by Stella Noir
Just then, Dylan’s fingers move ever so softly against mine and I look at him in shock, seeing the lids of his eyes fluttering, but not quite opening yet.
I close my eyes and I mouth two single words, over and over again.
Thank you.
Chapter 40
I don’t sleep a wink, staying at Dylan’s side, and later, when they kick me out, outside of his hospital room.
I sit in the uncomfortable hospital chairs, occasionally having a coffee or tea brought over by a nurse who has taken a liking to me. Surprisingly - and thankfully - it’s the same woman who helped me when I was admitted after Matthew’s murder, and I couldn’t be more grateful to her for helping me.
“I know,” she whispers to me when she brings me another cup. “I know how it is.”
I don’t ask her for her story, because her gentle chocolate eyes speak for themselves. Whatever she has experienced, whatever she knows, she seems to be aware of the pain in my body at the moment, helping me if only with her gaze alone.
Finally, a doctor comes out of Dylan’s room, and I immediately rush forward, my plastic cup of weak tea already forgotten. I need information, and I need it now.
I approach him, my braveness fading with each step I take, until I finally come to a stop a few feet away. He looks up at me and I’m scared to meet his eyes … But finally, I gather enough strength to look up.
His eyes speak for themselves.
“Okay,” he nods. “He’s going to be okay.”
My heart rides of waves of emotion as I let myself smile for the first time in days.
I’m inclined to hug the doctor, but I manage to stop myself before I leap forward and embrace him. Instead, I give him a sincere look of thanks filled with tears, as I mumble a thank-you.
He seems to understand how I feel, and senses my next question before it’s even out of my mouth.
“You can see him if you’d like,” he offers, and I nod enthusiastically, more than ready to finally be face to face with Dylan again.
“Okay,” I say shyly, and he motions for me to follow him, which I do somewhat reluctantly. Because as much as I want to see the love of my life … I’m worried.
Because of everything that happened, because of everything that could have.
And I’m suddenly afraid for my own future. I’m scared of what could be, even though I’m well aware it might just be the best thing that could ever happen to me.
But I manage to somehow suppress those feelings, and I follow the doctor, my head held high.
He opens a door that leads to a patient’s room, and I hesitate by the entrance. Finally, I feel brave enough to raise my eyes to the motionless figure in the hospital bed.
And I immediately wish I hadn’t done that.
Dylan has wires coming out of his nose, and an infusion in his arm. He looks paler and pale, and his skin has a strange grey tinge to it. I look at the doctor who is still standing beside me, as if looking for encouragement to go inside his room. “Go on,” he urges me. “He’s going to regain consciousness any minute now. Don’t you want him to see you when he wakes up?”
I ponder the question for only a few seconds before giving him a firm nod. Then, I step inside the room, making my way to Dylan’s bed.
I stand next to him, my hands trembling as I reach for his hand. The soft click of the door behind me lets me know the doctor has left us to be alone, at least for a little while. I don’t know how long they’ll let me stay, but I decide to use up my time as best as I can.
“Dylan,” I whisper softly, reaching for my loved one’s hand.
I can feel his fingers twitching under my touch, and my heart beats excitedly, more than ready to come face to face with him again.
I squeeze his hand in what I hope is a reassuring matter, hoping to make him feel better, to console him in his time of need.
Then, his eyelids start to flutter open and my heart does a somersault in my chest.
“Dylan,” I repeat, my voice more excited and a little louder now. “Can you hear me, love?”
He finally opens his eyes and I watch his pupils dilate, finding me in the room and zooming in on me. He looks at me blankly for a second, and then tries to speak, but his voice is hoarse and hard.
“Wait a moment,” I rush from his bed, tugging my hand away from him. I reach for a pitcher on the side table, pouring him a glass of water and bring it over.
He takes the glass with trembling hands, raising it to his lips and taking a slow sip of the cool liquid. He clears his throat, and finally looks back at me.
I’m feeling confused at the moment, not sure why he isn’t responding to me the way I thought he would.
“Dylan?” I ask him softly. “Are you okay?”
He gives me another blank look, and then finally nods ever so slowly. “I feel okay,” he finally says, his voice breaking over the simple words from a few days of not speaking at all. “But my head hurts … a lot.”
“Do you know what happened?” I ask hesitantly, because he seems a little out of sorts, and I’m not quite sure what is going on.
Another blank look, and now I’m getting seriously worried. “Dylan,” I say again, patiently. Somehow I think if I keep repeating his name, he will suddenly be okay, be the man I fell in love with when I was only a teenager myself. “Do you know what Venetia did?”
He just stares at me, and at that point, I rush outside to get a doctor.
The man who walked me in before walks in with me, along with another colleague only a minute or so later.
But when we come inside the room, we find it empty.
Dylan’s wires have been pulled out and the monitor for his heart rate is screaming like crazy.
And Dylan, my love, the only one left for me, is nowhere to be seen.
He is gone.
Chapter 41
I’m tired of crying, I’m sick of it!
