The Memory of Us: A Standalone Soulmate Romance

by Claire Raye

  I watch Matt reach into his pocket but come up empty-handed. I hear Maggie’s sobs on the other end of the phone. I picture Bridgitte’s face, her smile, and I recall the last words she said to me.

  Maggie settles down for a few seconds, just long enough to tell me part of what happened.

  “I came to see Bridgitte because Matt was with you. We were going to breakfast and…” Maggie trails off and the crying picks up again. I get bits and pieces of the conversation before Maggie wails, “We got in an accident. Come home, Elliot. Come home now.”

  “What the fuck, Maggie?” I yell and she keeps crying and asking to talk to Matt. I still have no answers. I need to know what happened. Is Bridgitte alive? “Where’s Bridgitte?” I demand and Maggie tries to answer.

  “She’s…she’s,” Maggie says and I’m waiting for her to say Bridgitte is dead. I’m crying now too. Matt is screaming and my heart is racing. I think I’m going to vomit, yet somehow it all feels as if everything is moving in slow motion.

  “Maggie!” I scream.

  “She’s in surgery. I don’t know what’s going on. Just come home,” Maggie sobs.

  I throw the phone to Matt and press my foot to the gas pedal, heading straight back to the hotel. My only thought is getting home to Bridgitte, but there in the back of my mind is that small voice that reminds me I hate myself.

  I should never have been here in the first place. I should have been with Bridgitte. What if meeting Nora and now trying to find her was the biggest mistake of my life?

  It isn’t like the movies. You can’t just run up to the counter and they give you a ticket for the next flight to Chicago. There isn’t another flight to Chicago for four hours. Well, there are other flights but they’re booked and the ticket agent tells me I can fly standby, but there are no guarantees I’ll get on. As much as I want to get home to Bridgitte, I can’t leave Matt here either. He’s just as concerned about the situation as I am and given that Maggie is losing her shit, I’m sure he wants to be there just as badly. The likelihood of both of us getting on an earlier flight is pretty nonexistent.

  After getting our tickets for the flight in four hours, we head to the bar to have a few drinks in hopes of passing the time and to help us settle down.

  Matt was finally able to get Maggie calmed down enough to tell him what happened and she was also able to track down a nurse to fill her in on what was going on with Bridgitte.

  The two of them were on their way to a little breakfast place Bridgitte had read about up in Evanston when a taxi blew through a red light and nailed the driver’s side of the car at a pretty high rate of speed. Maggie, being in the passenger’s seat wasn’t affected nearly as bad as Bridgitte. Maggie walked away with a concussion, some airbag burns and a few bruises, but Bridgitte took the brunt of the impact.

  She was unconscious and had stopped breathing by the time the ambulance arrived. Maggie learned from the nurse that Bridgitte has several broken ribs, which led to one of them lacerating her lung making it impossible for her to breathe. This is where things get sketchy, because without knowing how long her brain was deprived of oxygen there is no way of knowing the extent of damage. It could be minimal, something as small and insignificant as short-term memory loss or something as extreme as brain damage. She could never be the same again.

  Bridgitte’s parents are on their way from Florida and her sister is flying in from Colorado, and then there’s me. Stuck at the fucking airport for the next four hours, waiting in a sheer panic and replaying all the worst-case scenarios in my head.

  I’m completely unsure what I even am to Bridgitte anymore. I’m not her fiancé, I’m not even her boyfriend, but this was just the incident that needed to occur to kick me in the ass. I do love Bridgitte and as I sit here in the airport I realize the massive fuck up I’ve created. I have to make this right even if things with Bridgitte are never right again.

  The plane ride back is brutal but it’s nothing compared to the ride to the hospital. Matt and I haven’t heard from Maggie since we took off, and Bridgitte was still in recovery. Maggie wasn’t given any new information, so now we’re going in blind and I’m just hoping like fuck that when I walk into that hospital Bridgitte is okay.

  I drop Matt off at the hotel where Maggie is staying and despite being told that visiting hours are over, I still head to the hospital. I won’t let this night end without seeing Bridgitte.

