after he auditioned. My mind filled with what I
knew of "orchestra”: older gentlemen and women in long black dresses pulling at bows
and drawing music from small wooden instruments. Somehow, Edward didn’t seem to
fit in that profile, and I told him, “I thought that most professional orchestra
musicians were older? You’re only…”
He answered. “I’m 25. And yes, most of them are. Do you know how much longer you’ll
need to wear that cast on your arm?”
I took a moment to take in the subtle changes in his features, briefly concerned by his
shaking fingers, but soon went along with his change of topic.

That kind of casual dismissal was fortunately uncommon during our time together. I
was highly attuned to his facial expressions and when I saw him slipping into one of his
moods, I was learning to step back and let him shake himself out of it rather than
pushing.
Our time together gave me more than he probably realized; I picked up different
examples of social etiquette by reading his reactions to me and even just listening to
him speak. His unpredictable nature kept me on my toes, unlike other fleeting interests
that had passed as the newness faded. And of course, there were other reasons too.
When the nurses tried to connect with me, I responded to them with sarcasm, spotting
their curiosity through the thin veil of their sympathy. They only cared because I was
an unusual case here, so I kept our conversations on light topics and superficial details.
But for some reason I didn’t feel weak or petulant when talking to Edward about my
own frustrations. Empathy radiated off him in waves, but he was different from the
nurses. He had no motive other than genuine interest.
During our second day, he listened quietly as I recited the only real memory I’d
recovered. It had hit me that morning and shook me up more than I anticipated. “I
was small, smaller than I am now, and I stood in tall grass beside my mother. I glanced
up at her, applauding for some reason, and she gave me this beautiful smile. It was
happier than sunlight.” He consoled me with his sincere concern, asking for each detail
as I recalled them and then telling me silly stories about his childhood until I smiled
again.
He began to lend me his own personal novels; his brother, the Emmett Dr. Hale had
mentioned to me, brought in a small box of Edward’s things and left it at the desk even
when Edward refused to see him. And though he declined to speak about his strange
visitors policy, I could see he was touched that his brother had made the effort. He
handled his iPod like a disc jockey, carefully selecting each song that played through
the speakers though rarely commenting more than to name the artist or composer. He
knew a lot about science and basic medicine, fascinating me with information I had
probably learned before but was hearing for the first time with new ears. His lips lifted
into an uneven smile when he was particularly amused by something. He touched his
hair a lot when he was nervous, and he moved imperceptibly to the ebb and sway of
every song.

The more I learned about Edward, the easier it was to see why he intrigued me. How
could he not? His mysteriousness and his authenticity were a powerful combination
that was surely going to hold my interest for some time.
Edward sent me on my way each evening with another reading recommendation and a
promise to “See you tomorrow, Bella.”
I blushed every single time.
- - - - -
The cool, damp washcloth felt like heaven against my clammy arm, washing away
weeks of sweat and built up dirt. I ran the rough fabric over my wrist one more time
and dropped it into the bin in Dr. Cullen’s outstretched hand. It joined the scraps of
dingy plaster and cloth.
“How does that feel?” he asked. I sighed happily, still unused to the feel of even sterile
hospital air on that skin, and he chuckled. “That’s what I figured.”
Dumping the plastic tub into what looked like a medical waste bin, he turned back with
his serious doctor face, though I could still see the amusement in his eyes. “Now just
because you’re out of your cast does not mean you’re fully healed. No heavy lifting or
jarring action, and try to avoid putting any pressure on it unless absolutely necessary
for a few more weeks.” I rolled my eyes. What would I possibly be doing in the hospital
that could hurt my arm? He shrugged in response. “I have to tell you the same thing I
tell all my patients. The brace stays on at all times. If you shower, take it off and then
put it on again as soon as you’re dry, all right?”
The brace was still fairly bulky, extending six inches in either direction from my elbow,
but it was unfathomably better than the cast. I grinned at him widely and nodded.
“Understood.”
I couldn’t stop touching the previously unexplored skin on my forearm. It looked almost
bony, the muscle more atrophied here than my right had been when I woke. I had
noticed a deep bruise along my elbow when the plaster had been sawed off, and I was
suddenly happy that I did not remember that particular injury. The bone had been
reset just two weeks before I woke, so it had been somewhat more damaged by that
trauma.
Either way, I was thrilled, buzzing with exhilaration that made it hard to concentrate
on the rest of what Dr. Cullen was saying. The removal of the cast had come as I
surprise and I couldn’t wait to show Edward. Now our braces matched. For some

reason that excited me, as if I were a child receiving a toy, or perhaps my young self
clapping in joy at my smiling mother.
Unfortunately, some days were busier than others, and I was kept busy, pushed by
nurses from wing to wing for various tests and taking much needed naps in my little
free time. I may have been getting better, but I still exhausted easily. This was the first
time in five days that I didn’t have lunch with Edward and I was getting anxious.
Finally, Nurse Cope did the evening rounds, pricking and drawing and then leaving
me with six hours until the next nurse came to bother me. As soon as she set a foot in
the hallway, I sat up. Now that I was eating more food, I didn’t need to be hooked up to
the IVs every hour of the day, though the needles were still taped to my hand for easy
access. I used the crutches that had been left beside my bed to pull over the wheelchair
and scooted from my bed to the seat with remarkable ease. With my body settled and
my limbs only shaking slightly, I pushed myself toward the hallway, surprised at how
much more mobility I had with the plastic arm brace. My muscles felt weaker but my
range of motion was considerably improved.
I didn’t bother to tell any of the nurses where I was going. They knew by now where to
find me.
I moved from my room and frowned slightly when I saw that Edward’s door was closed,
not an unusual sight but a hindrance nonetheless. As I rolled closer I could hear why;
soft music echoed from inside the room, muffled by the closed wood and the movement of
pressurized air under the doorway. Pulling down the handle slowly so as not to disturb
him in case he was sleeping, I pushed hard against it, propelling myself most of the way
into the room and then rolling the rest of the way in, letting the door close behind me.
Edward sat on his bed much like I saw him that first night, only his eyes were shut
tightly as he swayed slightly to the sound of tinkling piano. The music lifted and
rushed forward and his left fingers tapped along with it, silently playing half of the
melody. His knees were curled up near his chest, making him look so much smaller than
I was used to. I didn’t like it.
“Which composer is this?” He continued to tap along as I racked my brain for the
musicians he had played for me over the last few days. “Mozart?” There were a few that
started with the letter D, too… names that felt foreign on my tongue and different from
the American and English names I had familiarized myself with. Ah, right. “Dvorák?
Debussy?”

His eyes flinched, closing tighter momentarily though his hand kept moving, and it was
obvious he hadn’t heard me enter the room, completely engrossed in the music. “It’s one
of my own,” he whispered, barely audible over the approaching crescendo. “Written
when I was seventeen for the application and portfolio I sent to Juilliard.”
I exhaled in amazement as I listened closer to the stereo. The notes clashed and resolved
in seconds, and I couldn’t imagine only ten fingers drawing this brilliance from the
keys. My eyes were drawn to the five that lay forcibly immobile on the sheet beside him.
If he couldn’t recover he would never play again. “And this is… just you on the piano?”
“Just me.” His voice cracked and his eyelids pinched together even further, and I
watched with rapt attention as his calm exterior flaked away like old paint. His hand
started to tremble on the invisible keys and his back stretched and withered with
progressively unsteady breaths. He occasionally stiffened and shook his head, trying to
reclaim his usual neutral disposition, but it wasn’t working. I didn’t know why he felt
he had to try.
When he pried open his eyes, he blinked several times to clear the tears I knew he had be
fighting and then glanced sideways to me.
“You got your cast off. That’s great.”
He was falsely cheerful and that only made my stomach ache for him. My news that
had seemed so important earlier faded into the background, and I only focused on him.
It couldn’t be healthy to constantly stifle his pain.
“Edward…” I was surprised by the blatant sorrow in my voice but was not surprised
when Edward turned forward again, continuing the miserable tapping against his
thigh. A particularly elaborate stretch of music filled the tense air and his right arm
curled until his stitched purple fingers brushed over his heart.
I had been a horrible companion to him. This man had not only been involved in a
traumatic accident but had been so badly injured that it destroyed his career, and I
had never once thought to ask him how he was doing. I let myself get caught up in
observing every detail of our encounters, but somehow missed the whole picture. I had
used him time and time again to vent my frustrations; it was time I returned the favor.
Without stopping to think of anything beyond his need for someone to confide in, I
unlocked my break and moved forward, rolling until my feet hit the table beside his bed.
Turning and locking again, I held firmly onto the armrests and rose with one foot
planted and the other just grazing the linoleum.