I’ve been in tears for months now. I cried when my fiancé proposed, then cried at our wedding, when they carried his corpse away. I cried for my lost love and I cried for my new found one - Dylan, my best friend and boyfriend from childhood. I cried for his sister, whose mind was so twisted she thought she had to kill me.
And now I’m crying once more, because I’ve lost my love again.
Dylan is nowhere to be found that first day, disappearing from the hospital without a single trace. Of course, we file a police report immediately, and someone is assigned to the case, promising us to find him.
But a whole day passes by and there’s no news, and I’m losing my mind not knowing where he is. The day is a blur of cups of coffee and tea, crying and worrying, with occasional talks with people who don’t even know me.
They don’t know how big of a tragedy this is. They’ve heard our story, and they look at me with sorry eyes, pitying me. I want to scream at them that they don’t know the half of it, explain it’s even worse than they imagined.
Then, finally, a call comes on the second day.
“Mrs. Roberts?” they ask me.
“Yes?” I answer breathlessly.
“We’ve found him.”
That admission sends me over the moon, and for a moment, I forget to worry about what actually happened, and just let myself be happy that he has been found - hopefully unharmed.
I’ll realize what a big mistake that is soon.
I arrive at the police station half an hour later, nervously smoothing down my dress as I’m taken to a room where Dylan is sitting at a desk.
“Dylan!” I say exasperatedly as soon as my eyes settle on him. And there it is again, that blank stare he’s been giving me since the hospital. It’s as if he has no idea what to do with me, which I’m fairly certain is not true.
He told me he loved me only a short while ago … how could things change so quickly?
I rush towards him to embrace him and he stiffens in my arms as soon as our bodies crash together in an embrace. I back away, looking at him with confusion while a police officer clears
his throat behind my back.
“Mrs. Roberts, it might be best if we talked to you outside,” he says apologetically, and I nod slowly, finally following him out of the room. My gaze is still on Dylan though, and his eyes, devoid of any emotions, are beginning to scare me.
“What the hell is going on?” I ask as soon as I come out of the room, my voice annoyed.
“I’ll take it from here,” another voice says and I look right into the eyes of Andrew Andrews, the detective who was assigned to my case. He is the last person I want to see, also being the one who shot Dylan.
“What are you doing here?” I demand angrily, crossing my arms in front of my body as if to protect myself, though I’ve always known Andrews wouldn’t hurt me.
Oh no, he had completely different intentions with me…
“I came to talk to you about your friend,” he says, his tone already apologetic. “First of all … Lola, I am so sorry for how it went down.”
His tone is genuine, but I don’t give a fuck. He shot the love of my life, and he made something switch inside him, making him a completely different person.
“What have you done, Andrew?” I ask quietly, my voice already trembling in anticipation of his reply.
He refuses to meet my eye, shuffling from one foot to another before finally responding to me. “They got the bullet out of him,” he explains slowly. “He’ll be perfectly alright.”
“Why is he acting so strange, then?” I demand, my voice shrill and angry now. “Why is he so … cold? He’s acting like he doesn’t even know me at all.”
Andrews finally raises his gaze up to mine and his eyes are full of pain. “It’s because he doesn’t,” he says softly, as if talking to an unruly child.
I can feel pain exploding inside of me as I stare at him. “What the hell do you mean?” I demand to know immediately, feeling confused by his admission.
Andrews sighs heavily, and then begins to pace the length of the room before speaking. “I’ve spoken to a doctor,” he starts to explain. “They said they saved Dylan, but when he went down, he banged his head pretty badly. He hurt a part of his brain that includes memories.”
I look at him with surprise and shock in my eyes, unable to understand what he is saying. “And what is that supposed to mean?” I ask, my tone ice cold.
“It means,” he says, his eyes finally connecting with mine as he sighs heavily, rubbing his eyes tiredly. “Fuck, Lola, I’m so sorry, but it means he lost his memory for the time being, and they don’t know when or if it even will come back …”
I stare at him in horror as the facts become clearer and clearer in my mind.
Dylan was cold and distant because he had no idea who I was.
I have an immediate urge to slap that worried look off of Andrews’ face, because he is the one who got us into this predicament. And I will not let him forget that, ever.
Suddenly, I feel like a character in a movie. I thought amnesia was something that only happened in stupid romantic comedies, where the couple then fights to find love again.
But this is real life. My life.
I begin to feel weaker and weaker and I become aware of the fact my legs are starting to buckle under me. But before I can do a thing about that, I end up on the floor, darkness mercifully taking over my mind, wrapping me in its glorious coat.
Chapter 42
I wake up in a barren room, sitting on an uncomfortable chair as my head lolls around, my neck unable to support the weight.
I furrow my brows, trying to figure out what just happened, but only a moment later, I wish I could go back into the blissful darkness, where I had no idea something was wrong.
“Lola, take a sip of this,” someone says, and I look up into Andrews’ eyes. My expression immediately becomes one of contempt, but I still snatch the glass he is holding out of his hands.
I take a deep sip and immediately start sputtering. “What the hell did you give me?” I demand to know.
“It’s whiskey,” he explains sheepishly. “To make you feel a little better.”