  I walk into the hospital prepared for an argument, prepared to demand to see Bridgitte, but I get nothing of the sort. When I ask for Bridgitte’s room, the nurse sitting at the desk begins to flip through a file and few papers before she asks, “Are you Elliot Munro?”

  “Yes.”

  “She’s been waiting for you,” the nurse responds. “The first thing she said when she woke up was, ‘Where’s Elliot?’ She didn’t seem to care about anyone else.”

  “She’s okay?” I ask, my voice shaking along with my hands. I’m immediately overcome with a sense of relief, almost collapsing to my knees. “Can I see her?”

  “She is okay,” the nurse goes on to say, “but she’s had some memory loss. It doesn’t seem to be too severe based on the conversations the doctor has had with her and verified with her family members.”

  “Okay,” I say, but it comes out distant and flat because in that moment I realize Bridgitte probably doesn’t remember breaking up with me. She doesn’t remember me leaving for Boston, lying to her and being a fucking prick.

  The guilt I felt returns and I have no idea how to handle the situation. I could completely use the fact that Bridgitte doesn’t remember anything that occurred over the past few days to my advantage, fix our relationship and go on as if none of this ever happened.

  But I won’t.

  I need Bridgitte to know what’s been going on. I need to be honest with her and hope she can forgive me.

  The nurse walks me down to Bridgitte’s room and stops outside before turning to me. She explains to me that Bridgitte is on some heavy painkillers and might be a bit out of it. She also tells me that she has very little memory of the accident or the days prior so I shouldn’t be alarmed if she doesn’t immediately recall simple events like why I was out of town or what day of the week it is. And I suddenly want to ask the nurse if Bridgitte referred to me as her fiancé, if she has any memory of what happened prior to me leaving for Boston, but I refrain.

  The nurse quietly opens the door to the darkened space and I take a deep breath but it does nothing to calm my anxiety. How am I going to explain all of this to Bridgitte?

  I can hear her slow and labored breathing as I walk into the otherwise silent room. Just hearing her breathing is relief all on its own. The room smells of antiseptic and the faint smell of Bridgitte comes through the closer I get to the bed.

  I close my eyes and immediately I can picture her face, her blonde hair falling over me while we slept next to each other and the way it smelled like honey. And I hate myself.

  I turn around and the nurse is gone. I was almost hoping she’d be here with me so I’d have an excuse to avoid the conversation I need to have with Bridgitte. Not that I think now is the perfect time to inform her I was on a trip to find a girl I fell in love with twelve years ago.

  I pull a chair up next to the bed and sit down and for a moment I just watch her. Her face is bruised and her bottom lip is swollen and split. There are burn marks on her wrists and neck, and it takes everything in me not to start crying, because I know this isn’t even the worst of it. I can’t see what’s under her gown and I have no idea how much she remembers.

  I lean forward and kiss her softly on her forehead and she stirs slightly. Her eyes begin to open slowly and when she sees my face a small smile appears on her lips.

  “Elliot,” she mutters, her voice raspy and hoarse. She reaches out her hand and I take it in mine. “I lost my ring. My engagement ring,” she says, her eyes falling closed.

  As soon as she says it, I can feel the tears form and before I know it, I’m c
rying. I feel so fucking horrible.

  “I have your ring,” I assure her, but I know the story of why I do will do nothing to ease her anxiety over losing it.

  “Why do you have my ring?” she mumbles, but this time her eyes open and she focuses on my face and even in the dark she knows something’s wrong. “Why are you crying?” she asks, but I can hear a hint of panic in her voice.

  The pause between her question and my answer seems unusually long, like the words hang in the air, like they somehow get lost. But it’s the guilt and the fear and the disappointment that makes me cling to them, makes me not want to say them out loud.

  “I have something to tell you.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Bridgitte tries to sit up and winces in pain. Just seeing her like this breaks my heart. I should’ve never left. I had something great with Bridgitte and I let some stupid fucking idea of perfection ruin it all.