He heard the shuffle as I placed a hand on his bed railing for balance and red eyes
flickered to me before closing again. “Bella, what are you doing?”
A passing thought reminded me that Dr. Cullen would be incredibly disappointed if I
hurt myself only hours after losing my cast, but I didn’t care. Edward needed this. I
rotated slowly on my socked foot, keeping a careful grip on the metal until I could sit
cautiously on the edge of his mattress. Leaning down I wrapped my hand around my
calf and guided my injured knee up onto the mattress, and then quickly turned so I
was beside him with legs stretched in a pike.
His fingers moved so unevenly against his left leg that I realized it was probably
involuntary, his fingers begging to join in on the music. I wiped my slightly sweaty
palm against my cotton robe, then stretched out my fingers and placed my hand
hesitantly over his, stalling his movements.
The moment my skin touched his, Edward broke down. His head fell heavy against his
knees as sobs overtook his body, agonized but quiet moans burning my ears and filling
me with pain. The seemingly irreconcilable details came together in my head, leaving
me with a completely new understanding.
Edward wasn’t an enigma. He was just

broken and clinging to the one thing that gave

him distraction from his agony. Me. He hadn’t meant for his two sides to collide.
Suddenly my head ached. The dim lighting in the room was too bright and I brought
my free hand over my eyes to shield them. A rush of dull sensation overloaded my
sensitive mind all at once in a flash.
A bathroom with dull tan tiles. I shrunk to the floor, a pink slip of paper crunched
inside my fist, my elbow banging against the ugly ceramic sink on my way down but I
didn’t even feel the physical pain. It didn’t register. Everything seemed to cave in and
then it was too much. I threw my head back against the tile, praying for blood as the
sobs ripped through me. The same sentence played on repeat inside my head: “I’m sorry
but we’re going to have to let you go.” I tossed my head back harder against the wall
and prayed I would forget, but nothing worked.
“

I’m sorry but we’re going to have to let you go.”

I gasped when the memory released me; that was the longest and most detailed one I’d
recovered so far. I felt shaky from the intensity of even the faded emotion, and I wanted
nothing more than to talk to Edward and ask him what it meant. But he didn’t need
that right now. I forced it out of my head and inhaled deeply to quiet myself for now.

I pressed my forehead to his shoulder, emotionally exhausted but eager to provide what
comfort I could. My skin tingled wherever we touched: hands, heads, brushing ankles. I
had never been this close to a person since I’d woken, not in this way, and this simple
contact reminded me of how much I had yet to experience.
No words could calm my breathing like this. I had so much to learn.
Edward leaned back slightly once his tears ran dry, resting his head against the top of
my hair. I turned to put my ear on his shoulder and watched our hands rest together,
my much smaller one only covering a portion of his skin. His larger hand flipped over
slowly and our fingers slid together, palm pressed against palm. He sighed in
contentment and for the first time since I could remember, I stopped focusing on filing
and observing and just let myself feel.
We sat like that, curled together on his small gurney until a nurse came to get me hours
later. The sun had gone down but I didn’t know what time it was. Neither of us spoke
as I slid back to my wheelchair, but his last squeeze of my hand gave me all the thanks
we both needed.
My mind was still mostly blank as she pushed me the short distance back to my room.
The only thing that really concerned me was one detail that I couldn’t identity from
tonight’s event.
“What’s Juilliard?” I asked the nurse as she helped me into bed.
“Oh honey, it’s one of the most prestigious arts schools in the country. My oldest played
the saxophone in high school and she was so talented, but they denied…” She continued
to talk, hooking up my lines and checking my vitals, but I only sunk further into my
mattress and tried to process what that meant for Edward.
I had no doubt he’d been accepted. I had no doubt that he had gone and probably
excelled at Juilliard. And now, all he could do was play single-handed songs and
reminisce over what he had once been able to achieve.
My heart ached for Edward while I waited for sleep to take me, and for the first time I
wondered if there was something worse than losing your memory.
Having to

remember exactly what you’d lost.

***

VI.

The days passed after that, but things with Edward were different. Simply touching
him, having physical contact while talking made me feel so much less alone, and I made
a point to keep that contact as often as I could. Even when talking about simple things,
our hands would slip together or our feet would bump against one another. Besides, his
bed was much more comfortable than my wheelchair.
I no longer felt embarrassed when I shared my fears about recovering my memory.
Since seeing and feeling him crumble in my arms, my perspective on my amnesia was
much more conflicted. Before I had recovered any memories, I would have given
anything in return for even a little information, but now? I was less sure.
“The flashes that do come are so random and sporadic, you know? Like yesterday when
that volunteer offered to get me some water and I remembered that I dislike soda.”
“It’ll come back, Bella. And if it doesn’t I have complete faith that you’ll find some way
to handle things.”
I took a few moments to consider how to word my thoughts, tapping my fingers on top
of his and noting the differences between the textures of our skins. “I’m not even sure
that I

want to remember everything anymore.”

Instead of gaping or rolling his eyes, he just lifted my hand in front of his face and
placed a kiss into my palm. “Why do you say that?”
“When I had that flash a few days ago… the one about losing my job,” I glanced at
Edward to see if he followed and he nodded, “It was horrible. It was as if I were
experiencing that pain all over again. What good can come from remembering
something that only causes me heartache? What if I remember jumping?” I stopped to
take a drink from the Styrofoam cup I’d placed on the table beside me, letting the
sensation of cool water trickling down my throat calm my anxiety. “I’m just terrified of
being that girl again.”
Edward pondered his response for a few minutes. I gave him time and glanced around
the room, at the one flickering fluorescent bulb above his bed, at the tattered copy of
Wuthering Heights that rested forgotten in the seat of my wheelchair.
“I think that’s a good thing,” he said thoughtfully moments later. I lifted my eyebrows
but he continued to look at my hand, running his finger along the lines of my palm.
His right pointer was wrapped in gauze after he pulled out two stitches in his sleep, and
he couldn’t really control his fingers so his entire arm moved as he traced. “Neither of
us knows for sure, but you had to be pretty miserable to even consider… doing that. So

maybe this can be the fresh start you needed, even if you do remember the bad times
someday.”
“But what about you? Do you think it would hurt less if you didn’t have to remember?”
I knew I didn’t have to explain my question beyond that. Edward’s fingers froze on my
hand and I felt bad for probably causing him more pain, but I had been toying with
this issue for days. Though I had obviously gone through a traumatic event and I did
often feel sad or lonely, I had never broken down as Edward had the other day. I had
never experienced that kind of all-encompassing grief that bent his spine and drew
painful sobs from his lips. I was sure he would agree that feeling nothing was better
than feeling only pain.
“Bella, the last two years have been the best of my life. I would go through this agony
again and again if it meant I could remember my time there.”
But then again, I could never read Edward as well as I thought I could. I preferred it
that way.
- - - - -
Since waking up from my coma, my recovery had been slow but constant. I had healed
little by little and felt a small twinge of pride whenever I hit a new checkpoint. But
nothing quite matched the feeling of walking down the hallway for the first time on my
crutches. Angela waited for me at the end with a huge smile and a high five as we
celebrated my victory. Almost six weeks after waking up in a bright and beeping room,
barely able to move, I could move around on my own with only crutches.
But three hours later, my high spirits had all but disappeared. I hobbled my way into
Edward’s room. His smile, though initially bright as he looked over my crutches,
dimmed to match my obvious stress. He sat up slightly to push down his blanket and
beckoned me to him with a turn of his head.
He reached toward me with his palm outstretched and my fingers slipped in between his
own. We worked together to help me onto the gurney, guiding my knee and minding my
elbow until we were facing the same direction. We leaned back until we lay side by side
on the small bed. He continued to run his hand carefully over mine and I relished in
the contact, as I had every time we met in the last week. That didn’t feel like enough
today so I shifted until my head rested on his shoulder. The rest happened naturally,
my smaller body curving the best it could and taking some comfort in his warm side.
Maybe if I hid here with him, all the scarier problems would go away.