“It’s only making me feel sicker,” I accuse him. “As if you haven’t done a good enough job with that already.”
He actually has the decency to look embarrassed, but I’m already out of my chair and marching out of the room on wobbly legs before he has the time to react.
“Whoa, whoa, Lola, take it easy,” he says worriedly, grabbing my forearm. I give him such an icy look he immediately removes his arms, refusing to meet my eye.
“You know, I’ll probably lose my job over this,” he admits to me, and my eyes widen at his admission. “I shouldn’t have shot him … I harmed an innocent man and I deserve the punishment.”
“You most certainly do,” I say coldly, and then walk out of the room, and hopefully, out of Andrews’ life, forever.
*
After talking to another officer, they tell me Dylan is confused and needs someone to walk him back home. As much as it hurts, I realize it has to be me. But knowing he has no idea who I am cuts as deep as a knife.
I head towards the holding cell, where he’s still sitting in the same spot.
“Hey,” I say softly, smiling at him. He returns a tentative smile, and in it, I see the hint of Dylan I’ve always known and loved. Even though I know it shouldn’t, it sends my heart into overdrive.
“I’m here to take you home,” I explain, feeling more than a little awkward.
“Where is … home?” he asks hesitantly, and as he asks the question, my heart shatters into a million pieces in my chest. The poor soul has no idea what’s going on, and I was selfishly thinking about myself when he is completely confused.
“I’m not sure,” I admit, sitting down on the opposite side of the table, putting some distance between us. It seems to put him at ease, and it breaks my heart that he feels threatened by me.
I try to tell myself it’s only because he’s confused, and I try even harder to believe it.
“You live in an apartment downtown,” I explain to him. “It’s very small … You have a kitchenette, a bathroom and a pull-out couch.”
“A real bachelor pad,” he says jokingly, and I give him a weak smile, wanting to scream my head off. I don’t want him to be a bachelor. I want him to be mine, all mine … But it’s too early to burden him with that.
“You can also stay at the hospital,” I offer, and he immediately shakes his head. Of course, I understand his sentiment, having spent weeks in the psychiatric unit only a short while ago. “Or …”
I look at him hesitantly and he looks straight into my eyes. It kills me to see no recognition whatsoever in his blank gaze, but I make myself go on nonetheless.
“You can stay with me if you want,” I offer lamely.
He looks put out for a moment and I immediately regret my words, so I hurry to say something else in case it sounded wrong. “I mean, I live in a huge house - a mansion, really. You’re welcome to stay in a guest bedroom. I have a maid that cooks for me, and hopefully I can be of some help.”
He looks at me blankly for a moment, but then, to my shock, he begins to nod ever so slowly. “I guess … I guess that might be nice,” he admits slowly. “I really don’t want to be on my own.”
I smile hopefully at him, getting out of my chair. “Shall we get going, then? I’m sure you don’t want to spend more time at the police precinct.”
He nods slowly and we make our way out of the room, after which I sign some paperwork at the window, making sure we can leave safely.
I don’t bother asking about Venetia, especially because Dylan in next to me, and I don’t want him to find out about everything that happened in this way. I make a mental note to check up on her status later that day, when I have a moment to myself.
“Ready to go?” I ask Dylan, my voice filled with fake cheerfulness. He nods, and we make our way out of the station, stopping in front of the car waiting for me with my faithful driver.
“I don’t mean to be inconsiderate,” Dylan speaks
up behind me, and I stop in my tracks, turning around to look him in the eye. He looks embarrassed for a moment, but finally raises his eyes to meet mine before asking another question.
“I’m just not completely sure … who exactly are you?”
And that question alone makes my heart shatter all over again.
Chapter 43
The ride home is awkward to say the least, probably because I’ve been quiet ever since Dylan asked the question that broke my heart.
We’ve been driving for a few minutes when I finally decide my sulking isn’t being fair to him.
“You really don’t know who I am?” I ask hesitantly, the hurt plain and clear in my voice.
Our eyes meet in the car, and his gaze is apologetic, which cuts even deeper. I sigh heavily. “Do you want the full story or the Cliff notes version?” I ask with a soft smile, coming to terms with the fact that this is now my reality.
“I guess … the full version,” he shrugs, then a cheeky grin comes on his face and it reminds me so much of the man he used to be it breaks my heart into even smaller pieces. “Will it take us all night, though? Because in that case, I’d prefer to eat something first.”
As if to consolidate his words, his tummy makes a rumbling noise and we laugh, then look at each other nervously as if we’re not allowed to share a moment like this together.
He looks guilty, and it makes me wonder why.
“My name is Lola,” I say simply and we exchange shy smiles, like we’re two children being introduced at a birthday party.
“Pretty name,” he comments and I actually blush.
“Thanks,” I reply softly, and then we exchange another smile, and it feels so damn good to have a moment with him, even if it is so small. “I’m your friend from childhood,” I try to keep it simple. There’s no use in explaining the whole story to him now, it will have to wait until later.
“I bet I had a major crush on you when we were little,” Dylan has with a grin, and I giggle like I’m still a teenager.