  It’s over this time and I know it. I sacrificed everything I have with Bridgitte for nothing and now there’s the complete fucking chance that after I tell her everything she’ll never forgive me. At this point, it’s a chance I have to take. Bridgitte needs to know.

  I stand up and help her lie back down, but now she’s crying and asking me what’s wrong. The panic in her voice is evident and I’m sure her confusion is even worse. From what I can tell, Bridgitte’s memory loss begins at least a week ago. I don’t even think she remembers I was in Boston, let alone that she broke up with me.

  “Elliot,” I hear Bridgitte sob in the darkness of the room. “What is going on?”

  “You were in an accident,” I tell her and I know it’s an excuse, a way to stall for time.

  “I know that,” she says, a demand to her tone. “Something else is wrong.”

  I sit silently for too long and the sound of her voice grows louder in the darkened room, echoing, nearly startling me.

  “This is not the time for your fucking silence, Elliot,” Bridgitte practically screams through her sobs. “I have no idea what’s going on.” I watch the tears spill from her eyes and hear her suck in a few deep breaths, but the anger radiates from her body. She knows everything is wrong, all wrong.

  I’m taken aback by her tone and the loudness of her voice, this is not common for her and I realize she’s more than just confused. I understand her fear and her anger, but I know what I’m about to tell her isn’t going to subside any of it.

  “I’m sorry,” I say immediately following her demand, still unable to find the words to explain to her what is happening. I take a deep breath and without thinking about it anymore I begin to fill in the missing pieces for her including the piece that has been missing from the day we met.

  Nora.

  The words come out and they sound stupid as fuck. There couldn’t be a worse way to begin this conversation.

  “This isn’t because of you, Bridgitte,” I say and she lets out a loud huff as if she already knows what I’m about to say and that it’s somehow a total lie.

  It was never Bridgitte’s fault. It never had anything to do with her or our relationship. I wanted to blame her. I wanted her to be my excuse for why our relationship failed, but it’s not true. It just made me feel like less of an asshole or so I thought.

  “Elliot,” Bridgitte says and there’s something about the way she says my name that’s detached and void of emotion. “Spare me the clichéd response.”

  I understand she’s in pain and she’s confused, but rarely does Bridgitte respond so harshly and rightfully so, I think I deserve it.

  I don’t stall any longer and I begin filling in the missing pieces for her. I start with our breakup, but it still leaves Bridgitte confused. She doesn’t understand how we went from being engaged and happy, shopping for a wedding cake to her walking out on me.

  I leave out what a shithead I’ve been and how detached I became, as the wedding planning grew more intense. I fail to mention how she became consumed with the wedding rather than our relationship. She can see I’m leaving things out.

  “What really happened, Elliot?” she asks

  What I’ve told her would not lead to what has happened. None of this is her fault and so now, as I tell her what really happened, I place all the blame on myself.

  “I met a girl,” I say and Bridgitte gasps out loud and begins to cry again. She thinks I cheated on her, and while I didn’t in the physical sense, I did in the emotional sense. I was never fully present in our relationship. There was always someone else.

  “Get out, Elliot,” she hisses through clenched teeth. “I don’t need to hear anymore.”

  “I need you to hear the rest,” I say, panicked, knowing she’s not open to hearing what I have to say.

  Bridgitte grows angrier as I continue to talk yet I say nothing of substance. I can’t form into words what needs to be said. All I keep saying is that I didn’t cheat on her, but she won’t hear it.

  “Please, Bridgitte,” I beg, needing her to understand that I’m here to make things right again, that Nora means nothing to me and that I’ve made a huge mistake. “It’s over, I promise. I thought it was what I wanted but it’s not. I need you, not her.”

  She still doesn’t understand what’s happened and the more I speak the more it sounds like I’ve been cheating on her. This is not the way I wanted this to go down. It’s a fucking mess.

  “I don’t even know what to say,” Bridgitte states flatly. “But I need you to leave. I can’t do this right now.”

  “No,” I insist. “I’m not leaving.” I try to be firm, but it only pisses Bridgitte off more.