“What’s wrong, Bella?” he asked, his plastic palm reaching over to brush loose hair from
my eyes.
“Dr. Cullen came to see me today. I’m making excellent progress with my recovery. My
lung is doing much better, I should be able to start putting some very light pressure on
my knee in a week or two, and he and Dr. Hale both agreed that my headaches are
normal occurrences in amnesia patients.”
Edward continued to play with my hand and hair, tilting on his side to better look at
my face. “Well that’s a good thing, isn’t it?”
“Edward, they can’t keep me here anymore. They need to clear my room for other
patients as they come in. I’m being released in three days time at the latest.” My
stomach burned with fear again.
He exhaled loudly and gripped my hand more firmly. “Wow.”
The tears that I had not allowed to fall in front of Dr. Cullen earlier were building,
pushing out until a few warm drops fell onto his shoulder. “What am I going to do?” I
turned my head and Edward’s face was calm but intense, almost calculating as I
continued to talk. “I have no money, no place to go. Hell, all I really know is that I was
fired from whatever job I held before this.”
“Bella–”
I took a deep breath, regaining my composure somewhat before it crumbled entirely.
“No, it’s okay. It’s okay. I can just look for an easy job somewhere to get some money,
and he gave me a pamphlet for a halfway house I can stay at until I’m back on my
feet.” It sounded so insincere, I didn’t even believe myself.
Neither did Edward.
“No way. You are not staying at a halfway house, Bella. No. You’ll be at a homeless
shelter within a few months!”
“Well, it’s not like I have a lot of options.” I tried to glare at him but I was having
trouble staying angry. The way he spit out his assessment made me feel ashamed, even
though I had done nothing wrong. My frown deepened and I struggled to hold in my
tears.
Despite my clear embarrassment, he continued to stare intensely at me. His green eyes
moved in tandem over my cheek, from eye to eye and along my hairline. “Stay with
me.” The words slipped out so frankly and quietly that I could barely hear them.
“What?”

He sat up slightly, releasing my hand to prop himself on his elbow. “Come stay with
me.” There was no hesitation in his voice or his eyes, and I suddenly felt very
inadequate. Why was he so sure about me? What had I possibly done to earn this?
“You don’t have to do that. I really don’t want to impose on your life.” I didn’t want
him to rearrange his plans and his home because he felt obligated to help me.
But Edward just rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t offer if it was a problem. I have an empty
guest room and you need a place to live. I’ll even call my sister so she can help you get
settled while I’m still here.”
My heart thumped in my chest. Edward hadn’t even

spoken to any of his siblings since

the accident, so for him to offer to call her just so she could help me was shocking. I tried
to think of other reasons why this shouldn’t work, something that could convince him
that I really wasn’t worth all this trouble. He had done so much already just by
befriending me, and I knew that I had been a source of comfort for him, but we had
only known each other for two weeks. And while that was a significant time frame for
me, it wasn’t for him.
I didn’t realize how long I’d been silent until he spoke again, brushing his hand along
my neck. “Bella, you are very important to me.” His warm voice echoed my own feelings
for him, and it was surprisingly nice to hear. I felt myself subconsciously turning
toward him only to be stopped by my clunky knee. “Please let me do this for you.”
I saw it then. Waking up every morning in a bed with actual sheets and blankets,
walking into a kitchen to eat breakfast with Edward. Taking the time I needed to
figure out my life, to find out what I wanted to do. Getting a chance to find a new start
like the one we’d talked about. It would be… well, wonderful. But I couldn’t help but feel
like it wasn’t fair to him.
“I have nothing to offer in return.”
“Having you around would be sufficient.”
My nerves fluttered and my mouth felt dry, and though the physical sensations were
uncomfortable it felt like a good thing. I swallowed once then cupped his cheek, tracing
my thumb along his cheekbone and leaning forward to press a quick kiss beside my
fingers. “Thank you, Edward.”
We sat like that for a long moment, smiling at each other until a knock broke us away
from our stare. Angela stood in the doorway, slightly embarrassed but fidgeting with
obvious excitement.

“I’m sorry to interrupt but…” Disbelief made her eyes wide and her mouth open loosely
as she shook her head. Her eyes moved between Edward and me before landing strongly
on mine again. “You have a visitor.”

***

VII.
I spent the entire evening in a daze, only partially coherent when anyone spoke to me.
As soon as my crutches had crossed the threshold, I found myself engulfed in a strange
man’s arms. He felt me stiffen, my body’s natural response to being attacked, and
loosened his hold but kept his hands on my waist. His tan skin looked particularly dark
against his white shirt, the veins slightly visible along his muscular arm. It took me a
few seconds to realize he had started speaking.
“I am so sorry, Marie. I really had no idea you were in the hospital. I tried to reach
you a few weeks ago and you weren’t answering your phone, then Seth said he saw
someone that looked like you here when he was visiting Leah and I didn’t believe it, but
it’s true and I’m so sorry.”
But only one thing stuck out to me. “Marie?”
Nurse Cope cleared her throat from across the room. “Mr. Black, we discussed this. You
can’t bombard her. You’ll need to take a seat, okay?”
He sighed in frustration and ran a hand over his very short hair, nearly black and
color and nothing at all like Edward’s. He made sure I was steady on my crutches and
then stomped over to the chair in the corner of my room. I was frozen to the ground
until a warm hand on my elbow gave me enough direction to lead me to my bed. Nurse
Cope made sure that someone was in the room with us at all times because she knew I
would be uncomfortable, and I felt a slight pull of regret for viewing her so negatively
in my head. She may have been irritating, but she knew how to care for patients.
He started to speak in a low rushed voice the moment I was settled above my sheets, his
eyes nearly red with relief as he looked me over.
“God, you are so thin.”
His name was Jacob Black and he was a mechanic who had recently moved from
Chicago back to his home in Washington State. He was 22 and we had known each
other since we were teenagers. But even those details, the ones that gave tangible context

to some of my vague recollections, the ones I would have normally clung to and filed
away in my head paled in importance with the few details that mattered most.
My name was Marie Swan and I was 24 years old.
“We moved to Chicago two years ago after your father died.” He paused for a few
seconds, something I noticed he always did after speaking, like he was waiting for some
sign of recognition. When I gave none, he pulled an envelope out of the back pocket of
his jeans and stood slightly to hand it to me. I flipped open the warm and crinkled
paper, dumping its contents unceremoniously onto my lap.
I lifted the first thing, a shiny photograph that had been taken in front of a rocky
beach. In it, a girl who looked just like me smiled brightly, her arm wrapped around the
waist of a younger version of Jacob. On the back, “Jacob and Marie, 2005” was written
in black cursive.
“So what are we– are we married or… dating or something?” I felt some panic swell at
the thought, but I pushed it away. I couldn’t change the past.
A subtle but dark change set over his features and he rubbed his hands together, like he
was preparing to tackle something important. “We were in a relationship for a long
time, but we split up about two or three months ago. I wanted to move back to
Washington and you didn’t. But Marie, I was such an idiot.”
Jacob was censoring and I didn’t like it. Unfortunately, I wasn’t in the right state of
mind to argue and I was beginning to feel overwhelmed by everything that was
happening. Only two hours ago, I was preparing to live with Edward, someone I cared
about who knew me as I was now. It was too much all at once.
“Jacob, I’m sorry but I think I’m starting to get a headache. This is a lot to take in.”
He smiled sadly. “I understand and it’s okay. We’ll have plenty of time to talk
tomorrow.”
“Are you coming back tomorrow?”
“Well, yeah.” He scuffed his gray sneakers against the floor, watching the faint lines
that marked his tracks on the linoleum. “The doctor I spoke to said you were healthy
enough to leave. I still have the key to our apartment so I figured I could come back
around ten in the morning to take you home. I have to bring them your insurance card
anyway.”
“Wow. Tomorrow.” After weeks of monotony and even after my two weeks with Edward,
I was unprepared for this drastic of a change. I had panicked at the thought of only

three days left, and now I had mere hours. It was too soon. It was too late. Everything
was muddled and I couldn’t handle it.
Jacob misinterpreted my shock and grinned widely. “I’m sure you’re sick of this place
by now anyway.” When I still didn’t really respond, his smile fell slightly. I was
somewhat reassured by that; at least he could read me well enough to see I was fraying.
“I mean, is that okay? They just told me they were releasing you in a few days and I
thought you might want to get out of here a little earlier. I can’t believe they were going
to send you to a

halfway house.”

