“Anyone here for Diamond Mitchell?” A woman’s voice interrupts my writing midsentence. Aveena nudges me with her elbow, and I look up to see Dia’s doctor standing a few feet away from us, scanning the hospital waiting room.
I immediately rest my pen and notebook on the seat next to mine and make my way over to Dia’s doctor with Aveena on my heels. Dave and Gaten should be here soon. They told Aveena they’d bring Dia’s baby brother to visit his sister today, but they’re running late, which probably means that the little monster isn’t cooperating.
“We are,” Aveena tells the lady.
“Can we see her?” I don’t miss a beat.
I’ve been patient up until now, but she’s been awake for two days, and they’ve refused to let anyone who’s not immediate family see her. Her dads said she was confused and alarmingly quiet, but her doctor assured us it was normal and that her personality might be slightly altered during the first few days.
Gaten said her memories seemed intact and that she recognized them instantly, but I’m scared to death that she won’t recognize me.
What if our love is gone from her mind? Or worse, what if she only remembers the bad parts?
Dia made me watch a movie called The Vow once. It was about a woman who lost her memory and only remembered being in love with her ex. That’s my nightmare right there. I don’t know what I’d do if she looked me in the eyes and didn’t recognize me. I don’t know that I’d survive it.
“Before you go in, you should know that she’s been having some trouble completing regular tasks such as walking or picking up things. She’s going to need a few weeks of physical therapy and constant help until she gets her motor skills back, but I believe she’ll make a full recovery if given the time.”
Thank. Fucking. God.
“What about her brain? Is she talking okay? Does she have memory loss?” I ask.
“The swelling on her brain has completely receded, which indicates that the coma had the desired result, but you might find her speech to be a little slow. Overall, she’s been talking surprisingly well considering, and she seems to remember basic information such as her name and birthday, but we can’t say without a shadow of a doubt that she didn’t suffer memory loss. That’s something you’ll find out by talking to her and bringing up events to make sure she remembers them.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Aveena says.
“I’m going to have to ask you to go in one at a time to avoid overwhelming her,” Dia’s doctor adds.
“Of course.” I turn to Aveena as soon as the doctor walks away, desperately looking for a polite way to say if you don’t let me see her right now, I might die.
You’d think she heard my thoughts when she offers me a small smile and puts me out of my misery. “Go. I’ll wait here.”
“Are you sure?”
She nods. “Yes. You need to see her more than I do.”
I thank her and set out toward Dia’s room. The halls seem infinite as I edge through the crowd on my way to her. I reach the door to her room, my palms erupting with sweat.
Please remember us, Dia.
Please.
I’ve been in her hospital room plenty of times in the past weeks—I’d sit by her bed during visiting hours and play her favorite music—but I still dread what’s on the other side of the door. There used to be an unconscious girl behind it, but now that girl is awake, and as happy as that makes me, it also scares me shitless.
I inhale a breath before pushing the door open and ambling inside. Her eyes are closed when I come in. For a second there, she looks like she’s still in a coma, her long, dark hair cascading down her shoulders as she lies in the hospital bed.
But then she peels her eyelids open, and my pulse flatlines.
The doctor said we’d need to have conversations with her in order to ensure she doesn’t have memory issues, but a single look is all the answer I need.
“F-Finn,” my baby croaks from the moment she sees me, and I rush to her side to take her hand.
Tears coat her cheeks the next second, and she tries to wipe them away but can barely lift her arm, this simple action requiring too much of her energy. Pain clogs my throat as I witness her struggle and sweep her tears away for her, clinging to what her doctor said earlier.
It’ll take time, but she’ll recover.
And I’m going to be there with her every step of the way.
“Can I kiss you?” I sit by the edge of her bed. It’s like I’m afraid any sudden move is going to break her.