Maybe One Day

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Mystery and Crime  |  House: Booksie Classic
She wakes up without any memories in a white room with a stranger standing in the corner. He'll tell her what happened... Won't he?

Submitted: July 26, 2013

A A A | A A A

Submitted: July 26, 2013




Maybe One Day


She wakes up to the blaring light flickering in her eyes. She is stunned to see a foreign face floating above hers a foot away. He tries to smile at her in an awkward way, but she does not know him. Her mind forces her to yelp in surprise.


The man quickly retreats, a grim, solemn look now engraved on his face. He hides in the shadows by the wall in fear when a nurse runs with a startled expression. Her old weary vivid blue eyes soften as she looks at the girl. She seems relieved to see the girl awake with her vocals intact. The nurse scurries over to the girl and checks the monitor beside her.


The monitor and the nurse are giveaways to her whereabouts. She is in a hospital, in a white sparse room with a foreign man she didn’t know and an old, tired nurse looking beside her. The girl catches sight of a clock hanging above the door.


It reads 3:21 AM.


What is she doing that late at a hospital?


Her first instinct is to quickly rise up from the bed she is lying in. Why is she in the bed at a hospital? She moves a part of her arm, but is paralyzed with pain coming from all different directions. Why is she in pain lying in a bed at a hospital?


Her mind begins to race and retrace any bits of information or clues that could help her understand why this is happening to her. She can not remember anything. She tries to think of what she had been doing before the incident. No relief of the brilliant memories come to her.

She tries to think of any memories, of the people she was with, what she had done, any good times that could shine a bright light of hope upon her to get her away from here... but her mind simply did not allow it. It blanks. She simply believes that it is just from shock that she can’t remember. She looks at the foreign man and still does not recognize him. He seems friendly enough, just a little shaken, but he is giving her a small, gentle smile.


Yet, she does not recognize him. How can she not recognize him? Who is he? Who is he to her? Then, the question hit her like a pile of bricks.


Who is she?


Still staring at the young man, she realizes she simply does not know. Her mind can not put it together; the pieces simply do not fit. She can not remember anything. She stares at the man and cries softly. Her cries become louder and stronger as the realization continues to hit her like a cold slap. The man comes closer, his lips quivering.


He asks her to calm down. He doesn’t know what she’s going through, what’s rushing through her mind, or the lack of. Her body begins to shake violently as her mind remains blank. Comfort is not an option.


Nurses run in with sterile needles, seeing the screams and hearing the spasms break the walls. The walls close in around her. A pinch pricks her skin on her arm as cold hands pin her down. She tries one last time to recognize the man’s face, but fails, falling into an unrestful slumber.


She awakes several hours later. The room is quiet, too quiet for her liking. She looks around the ceiling again, trying to recall what happened. She remembers the struggle. Nothing before that.


“You have amnesia,” an unfamiliar voice coos. Her head shoots up in protest to find the figure standing in the corner. His face is pained. Her body aches to send her in another fit of distress, but she is exhausted. She quietly watches the man and swallows the bile rising up her throat. She nods and looks away.


“It was horrible. You looked... horrible. I didn’t think you were going to make it,” he states, suddenly looking at the floor rather than her. She finds it unusual that that’s the first thing he decides to say. He quickly looks up at her and smiles.


“But I’m so relieved you did,” he adds.


She nods and swallows down the questions she’s meaning to ask. The girl didn’t want to get upset any further, so she ignores the urge.


“You’re going to be okay. They’re checking if the amnesia’s going to be permanent. I don’t think it is. I think you’re going to be fine,” he continues. Somehow, the girl feels relieved to hear those words coming from the man. She tries to smile, but can feel no expression taking over her face.


“They called your family. They live very far away. Your mother passed away years ago, and your father’s too ill to come here. Thought you should at least know that much until you get your memory back. But you’re going to be fine,” he repeats. The girl is taken back at the news of her parents. Should she mourn her mother or is she over it? Why is she so far away from her ailing father? Her face contorts at all the questions whirling in her head. The man slowly and cautiously approaches her, patting her arm.


“You don’t have many friends, but they’re good. They were here a couple of times already. They don’t know you’re up,” he says slowly. “They’ll be happy to see you okay.” Although his smile engulfs his face, there is a grim presence about him. She nods and finally asks if he’s also a friend.


Hesitating, he nods back. She thanks him for staying with her. Grinning, he glances away.


“I’ll help you get through this. No matter what happens. Even though, you’re most likely going to be okay, I’ll help you get better. You will get your life back. I promise,” he says optimistically.


The girl smiles faintly and for real for the first time. She sighs contently and closes her eyes. He continues to press hope into her heart. It isn’t even hope anymore; it’s certainty. She will get her memory back. He will help her. She will get her life back.


With these thoughts, hours later, she is content in her bed, practically dreaming of her memories. The man does not leave her side. She likes the man, she deduces. She asks him if he was anything more to her. He chuckles at first, but his eyes dim, and he looks at the floor.


“I’m just a friend. That’s all I’ll ever be, I guess,” he quietly replies. She wonders why he is so determined to be there for her. Why is he just a friend? He seems to care more than that. She only smiles at him and thanks him again.


“Don’t thank me. I can’t leave you,” he quietly says. “Even if I tried.” She feels a little lightheaded at the words; did he like her? She wishes she could remember him, if she had any feelings for him at some time. No thoughts come to her. Only the memories of the day invade her mind. She sighs and asks him to tell her what her life is like. He smirks.


“It’s good. Real good. You’re awfully pretty. Many guys like you, I’m sure,” he says. Again, she is confused. She didn’t see herself yet. He hands her a small mirror, prepared for the confusion. She looks into it.


She was pretty. Hidden underneath the horrible cuts and gashes used to be a fair-faced blonde girl with an ivory-like complexion. She chokes on what her face looks like now: cut up, torn, and tattered. She quickly shoves the mirror back to him. He realizes what’s wrong and hides the mirror. Her eyes tear up, but she rubs them away. She can’t recognize herself.


The doctor comes in with sad eyes. The girl grips on to the blanket when reality hits her in the face as the doctor speaks.


She will not get her life back. She will not get better. It’s permanent.


Her body is seized with anguish. She violently screams, clawing at her mouth at the news. Her head feels pressure pushing in at all angles. Her throat does not take a breath from the screams. Nurses run in again, grabbing her, soothing her.


She is not getting better. Those words hit her.


She will not get her life back. Who will help her? She thrashes on the bed against the nurses, breathing and crying heavily at the ceiling. She grips the mattress underneath her until her knuckles go white. Her heart pounding, her cries die to a whisper.


She turns to the man. He is tearing up as well. His hands shake. She feels the nurses release her slowly. The girl reaches out her hand to him. She asks him if he’ll be there for her. Without hesitation he takes it.


“Yeah. I will,” he quietly replies tiredly. He sniffles, still holding her hand. His hand gives her comfort, and the only sound heard from her is breathing. Tears still escape her eyes, but she gives him a little smile.


He squeezes her hand, taking it in. This shouldn’t have happened, but it did. It could have been prevented, but wasn’t. He should tell her, but didn’t. Maybe one day, he will.


Maybe one day, he’ll tell her he was a stranger before the accident. Maybe one day, he’ll tell her who actually caused it. Pushing the thoughts away, he swallows the guilt. Maybe one day.

© Copyright 2020 gabijaluvs2rite. All rights reserved.

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