My body screamed to yell no, heart racing and my palms growing damp at the idea. I
wasn’t ready to leave here. I wasn’t ready to leave Edward, to be pushed back into the
real world again. But I couldn’t see another option. I couldn’t think. I could barely
breathe. Jacob was the only link I had to the time before my fall. As conflicted as I was,
I couldn’t turn away from that.
So, I nodded and distracted myself by taking in the small details about Jacob that I
hadn’t noticed in my haze. The tiny pockets that showed up on his cheeks when he
smiled excitedly, the smudges of black and brown on his knees that I could only assume
were from working with grease. He placed his hand on my cheek before he left, and I
focused on how much more calloused his hands were than Edward’s, rather than the
unease that I felt at his touch.
Everything was changing. I wasn’t ready.
I didn’t have a choice.
- - - - -
I didn’t even bother to close my eyes when the lights turned off that night, instead
choosing to stare at the rain-splattered window cast in moonlight. There was no point
in trying to sleep. I knew exactly what I would see if I did.
The awestruck grin on Angela’s face when she disrupted that tense moment.
The palpable relief on Jacob’s face when he saw me alive, tears welling as he took in my
injuries and apparently frail form.
The shadow that clouded over Edward’s eyes when she whispered those four fatal words.
He was hurting. I knew him well enough by now to spot the faint grief that creased his
brow as he withdrew into himself. I saw as his fingers curled and the affection vacated
his face, leaving him empty. Closed. Edward was stoning himself, but I couldn’t leave
here tomorrow with walls between us. I needed him in my life even while I fell back into
my old one.

Every time I tried to envision my life outside the hospital, my imagination stuttered
and then went blank. The fragments of memory played like snapshots in my mind,
worrisome and disconnected. I had been plagued for weeks by dreams of waking up
when I wished, rather than by a nurse asking for my blood, of walking with Angela’s
easy contentment or Nurse Cope’s world-weary expression. But now that it was within
my grasp, when I had actually touched it only hours before, I was

terrified.

As much as I hated the stagnant routine of this hospital wing, it was familiar. Hell, it
was all I knew. The thought of stepping through those doors with Jacob tomorrow as
“Marie Swan” made my eyes burn with tears and my stomach nearly cramp with fear.
I didn’t want to go. But honestly, what else could I do? He was the only link to my
past, and it wasn’t like I was wandering off with a complete stranger. Jacob had
pictures and letters proving that we knew each other. And maybe when I was around
him, uninhibited by nurses and IVs, I would be able to remember what drew us
together. My complete lack of any memories involving him was unnerving but expected.
Who knows, maybe he would end up more important to me than Edward already was.
My stomach clenched again.
Edward was still hurting. I hurt with him. He worried in rigid silence for me this
afternoon, and I had felt less secure with each crutched step away from his warm body.
He was safety and comfort and everything wonderful about the unfamiliar.
Jacob was everything that frightened me. He would never fill Edward’s role.
How could I leave him here? I had always known we wouldn’t have forever under the
bleached lighting; this was clear with every stitch removed from his forehead, every time
I breathed in deeply without pain seizing my chest. We were healing. Health and time
could only keep us here for so long. But even so, I could not imagine going a day
without speaking to him. Could we continue our strange relationship with the rest of the
world watching?
I didn’t even have to think about it. Yes, undoubtedly yes. In two simple weeks, he had
worked his way into my being as Heathcliff had to Catherine. Edward had given me
everything I needed and everything he could – an impartial ear, a compatible soul to
connect with, even the guarantee of a home once we were released. I owed him more than
I could possibly provide, but there was one thing I could give him.
I needed to fill him in on everything and we both needed one last conversation on his
squeaky and moderately comfortable bed; it couldn’t wait until morning.

My eyes had long since adjusted to the dimmed hallway lighting and I retrieved my
crutches from my bedside with ease. I tossed aside the sheets, using my foot to kick them
away, and slipped until warm toes met cool tile. Propping the pads beneath my arms, I
gripped the handles and pushed away from my mattress toward the promise of Edward
in room 3B. I nearly chuckled aloud thinking of the last time I’d snuck out like this
and how weakly I’d stalled across the hallway. My condition had improved so much
since then.
Plastic arm brace clacking against metal crutch, I hopped forward. I peered carefully
into the hallway, breathing a sigh of relief when I saw no nurses wandering my side of
the ward, and then moved forward in three quick pushes. Pushing the door open as
quietly as I could, I slipped into the dark room crutches first and held my breath until
the heavy door clicked shut.
Edward sat beneath the covers, head propped up as always by his two ratty pillows and
I could see his open eyes, gleaming black in the darkness. He sat up with the sound of
the door latching but gave no other sign to show he was aware of me. I felt obsessively
compelled to follow our regular routine, craving that little slice of normal amidst the
change. I plodded toward him and set my crutches against his wall, hopping on my foot
until my shin hit the bed. Then I turned to sit and twisted so my braced knee lay
prostrate and our upper arms brushed together. The soothing warmth that came with
his touch spread up my arm to my shoulder, chest, heart, but it didn’t feel right. He
was too stiff.
“Why are you here?” he asked after too much silence in a gruff whisper.
To thank you. To apologize for how quickly I left earlier. To tell you how much I need
you near me. “I… I had to see you.”
“You don’t have to do this, Marie.”
A jolt of pain hit my already delicate stomach when he hissed out that name. So he had
at least heard that detail and given his icy demeanor I imagined he knew much more.
“Edward, don’t–”
He cut me off. “Is it true?”
I frowned, unaware of what he had heard. “Is what true?”
“Are you leaving tomorrow… with

him?”

His voice fell away after the whispered last word and I knew that I had yet again been
wrong in my attempt to understand Edward. No matter how much I learned about
him, there was always more. More to hear. More to learn and experience. But this

discovery did not excite me as the others had; he was too vulnerable with an arm
wrapped loosely around his knees and his braced hand held against his chest in
subconscious protection.
So I nodded once, my words tangled by his helplessness, and sat in silence as Edward
continued to surprise me.
“How can you trust him? You don’t know him at all!” Salty tears fought to trail down
my cheeks as he verbalized what scared me most, but still I was quiet. His fingers pulled
violently at his hair and his voice, though restrained, was rancorous. “He could be full
of shit… he could… he could be the fucking reason you jumped!” I winced but he
continued. “Jesus Christ, after everything we talked about, how you wanted to create
something better for yourself, you’re just going to run back to the first guy who claims
to know you?”
He hurt me more with those words than I knew possible. I tried to rectify this horrible
sensation with the pleasurable electricity that ran between us where our bodies aligned,
but I couldn’t. I could never file away the way he affected my entire being. This wasn’t
friendship. I couldn’t even find the name for it.
“I want so much more for you, Bella.”
The return of

my name broke me, warped by sadness and disappointment.

“What else am I supposed to do?” I finally cried, the tears breaking free as my
frustration peaked. “I have

nothing, Edward. Fucking nothing. You lost your purpose,

and you have to live every day remembering the past. And I really do grasp that, I do,
but you have your

family just aching to help you. Even if you’re grieving right now,

they’ll wait and they’ll help you in their way. But I have nothing…”
Reserved sobs tightened my shoulders and it took his shaky hand against my cheek to
bring my eyes to his. I inhaled, sharp and shaking when I did meet his watery gaze, my
pain reflected in his serious lips and intense stare. The shadows of raindrops splashed
over his cheekbones. Even his constant music was subdued, the stillness only disturbed
by the infrequent beep of monitors and the crinkle of rain hitting glass. “What else am
I supposed to do?” I repeated. “I have nothing.”
I looked over his face with anguished curiosity, unable to stop myself from tracking the
expressions as they crossed his face even in this moment. Black eyes moved from my
eyes to my mouth and back and forth, and that expression was familiar. He was going
to do something. I nearly grasped what it was but that eternal haze blocked my mind

and I was left confused but with a nervous tightness in my muscles far from the
painful stab I felt earlier.
“You have me,” he breathed and then I couldn’t think anymore because his head jerked
forward and his lips pressed soundly to mine.
This was nothing like the timid and sweet kisses he frequently planted on my fingers.
His lips parted and slid over mine, sloppy and desperate, and I struggled to hold myself
upright as he moved toward me. His chest pressed against mine, left arm slithering
around my waist and clenching me to him as much as he could in our current position.
My head was dizzy with electricity and… something that made me cling to him, hand
crushed between us as I gripped his shirt. I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t
know how to stop.
He whimpered against my mouth in the moments we were apart, despairing and
flaring that unnamed emotion again; fabric crumpled between my fingers while my
other arm lay sadly limp at my side. I needed this feeling but I knew this was wrong. A
man… well, not just any man… Jacob Black, a man with a name and a history and a
documented connection to me, was coming for me when the sun rose, to take me away to
a life I couldn’t remember.
“Edward.” I twisted my neck until our mouths fell apart, surprised at the jagged ache
that clawed at my insides. I

craved to claim his lips again. There was too much comfort

and necessity in his touch to deny it. My passion for him was as simple as breathing.
His hot breath fanned against my neck, and I shivered each time his lips brushed
against my skin. Dim fluorescence peeked under his door, tossing surreal shadows
across the tiles and making the bed seem darker in comparison. I pulled lightly on his
hair, begging him to look at me, but he refused. If anything he burrowed further.
“Edward,” I pleaded. My fingers betrayed me, twisting further and pushing him closer
to my neck despite my protests. Sparks overtook my body. Even the feel of his nylon
brace scratching gently against the back of my neck drew me closer. I felt so perfect
pressed this close, despite the awkward angle of our embrace, despite the fact that I was
leaving in a handful of hours.
I was leaving.
And it felt like my heart was breaking.
“Edward,” it came out in a strangled whisper, my lips turning to press against his hair,
“Please tell me I’ll still see you. Please tell me you’ll stay my friend when I leave this
place.”