  “Get out, Elliot!” she screams, her sobs filling the room, her body is shaking and I hate that I’ve done this to her.

  It’s late and the hospital is quiet. Visiting hours are long over and the sounds of our voices begin to echo in the emptiness, the argument eventually trailing out the door and down the hall. It only takes a few seconds after Bridgitte shouts for the nurse to enter the room.

  “Sir, you need to leave. I’ve allowed you to stay too long already,” the nurse asserts, her hands on her hips as she steps away from the door. “Now!”

  “Okay, okay, I’m leaving,” I say, my hands up in defeat, but I still walk back toward Bridgitte’s bed. “This isn’t over,” I state firmly as I lean down and kiss the top of her head. She pulls away, a look of hurt more than anger written on her face. “I’m sorry,” I say, knowing my words mean nothing.

  I leave hurting and hating myself, and knowing I accomplished nothing.

  Three days pass and I hear nothing from Bridgitte. I know she’s still at the hospital only because Maggie and Matt have kept me in the loop. They headed back to California last night despite Maggie’s reservations about leaving. Bridgitte’s parents and her sister have returned to their respective homes, leaving Bridgitte to fend for herself. According to what Matt and Maggie have told me, she said nothing to her family about our breakup, otherwise I’m certain they wouldn’t have left.

  Bridgitte has nowhere to go since up until a few weeks ago she was living with me and as far as I know, she was crashing on the couch of a friend from work until the accident. That’s the last place she should be after her injuries and as much as she doesn’t want anything to do with me, I know where she should be.

  She’s being released tomorrow and I have no idea if she has someone to pick her up, where she’s going to stay or if there will be someone to take care of her. I ask Maggie to look into it and despite all the shit that has gone down and Maggie stating she doesn’t want to be involved; she does it for me anyway.

  Maggie gets back to me quickly and lets me know that Bridgitte is taking a taxi to a hotel and she plans on staying there until her doctor releases her to return to work. Not a fucking chance that’s happening.

  I’m not trying to be all knight-in-shining-armor, but she needs a place to stay, a place she’s comfortable in. She needs her home, even if she doesn’t need me.

  I show up at the hospital a few hours
later, this time during visiting hours and I’m let in without a series of questions. I give my name, I tell them who I’m here to see and strangely, they let me in.

  Bridgitte is making her way from the bathroom back to her bed when I walk in. She’s on one foot as the other one is casted to her knee. I wasn’t aware she had broken her leg and I feel my stomach twist into a knot as I watch her struggle.

  She didn’t hear me come in and she startles when I come up behind her, placing my arm around her waist.

  “Get out, Elliot,” she says, this time her voice is weak, and she practically crumbles against me. She tries to push me away, but I tighten my grip.

  “Let me help you,” I say, helping her to the bed as she awkwardly seats herself and slides back toward the pillows. Each move makes her wince in pain, but she won’t look at me, she won’t make eye contact.

  Looking away with her blonde hair falling across her face, she mutters, “I don’t want you here.”

  “I know,” I answer back, my fingers reaching over to tuck her hair behind her ear and as I do it reveals several burn marks that mar her neck and a deep purple bruise that runs from the corner of her lip to right under her eye.

  Her tongue slips out of her mouth and she wets her lips, and I watch her swallow hard before a few tears fall from her eyes.

  “I want to hate you,” she whispers, and it’s barely audible. I know her well enough to know when she’s upset or angry she cries and just expressing her feelings will make her sob. “But I can’t,” she adds and this time the tears flood her eyes and spill down her cheeks.

  “I didn’t come here to upset you,” I say, my hand smoothing down her hair and running down the length of her back. “I don’t want to argue with you.”

  She nods almost imperceptibly and swipes the tears from her face. I sit down at the foot of the bed hoping she’ll look at me, but she doesn’t.

  “Bridgitte,” I say and this time she turns, her eyes filled with tears, her face battered and bruised, and just the sight of her makes my stomach turn and my breath catches in my throat.