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Then my door flies open. There’s a nurse rushing toward me. Her mousy, brown hair is tucked beneath her white cap, her pallor is pale, but she has kind wide-set brown eyes. I twist my torso to move again and another pain stabs at my gut. Gritting my teeth, I inhale and exhale slowly trying to push through it.

The nurse places her small yet gentle hands on my shoulders and guide me into a lying down position. “Don’t move around too much,” she instructs me. “You’ve been out for some time now. We weren’t sure if you were going to wake up.” I like the sound of her voice. It is warm and comforting and reminds me a lot of Mommy’s.

“Out?” My throat is dry and the word comes out with rasp.

“Yes,” she says as she tucks the white sheet around my legs. “You were in a coma.”

“For how long?” I can’t hide the confusion in my voice. I’m scared. And I feel lost. I feel like a child who scampered away from their parent in the middle of a crowded department store.

“Months.” She turns to the machines then examines the wires connected to my chest. “You suffered severe head trauma.”

I clench my jaw, feeling that intense burning pain coming on again. It is crippling and I find myself wincing, gasping for air, and forcing out, “From what?”

She wears a soft expression and my eyes flit over her white dress in search of a name tag. I don’t see one. “Just relax,” she says in a comforting way as she turns toward the door. “I’ll get you something for the pain.”

But I am still so very, very confused. “What happened?” I’m desperate for answers. “Please,” I beg.

“We’re not going to worry about that right now.” There’s finality in her soft voice. “You just rest. I’ll get you some medicine and we’ll worry about that tomorrow.”

With that, she exits my room, leaving me alone to drown in my thoughts.

~ ~ ~

I find myself calling a man’s name in my sleep.

It’s so familiar, the way it rolls off my tongue and I feel like I’ve said it thousands of times before.

There are times where I think that the quiet solitude of darkness can be a comfort. It can cover you like a newly knitted quilt, swaddling you in a cocoon of serenity. It can banish the dark thoughts in your mind.

Make you feel safe.

Make you feel warm.

Now is not one of those times.

I wake with the soft caress of slumber still clouding my mind. The land of dreams beckons, threatening to pull me back into its’ realm. It’s like an annoying voice lingering in the darkened portions of my brain, a haunting echo that I can’t let go of. My eyes snap open. I refuse to let sleep consume me anymore.

My room is midnight black, minus the shimmering stars, and I squint, trying to get a clear picture of my surroundings. The opaque black is thick and overpowering, like a cement barrier of smog and it doesn’t matter how much time I give my eyes to adjust. I still can’t see a damn thing.

I think I knew him before.

I think that we were involved.

I think the feelings I have that revolved around him were strong because I think of him often.

I dream of him often.

And I can imagine why I would have these recollections if it involved someone I didn’t know.

I whisper his name into the darkness, “Elijah.” Fanning my fingers out across the sheets to lace my fingers through his. “Elijah are you awake?”

Silence.

I glide my fingers further along the soft cushioned mattress and shiver when the cold from the sheets seeps through my skin. “Elijah?”

Sometimes I feel like he’s with me, lying next to me and I can’t understand why it feels so familiar.

Still no answer.


Tags: Lauren Hammond Asylum Romance