Shaking kisses scattered across my neck and I whimpered, completely melting under his
affections. Lips found my ear, a wet kiss against my sensitive ear lobe. And then he
sobbed, quiet and yielding. “We were never

friends, Bella.” I should have hated him for

his pessimism but I could hear his sincerity, and I

knew he was right. Edward was so

much more to me than a friend. He echoed my thoughts as his lips found my neck
again. “In another time we would have be beautiful, but I can’t stop you from living.
You need this.”
“I need you.”
He pulled away from me then. I gasped at the sight of him, eyes red but lively. His cool
fingers trailed down my burning cheeks and he sighed, repeating the words I needed to
hear. “You have me.”
I couldn’t deny what I felt anymore tonight. He knew that I was going to leave the
hospital in the morning with Jacob. We both did. And we had earned this last night in
our imperfect bubble. My thumb brushed over his lower lip and like a magnet, we came
together. Lips pushed against one another, sucking and nibbling and drowning in our
moment. For an eternity we kissed. The rain still fell against the window, my side
starting to cramp from our uncomfortable position.
I pulled away briefly from his mouth, smiling at the confusion marring his brow, and
glanced quickly around us. “Uh…”
“What, what’s wrong?” His breathing was sharp, face intense and concerned. He was
perfect in the moonlight.
I imagined leaning backward, pulling him tightly and letting him climb over me, but
the bulky brace on my knee made that impossible. “I want to… I need–”
“Bella, what is it?” Edward looked too worried and the words tumbled from my lips
without modesty or thought.
“I want you to lie on top of me, but my fucking knee is in the way.”
My hand shot over my mouth, and I could feel the deep blush working onto my cheeks.
I knew enough by now to know that was not appropriate. Edward just stared for a
moment, eyes as wide as my own. And then he

laughed.

“Bella,” his fingers twisted again into my hair. “Oh, my Bella.”
His lips moved forward and closed over my bottom lip, sucking gently and drawing a
strange moaning sound from my throat. I felt myself being lowered onto my back and
then Edward was moving. Keeping his lips to mine, he carefully shifted his body,
avoiding my knee with careful attention. I gasped when I felt his hand on my inner

thigh, nudging my legs apart until he could settle between them, and then we were
perfect again.
Edward fit against my body as if he was meant to be there, and we moved and kissed
with fervor. The gurney squeaked with each gentle movement of our hips. Hands
pushed up robes, fingers slid clumsily over sweaty skin.
Between talking to Jacob and my exposure to various books and television shows, I
could safely assume I had done this before. My body was not unfamiliar with the act of
sex. But I certainly could not remember ever feeling like this. His palms worked over
my stomach and outer thighs, and I was very aware that the only thing separating our
bodies was the thin fabric of scrub pants and the gowns over our torsos.
I should have felt many things as Edward hiked up my robe further, as his still bruised
fingertips grazed underneath my breasts and his eyes took me in as if I were salvation.
The ideas of fear, embarrassment, and shame passed through my head, but I only felt
peace. Desired. Loved.
Edward shifted slightly and palmed my right breast with a trembling hand. He leaned
forward, nose brushing me as he breathed a smile against my skin. Then, with
worshipful devotion, he pressed a single kiss above my nipple, holding his lips briefly in
place. The intimacy that should have felt strange enveloped us like a blanket, and all I
could do was run my fingers through his hair as he had his moment. If this were our
only chance to feel this, I wasn’t going to rush him.
When he met my eyes again, something had changed. A new determination lingered
just below the doubt, and I knew this was the last time he would question me. If I
wanted to stop he would, but I couldn’t stop this now even if I wanted to. I lifted my
head from the pillow, letting the magnetic force between us bring his lips back to mine
and placed my hands purposefully on his hips, fingering just beneath the fabric.
He rose up and the bedsprings groaned as we worked together to push down the scrubs
to his knees. Further was too much work and honestly unnecessary.
I explored what I could of his body with my usual candor – touching what intrigued
me, tasting what called my tongue, and trying like hell to remember every detail. He
kissed me when I palmed his cheek. He hissed when I trailed my fingers over his
erection. My teeth left small circular markings on his neck and collarbone but he
enjoyed that too, clenching his jaw and letting out stuttered breaths when he
remembered. My exploration only faltered when he began his own. My body was pliant
and incredibly sensitive to his touch; my neck tilting for his lips, hips jerking toward his

left hand when he teased the wetness between my legs with confident fingers.
Eventually, when we were both squirming with need, our eyes met. A quick nod and he
positioned himself above me.
We didn’t need full exposure or candle lit seduction. We birthed romance out of our
desperation for each other. Just like that, with my hospital gown bunched up above my
breasts and his thin pants covering his calves, we came together for the first and last
time.
Our hips found a rhythm despite our limited mobility, gasps and squeaking springs
mixing with the sounds of the pelting rain. His harsh breathing fogged around my face.
We occasionally arched together, lips and tongues clashing, but mostly we watched and
felt. Strands of hair fell forward over his eyes but I let them, mesmerized by the way
they danced around his face. It was at that moment, watching the pastiche of emotions
that filled his eyes as we sped up and swiveled hips, that I finally could name the
hidden emotion that had plague a great portion of our friendship.
Love.
I loved him.
The realization brought with it an immense sadness, but I refused to lose this fleeting
moment with him to grief. I didn’t know how it was possible in only two weeks, or how I
could love someone while knowing so little about the world. But none of that mattered. I
did love him. And this was possibly the most perfect moment I would ever have.
Sharp pleasure shot up my spine, recapturing my focus, and my head jerked back as I
whimpered. A heavy sensation was approaching, powerful and intense. I grounded
myself in this wonderful man, grasping onto his hair and yanking his face to mine.
Grinding, panting, light scratches and meshing tongues, pleasure, oh god pleasure, and
then my back arched. Toes cramped and I fought to keep my knee still as the ecstasy
crashed over me.
Edward stiffened as I came down from my own impossible high, my name escaping like
a prayer into my damp neck. And when he relaxed and rested his body beside mine, I
finally allowed the tears to fall. He moved us around and held me close, my back pressed
to his chest as his arms bound me in place, and together we mourned something that
could have been perfect.
If only it weren’t.

***

VIII.
“Um, this is the kitchen.” Jacob ungracefully pointed toward a corner of the apartment
separated from the rest of the room by a large counter. He stepped closer and began
naming various items in the nook. “This is where you make food. That’s a stove. That’s
a blender–”
I snapped, “I know what a kitchen is,” and then instantly regretted it when he looked
sheepishly to the floor. I knew he had been up late the night before, cleaning the space
and preparing it for my arrival. “I’m sorry, Jacob. I really don’t mean to take this out
on you.”
“It’s okay, Marie.”
I still flinched when I heard that name, even as it became more familiar to my ears. I’d
become attached to Edward’s teasing nickname, more so when I realized it was Italian
for “beautiful”… but I couldn’t focus on Edward. It made me too sad. I knew for
certain now that Edward had been right; I would go through this grief a million times
in exchange for those two weeks with him. I couldn’t imagine not knowing him and I
didn’t want to.
Jacob still stood awkwardly in front of the blue-gray cabinets that reminded me too
much of my hospital bed sheets, so I used my crutches to get a few steps closer. He
always smelled very nice, something my body recognized as a desirable scent though I
couldn’t really identify what is was. I leaned on my good foot and tapped him on the
side of the leg with a crutch. I wasn’t comfortable enough to touch him more than
necessary.
“Can you show me the rest of the apartment?”
He smiled widely at my small effort and nodded. “Follow me, I want to show you your
room.”
Jacob had been a perfect gentleman all day. He sensed my unease and waited patiently
while I said my goodbyes to the doctors and nurses. Nurse Cope called me “honey” two
more times even after learning my name, but it didn’t bother me as much as it once
did. Angela slipped me her phone number and extended an invitation to dinner with
her and Ben as soon as I felt up to it. The only doctor who

didn’t stop by my room to

say goodbye was Dr. Hale, but I understood why. My closeness with Edward had made
her a little tense around me as he continued to ignore his family–

I frowned, unsurprised that my mind had wandered to Edward again. It seemed to do
that whether I resisted or not.
I stretched my arms out beside me on my queen-sized bed, enjoying the feel of the down
feather pillow beneath my head and the smell of the freshly changed sheets. Even my
hair felt nice for once, cleaner than I could ever remember it being and lightly scented
with vanilla. The bathroom attached to my hospital room had been small, the products
harsh on my skin. I hadn’t even been able to bathe until two weeks ago, cleaned before
then by only a nurse and a sponge. Needless to say, the shower was my favorite part of
being in an apartment rather than a hospital.
There was also something to be said about wearing actual clothing. The black yoga
pants hit above my knee and were loose on my hips, a tangible sign of my apparent
weight loss, and my cotton t-shirt actually

breathed. I didn’t realize what a difference

the fabric could make.
Even the apartment was pretty nice, located on the outskirts of the city. It was modest
in size but nicely decorated, two blocks from a park and in a relatively safe
neighborhood according to Jake. And still…
I couldn’t help but miss the constant buzzing of the hospital. I missed the comfortable
darkness that, like clockwork, made my room seem spacious every night. But mostly I
missed the soft sound of classical music and the captivating man who had saved me
from my loneliness.
- - - - -
The day passed just like every other day.
It was typically dreary. My thoughts fled to Edward more often than I wanted.
“How was your afternoon?” Jacob asked when he walked in the door after work. Grease
blackened the skin along his jaw line and on the tops of his hands. I was always
surprised by how dirty he got working on cars. He had asked me this seemingly polite
question every day this week, but I knew he really just wanted to know if I had
remembered anything new.
“The same as usual.”
Jacob frowned at my flat tone but shook it off, walking toward the bathroom to take a
shower. Just like every other day.
We passed the evening mostly in silence. We ate dinner. Jacob watched television while I
read on the couch. The flickering lights and hum from the speakers made it difficult to

concentrate on the small black print, but I wouldn’t complain. I still felt like a stranger
in this apartment. I wondered if I always would.
A black screen with scrolling white letters signified the end of another television show.
The small hand on the clock pointed toward the ten. I noticed Jacob glancing at me
through my peripheral vision, maybe to see if I was watching the show with him. When
he saw that I wasn’t, he switched off the glowing box
“Listen, Marie.” I flinched. He ignored it. “I know I’m supposed to let you remember
what you can on your own, but I need to tell you this. I don’t want you to think I’m a
bad guy.”
I began to protest, “I don’t think you’re a bad guy–”
“Please?” He interrupted. “You were in a hospital for more than three months before I
even knew you were hurt, and you need to know why.”
I couldn’t deny him when he looked so eager to share so I nodded, resting my back
against the couch and turning to look at him. Jacob walked toward me again and sat
on the couch. He kept almost a full cushion between us, which I appreciated.
He cleared his throat loudly and began. “I think we had both been growing restless here.
We didn’t spend enough time together and when we did it was usually lacking. So when
I got the call from my father, begging me to return to Washington so I could take over
a small car shop I was almost… excited?” He scratched his head, “It just kind of felt like
it was supposed to happen.
“We barely talked about it, honestly. You told me straight away that you weren’t
leaving Chicago. You loved your job, and moving back to Washington would only stifle
you. So when we had a really bad fight a few days later over something stupid and
trivial, I left. I bought a plane ticket and didn’t even stop to call my father until I was
on my way to the airport.
“At first I was happy in Washington, seeing old friends and spending time with my
dad. Of course I missed you, but I was so stubborn. I managed to convince myself I was
okay for almost two months before I called you again. When you didn’t answer, I called
your office but they told me you had been let go. I had pretty much given up on
hearing from you until Seth called a few days ago.”
Jacob slid closer to me on the couch, his hand resting momentarily on his thigh. He
clearly wanted to hold my hand but I clutched it to my chest without thought. I
couldn’t help it. When I touched him I was only reminded that he didn’t make my skin

tingle like Edward had. He stopped when he was inches from my side and I fought the
urge to move to the other chair.
“I was such an idiot for leaving, Marie. We didn’t have the perfect relationship, but
who does? We get along really well, and we know – or knew – pretty much everything
about each other. I was crazy for throwing away a perfectly good thing.” He sighed and
glanced from my face to the green lamp on the table. “We’ve been there for each other
through tough times in the past, and I really want you to be able to confide in me, even
now.”
His candidness, while appreciated, made me feel incredibly uncomfortable. Jacob clearly
cared a lot about me, but I hadn’t remembered anything about him. He was warm with
an open disposition and was obviously physically appealing. But something was
missing.
I swallowed once and lowered my arm to my lap. “I need time, Jacob.”
He nodded grimly but put on a smile for my sake. “Of course.” Patting his thighs
loudly, he rose to his feet and gestured to the hallway. “You know where I’ll be if you
want to talk.”
“Thank you, for everything.” I felt terrible that he was sleeping on an air mattress in
what had been an office, but I couldn’t sleep in the same bed as him. Jacob waved one
more time and then headed down the hall. I waited until I heard the door click shut
before heading for my own bedroom.
I didn’t know what to do about Jacob. I was trying to relax around him, really, I was,
but he was so far out of my comfort zone. Guilt burned in my chest each time he looked
at me with hope in his eyes. Because no matter how much I tried to get to know him,
my thoughts wandered to Edward. As always.
I left the hospital with Jacob seeking some kind of grounding, but now I just felt empty.
Being in familiar surroundings had done little to spark my buried memory, and I
missed Edward more than was probably healthy. I missed his messy hair, dirty from so
much time in his bed but still charming. I missed how even the subtlest change would
completely transform his expression. I missed his utter devotion to music, and I missed
feeling so comfortable with another person that I could cry or laugh or even shriek
without embarrassment. I missed how perfect I had felt when we were together on our
last night.
Edward’s voice echoed in my head, whispering, “

I wanted so much more for you,” and

reminding me how quickly those dreams had left me. Only five days after being

released, I had slipped into yet another routine. I carefully picked out books from the
white shelves in my office, but had no one with whom to discuss them. I distracted
myself with cooking, printing recipes from a bulky computer, and following them
meticulously to create different dishes; this appealed to the side of me that still craved
information and loved to file away details. But I wasn’t progressing. Everything was
still monotonous, and though the setting had changed I was still just an outsider in a
world that made no sense to me.
If this was how my life had been with Jacob before we broke up, I must have been a very
different person. Or perhaps I hadn’t been. Perhaps that was why I had let him move to
Washington without following. The details were too fuzzy. All I really knew was that I
could feel myself slipping into a gradual depression, and that scared the shit out of me.
The discontent quickly exhausted me and my head ached from the stress. I wouldn’t
resolve this tonight. I sluggishly turned off the lights and lay back against the pillow,
taking some comfort in the soft jersey bedding. Sleep claimed me almost immediately.
- - - - -
Jacob and I were sitting beside a small Christmas tree in our new apartment. Candles
glowed around us, lights strung over the window and a present in my hands. I shoved
my thumb under the carefully folded green paper, smiling and shaking my head at
Jake’s tangible excitement. The tape gave way and I repeated the process until the box
was unwrapped and the paper was intact, something I always aimed for when opening
gifts.
I glanced up at my boyfriend one more time and pulled off the lid. Inside was a thin
gold chain with a heart-shaped pendant, three very small diamonds sparkling in the
dimly lit apartment. The necklace was undeniably beautiful and I was touched that he
had spent the money on some jewelry for me, but something pulled at the corner of my
mind. I only owned and wore silver jewelry. Jake and I had known each other for six
years, and we had talking about this more than once. Part of me was disappointed that
he didn’t know me better. But I swiftly pushed that small doubt aside and leaned
forward to give him a chaste kiss in thanks.
I guess I could get used to gold. It was the thought that counted anyway.
I woke up with a sharp gasp and sweat beading on my forehead. My heart pounded
beneath my sternum as I reached to my bedside, smacking my hand blindly against
the table until I hit the light switch. I felt incredibly disoriented until I remembered I
was in my apartment and not at the hospital. It was still very dark outside, the alarm

clock beside me showing I’d only been asleep for three hours. But even with some
coherency, I wasn’t calming down.
Was that a memory? Was it just a fantasy?
The images were quickly fading from my mind and I needed to know. I could feel how
important this was. Grabbing my crutches from beside my bed, I stood and moved
quickly over to the dresser where I kept my jewelry box. I flipped open the lid and sifted
through the accumulation of bracelets and necklaces, almost all of them strung on
silver. When I had almost given up, I noticed a small drawer closed off from the rest. I
pulled it open with sweaty fingers and lifted its contents. The golden heart twinkled,
just like in my dream.
I hopped backward quickly until my legs hit the bed and collapsed, still clutching the
necklace in my hand. If that had really happened, then I didn’t know what to think. It
had seemed that we were in a great place, a couple in their new apartment exchanging
gifts at Christmas, but I wasn’t entirely happy. And if I wasn’t blissfully happy in
that wonderful moment, how bad must it have been before he left?
These last several days had put a lot of strain of my determination to make things
work for me here. All of the pieces were fine on their own. I could not have imagined a
kinder person than Jacob to bring me back to the real world. I had a place to live and a
stable, though limited balance in my bank account. And I was beginning to realize that
even if I never recovered all of my memories, I would be able to function and live my
life. It would just take some time. But when I tried to fit them all together, it didn’t
work. My resolve was cracking, and I just couldn’t hold it together anymore.
I needed to live for my life as it was today, not as it was before a suicide attempt
stripped me of my memories. I needed to be with someone who made me feel safe and
loved. And no matter how much I tried, I could not settle for convenience. I needed
Edward.
The moment I conceded to what felt right, I felt a compulsive need to get there. I threw
clothes into a medium sized duffel bag that had been packed into the bottom on my
closet, barely paying attention to what I was grabbing. The mahogany jewelry box
fortunately had a snap to hold it closed, and I shoved it in with my clothing. My
cumbersome knee brace hindered my frantic hunt, but I did what I could. I felt more
anxious the longer I spent in this apartment.
“What are you doing?”

I had been so absorbed in my packing that I hadn’t heard when Jacob opened the door.
My eyes shot to his, wide and confused as he took in the room. His clothes were wrinkled
from sleep, but he looked alert now. “Marie, what is this?”
My voice cracked and I had to look away from him, focusing instead on deciding
between five pairs of shoes. “I can’t do this anymore, Jacob.”
Even though I didn’t see him, I could

feel his disbelief. “Wha– why not? What

happened?”
I sat on the floor and used my crutch to catch the handle of a handbag, pulling it
toward me and dropping it in with the rest of my things. “I just can’t. I have to go.” I
continued to pack small things that caught my eye around the room; a small plastic
alarm clock, a silver iPod that was bulkier and more scratched up than Edward’s.
“Where are you going?”
“University of Chicago Hospital to stay with Edward. He offered me a room before I
checked out.”
“Who the hell is Edward?” he demanded, taking a heavy step through the doorway. It
was too much again. I needed to get out. I zipped the duffel bag shut and worked to
stand up, using the edge of the bed for leverage.
“Jacob–”
“No, Marie. Slow the fuck down! It’s three in the morning, I’m not going to let you just
wander onto the street this late. Now

please just take a breath and talk to me. What’s

wrong?”
I inhaled deeply at his request and felt some rationality return to me; I hadn’t realize
how worked up I had gotten. I pressed my palm to my forehead, trying to center myself
before glancing at Jacob. He would never take me seriously unless I could talk to him
calmly. Keeping my voice steady, I sighed, “We’re just not right for each other. Neither
of us can be the person the other needs anymore.”
“What, how do you know that? What are you saying?”
He sounded so hurt, but not heartbroken and that only reinforced my decision. Jacob
and I may have worked together months or even years ago, but I was not the same
person anymore. Marie Swan had allowed her setbacks and depression to bring her
down so far that she couldn’t imagine living anymore. I couldn’t let that happen again.
Jacob would only understand if he knew how far I’d fallen. Even if it hurt him more, he
needed to know.

I took another breath and patted the space beside me on the bed. He stepped forward
immediately, taking a seat. I looked over, making sure he could see my eyes. “Do you
know why I was in the hospital?” He shook his head, almost shaking in his desire to
understand my apparent change of heart. But my heart had never changed its course.
It’d only been delayed.
“After you left I was laid off from my job, as you know. I don’t remember all of the
details, but it all became too much. I couldn’t handle it.” I took a deep breath and said,
“Jake, I was in the hospital because I tried to kill myself. I jumped off a five story
building.”
The air was painfully tense around us, silent and too full of questions. Jacob barely
moved, his hands curling into tight fists but otherwise completely still. His frantic
energy had all but depleted and though he tried to speak several times, the only noises
to escape were huffs and low whines.
Slowly I reached over and placed my hand lightly above his fist, much like I had done
when Edward was breaking. The muscles relaxed but his fingers stayed pressed into his
calloused palm. I needed to comfort him, because I didn’t want this staining his
conscience. “I’m not trying to place any blame on you, because everything I know tells
me if wasn’t your fault. You are a wonderful man. I was probably depressed before you
even left. And… when I lost my job,” I let some of the agony of that memory tremble
my voice, “I just couldn’t handle it. I remember the feeling, and I was inconsolable.”
I ran my fingers over his fist, reassuring both of us that this was the right thing. “If I
stay here, Jake, I’m going to fall into that again. I can already feel it happening. You
told me earlier tonight that you didn’t want to lose something good, but we both deserve
better than that. I’m not content to live a mediocre life just because it’s easy. You
shouldn’t be either.”
We sat in silence for a long while after that, but I could feel the change that had settled
over us both. Jacob turned over his hand eventually and our palms rested together.
There was no electricity. Now that I knew what that spark felt like, I wasn’t willing to
settle for less.
The peace was finally broken when I yawned loudly. It was incredibly late, and Jacob
chuckled before yawning himself. He squeezed my hand once and stood up, turning
toward me with worn but accepting eyes. “Please, at least wait until morning to leave.
I’ll drive you back to the hospital before I go to work.”
I smiled genuinely for the first time in hours. “That I can do.”

***

IX.
My foot felt light against the pavement as I walked into the front doors of the hospital,
my duffel bag slung over my shoulder. True to his word, Jacob had driven me here
without protest. He left me with the key to the apartment and his phone number,
making me promise to call him if I ever needed help. He was flying back to Washington
in two days, back to his family and his own new life.
The automatic doors slid open and I passed into the much cooler lobby, realizing with
amusement that I had only been here once in all of my time here, when I had left last
week. I moved toward the tan and purple semi-circle desk, knowing that I couldn’t find
the trauma ward without some assistance. The receptionist looked up from her
paperwork when I was a foot from the desk. Her long red hair was pulled into a French
braid and she smiled at me, quickly looking over my crutches.
“Hello, are you here for an appointment?” She spoke with the warm compassion of a
nurse, friendly but not exactly genuine. But I didn’t care anymore.
I smiled, unable to stifle my enthusiasm. “Not today. I’m actually here to visit a
patient.”
“Alright.” She moved the white mouse around on a blue square, clicking once or twice
before looking at me again. “What’s the patient’s name?”
“Edward Masen.” Saying his full name aloud filled my stomach with excited knots. I
was giddier than I could ever remember being, and I really liked the feeling.
The nurse tapped away at her keyboard, clicked the mouse once, and frowned at
something she read on the computer screen. “Hm, it seems the only Edward Masen in
our system checked out of his room a few days ago.” She clicked at keys for a few more
seconds and hit the large return key, shaking her head before glancing up to me with a
resigned smile. “Yep. He checked out already. Anything else I can help you with?”
I shook my head and forced a smile, thanking her for her help before hobbling over
toward the waiting area. The duffel dug slightly into my shoulder, wrinkling my shirt,
and I dropped it on the floor beside me as soon as I took a seat.
Why hadn’t I considered this? I knew that Edward had been healing just as I was. The
second surgery on his right hand had been scheduled for three days ago, but that had
been the last major thing he needed to get done before being released. The deep bruises
that covered both his torso and his arms were healing, the internal bleeding having

finally stabilized the day I’d upgraded to crutches. In fact the only reason he’d been
able to stay as long as he had was because of Dr. Hale.
Of course he had checked out. I had been rash in leaving my apartment, though my
intentions were good, and now I was stuck with a situation that hadn’t even crossed my
mind. I didn’t have Edward’s address or phone number, no way to contact him. I had
slipped out of his room after he drifted off the sleep, lifting his arm from around my
waist and ignoring that my heart was ripping in two. We had all but agreed that we
couldn’t continue this after I left with Jacob.
Another thought hit me. What if he didn’t even want to see me? Of course he had
understood why I had to leave, but I doubt that made it hurt less. If he had spent the
last week moping like I had, would he resent me for leaving him broken again? Would
he even be able to trust me again? Or even worse, what if he didn’t miss me at all?
Edward had changed me irrevocably, but what if it hadn’t been the same for me? What
if he had always seen “us” as a short-term thing?
I knew that was an impractical thought. He wouldn’t have offered me a place to live if
he hadn’t wanted to see me outside of the hospital. But the seed of self-doubt had
planted itself and I couldn’t help but wonder.
I sat in the lobby for a long time, too proud to return to my apartment and to Jacob.
That would be admitting defeat, and I couldn’t do that.
“Miss Swan?”
My head snapped up from my hands at the familiar voice, peering to the right to see
Dr. Hale staring down at me. She was dressed as I’d never seen her, a beautiful violet
sweater clinging to her slim frame and a dark pair of jeans fitting perfectly from her
waist to the floor. A pair of flat black shoes finished the outfit. Her hair fell in wild
waves just past her shoulders as if she’s simply pulled it from the bun and shook it out.
She looked so casual, though still beautiful.
“Hi, Dr. Hale,” I murmured, a little embarrassed that she had seen me sulking like a
child.
“What are you doing here? I thought you didn’t have an appointment until next week.”
“I don’t.” My hands twisted together nervously and I cursed again that of all people,
she had been the one to find me here. “I came to see Edward, but he’s not here
anymore.”
She quirked an eyebrow, pushing her large purse up further onto her shoulder.
“Really?”

“Yes,” I answered rather defensively. Her tone had been disbelieving, as if she were
honestly surprised that I wanted to talk to him. I sat up a little straighter in my seat,
trying to meet her eye with confidence I didn’t have.
She was clearly still hesitant to believe me. “And why is that?”
Huffing indignantly, I mentally prepared to defend my friendship with Edward to his
sister-in-law. I was ready to tell her that even though Edward wouldn’t talk to them, he
talked to me about everything. I was ready to remind her that he knew me better than
anyone else, and I him. But that wouldn’t have made me feel better and it would just
hurt her feelings. Plus if I was honest with myself, I knew why she was acting so coldly
toward me. She was only looking out for family, and I was grateful Edward had that
kind of support.
Feeling a little deflated, I slumped back into my chair, fidgeting with the top of my
knee brace as I said the only reason that really mattered. “I miss him.”
Dr. Hale tapped her foot on the light tile, arms folded in front of her chest. She exhaled
loudly, then asked impatiently, “Then why are you just sitting here? That won’t help
at all.”
I looked up in surprise, “Huh?” She didn’t clarify further; instead staring at me like the
answer was right in front of me. “Well, um, because I don’t know where he is?”
She laughed lightly to herself, pushing the bag up her shoulder again. “Wow, Edward is
going to owe me jewelry or something for this. Come with me. I’ll take you to him.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Why– why would you do that?” It was still hard
for me to understand why people did me any favors. My amnesia made things more
difficult for everyone I spoke to, and I had done nothing to earn their kindness.
“Because you love my stupid brother-in-law, though I have no idea why. He’s so
mopey.” She grabbed my duffel bag from the floor, tossing it over her other shoulder
and walked toward the door. When I didn’t immediately follow, still stunned by
everything that was happening, she peered over her shoulder and rolled her eyes. “Are
you coming, or what?”
- - - - -
The drive was awkward, though I couldn’t tell if it was from her or because I was
nearly bouncing in my chair. She had rolled her eyes at me more than once, but I saw
the hint of a smile pulling at her cheeks.
Compared to Jacob’s small green car, Dr. Hale’s red Mercedes seemed luxurious. The
leather felt nice against the back of my knee and the engine hummed quietly as she sped

up and slowed down. The excited knots pulled again at my stomach as we drove
through the streets of downtown Chicago, past brownstone houses and towering
skyscrapers. We continued past museums, on narrow city roads, down a stretch of
freeway until we were somewhere more residential. Every time she slowed down, my
heart raced, wondering if we had finally gotten there. I didn’t have to wait much
longer.
About twenty minutes after leaving the hospital, she pressed her foot against the brake
and turned the wheel, rolling to a stop on a smooth black driveway in front of a tan
house. It was medium-sized, a lovely array of flowers planted in front of the wrap-
around porch, and on a normal day, I would have stared at it for a long while, taking
in the small details and noticing how it differed from the neighboring homes. But today
was not a normal day, and my focus was elsewhere.
Edward was here. My limbs tingled and I could almost sense his presence. I barely
noticed as Dr. Hale opened her car door, grabbing both our bags from the back seat. A
door slamming jolted me and I rushed out of the car as quickly as I could with my
crutches. I followed closely behind her toward the house. She skipped up to the porch
ahead of me and rang the doorbell while I slowly moved from wooden step to step.
The heavy oak door swung open with a low creak when I reached the top step and I
froze, holding my breath until I saw pale skin and weary green eyes.
He looked far too tired to be on his feet, though his face was clean-shaven and his hair
looked two shades lighter than it had in the hospital. “Why are you knocking, Rose?” I
frowned at how dead his voice sounded. Dr. Hale glared at him and pointed toward me
with her thumb. His brow furrowed in confusion, but then he finally saw me. Our eyes
locked and he stumbled forward two steps until we both stood on the porch. He broke the
stare just to look over my face, taking in the changes as I did the same to him. He tried
to speak and I almost laughed at how flustered he seemed, “Wha– uhh…”
“That’s what I thought,” Dr. Hale smirked. Dropping my bag beside his feet, she looked
at me once and smiled. “She’s all yours. And you owe me a present.” Then she patted
him once on the back and walked past him into the house, shutting the door behind her.
“Marie, what are you–”
“Don’t. Please don’t call me that.”
Edward peered at me curiously but stayed silent, and I watched in fascination as his
Adam’s apple bobbed. He was as nervous now as I was. That was comforting. I took a
step closer to him, bending to set my crutches on the porch beside my bag.

“I don’t want to be her. I want to be Bella. I want to be

your Bella.” The desperate

words burst from my lips with a new set of tears, the hot drops running down my
cheeks and falling to the deck beneath my feet. He stood frozen for a moment, staring
directly into my watery eyes and over my face, perhaps searching every freckle and
crease for hesitation or for some sign that I didn’t really want this. Then finally, after
an eternity of silence, Edward lifted a trembling hand, the plastic of his brace cool
against the heated skin of my neck. His other fingers drifted to my cheek, carefully
brushing away my tears.
“My Bella.”
“Yours,” I whispered back. And then something broke.
His hands dropped to my waist, gripping as tightly as they could and my own flew to
his face, slipping behind his ears into his messy bronze tendrils. We each pulled the
other closer, moving in tandem until finally, his lips connected with my own.
We melted, taking time to feel every sensation. The gentle friction as his lips slid over
my own, the wet heat of our tongues as they met and then danced, the soft slip of his
left hand on the skin of my waist while the fingers of his braced hand twitched and
fought to make contact. I wasn’t sure about a single fucking thing in my world, but I
knew that this was where I was supposed to be. We had a lot to talk about, to figure out
how we felt about our problems and each other. But that could all wait. I held on
tightly to his thin body and let the perfection of his lips on mine wash over me.

This

was what I needed to be whole again.
“Jeez, Eddie, at least bring her in the house first.”
His warm lips were gone at the sound of warmer laughter and I glanced around
Edward’s body, my face flushed a bright red at the interruption. A brawny man with
dark brown hair and blue eyes leaned against the now open door, smiling widely at
Edward and me.
“You must be that chick from the hospital. So nice to meet you–”
“Emmett, I swear to God,” I heard Dr. Hale’s annoyed voice call from inside the house
before her tanned hand grabbed him by the elbow and pulled him back into the house.
Edward lifted a hand from my waist, pushing his hair away from his face. “My
brother…”
“I figured,” I giggled, unable to stifle my relieved laughter. I scooted backward slightly,
giving myself some room to compose myself while Edward blinked and took a deep
breath.

“Um,” he chuckled breathlessly after a few seconds, lifting my green bag from the porch
and slinging it over his left shoulder. “Do you want to come inside?” His eyes nearly
sparkled, a light flush of embarrassment tinting his cheeks and neck. The lingering
electricity left me giddy and hopelessly attached to this broken man. I didn’t even have
to think about it.
“Yes,” I answered without a trace of doubt. “I really do.”

~ * ~ * ~

THE END