Stay With Me

by E. R. Wade

  Sean hasn’t been here, but Julian has. When my mom asked me if I wanted to see him, I shook my head. I know my family is confused as to why I don’t want to. I can’t explain it to them, because how do I tell them that the day after I woke up from the coma, I remembered arguing with my husband. I remember some of the horrible things I said to him. I remember telling him I was in love with someone else. I remember I was pregnant. And the baby wasn’t his. How do I tell my family all that?

  The last thing I remember about that night is getting in my car, and being plagued with feelings of fear and guilt. And I remember feeling like I may be making a big mistake, but the truth is that I love Sean – a lot more than I love Julian. I had driven for a few minutes towards Sean’s condo but instead of feeling better, I felt worse. I was worried about the fallout from leaving my husband for his best friend who I was pregnant for. I leaned over the console to grab my phone to call him so that he can reassure me. I don’t know if I ever made the call because the next thing I remember is waking up three days ago.

  THIRTY

  Addison

  Over the next few days, I start seeing a psychotherapist and attending physical therapy. I’m desperate to get better, but I am also mentally and physically exhausted. Most days, I feel like collapsing and giving up. But I have to get better for myself, my parents and Elle, and for Julian. I really do want to get better.

  I’ve been open with my therapist, Dr. Kyran, but there’s one thing I refuse to discuss – the pregnancy. I prefer to pretend it never happened. Unfortunately, I had already told her I remember everything except the accident. No one else knows my memory wasn’t badly affected. I’ve been mostly quiet and withdrawn around my family, but they seem happy and relieved that I recognize them so they haven’t pushed me for more. I remember seeing my parents’ puzzled expressions the first time I told them I didn’t want to see Julian. They had just happily informed me that he was on his way to the hospital. I had started to get upset which scared them and resulted in a nurse being called into my room. When I was much calmer, I told them I didn’t want him to see me this way. That was a week ago. I hate how thin I’ve become. I am all skin and bones. I hate the way I look. I have a noticeable scar on the left side of my face, running from my hairline to my cheek. I hate the scar. Whenever I look in the mirror, I want to scream.

  I run my hand through my very short hair. One more thing I hate. Yeah, I seem to have woken up from the coma filled with loathing for almost everything. Well, everything except the four people who’ve been here for me the whole time I was unconscious. Elle and my mum keep telling me that I look great with short hair. Even the nurses have said so. One day, in a bout of anger, I asked a young nurse who had just told me how pretty I looked with my hair if my family paid her to say that. She looked so hurt that I immediately felt sorry but I didn’t apologize. Instead, I turned my face away. She hasn’t been chatty around me since then.

  Three weeks later, I still haven’t seen Julian, and Dr. Kyran hasn’t given up on talking to me about the pregnancy. She tells me that talking about it will help me get over the loss and I can grieve properly. What I haven’t told her, and of course I don’t plan to, is that I’m not grieving. I’m relieved. I can have a second chance with my husband without any reminders about Sean. I don’t want any reminders about my mistake. I’ve tried my hardest to block out the memories of Sean. When I think about him, I feel nothing, absolutely nothing. I feel completely indifferent to him. Okay, I admit I am lying to myself. I don’t feel indifferent, I just wish I did.

  This morning, Elle is here to see me, and I’m not surprised when she starts giving me a mini lecture about seeing Julian. She’s the only one who isn’t walking on eggshells around me. She treats me almost the way she used to before the accident. In contrast, my parents treat me like I’m fragile and are afraid to upset me. It’s like they think I might break or shatter. It infuriates me and makes me withdrawn when they are here. Elle doesn’t hesitate to tell me for the hundredth time that Julian has been coming to the hospital. I don’t know if I’m making a mistake by refusing to see or speak to him. I see the disappointment in my mom’s eyes that she tries to conceal whenever I tell her I am not ready to see him. Even Dr. Kyran has encouraged me to see him. Elle gives me a little push today by giving me a talking-to, saying, “You need to let him be here for you, unless you want him to stop caring and stop making an effort.” Of course, I don’t want that. So, after she reassures me that I still look pretty and that he’ll be happy to see me, I tell her that I’ll see him the next time he comes to visit. My response brings a huge grin to her face.

  “Why wait? There’s no better time than the present. He’s here now. I’ll tell him to come right in.” With that she gives me a kiss on my cheek and glides out of the room before I can get a word out.

  He’s here? Julian is here? I don’t know if I look presentable enough. Worse, I don’t know if I’m ready for the emotional reaction that will come from seeing him. What if he hates me for what I did? I didn’t confide in Elle about my relationship with Sean. Maybe I should have. I would like nothing better than her take on how to deal with this.

  The thought of finally seeing him any minute from now makes my heart pound so hard with nervousness that I wonder if I need to call a doctor. Also, butterflies have taken up residence in my stomach and are fluttering wildly. This used to be my standard reaction to Julian, until it wasn’t. Until I let Sean ensnare me with his questionable devotion and words. And now I am paying the price for it. I’ve been awake for thirty-two days, and he hasn’t come to see me once. If only I wasn’t bitter and resentful about it.

  “Hey.” My head jerks up at the deep, familiar voice. Julian. I’m staring at my husband, the man who stuck by me when I was comatose despite my betrayal. The man who has been steadfastly coming to the hospital despite my refusal to see him. Without a doubt, Julian Ashton Scott is the only man I should be with. He’s brilliant, sweet, kind and gorgeous.

  “Hey,” I murmur back. I’m happy to see him. I shouldn’t have made him wait this long to see me. I shouldn’t have waited this long to see him. He looks as handsome as I remember, maybe even more so. I wish I could fly right into his arms but for now sitting up in bed would have to do. Julian stares at me as if he can’t believe I’m sitting up in bed and wants to memorize every detail.

  His eyes flick to a framed photograph of us placed on top of the bedside table, and then to me before settling on the photo. I asked my mom last week to bring me some framed photos of Julian, and so far this is the only one she’s brought. In the photo, Julian and I are on a beach, our arms are wrapped around each other and there’s a huge smile on my face. It was our one-year anniversary and Julian had surprised me with a trip to Aruba. It was five days of nothing but pure bliss. We were incredibly happy. His eyes shift back to me. They are completely unreadable, which is surprising and throws me off. Julian has always been open and warm.

  “I’m happy you’re awake,” he says earnestly. He doesn’t look as happy and excited as I had expected. If anything, he looks reserved. Reserved and calm. He could be looking at a stranger and not his wife. A trickle of unease goes through me. Could it be because I refused to see him? I should explain.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t see you all the times you came by over the past month.” I take a deep breath, and continue. “I didn’t want you to see me this way.”

  “It’s okay. Your mom explained. I’m just glad you’re better.” There’s a slight pause. “It’s been too long,” he says gruffly.

  His words give me a glimmer of hope, and I cling to it.

  I open up my palm to him inviting his touch, and he puts his hand gently on mine. His hand is larger than mine. He feels solid, and I wish I could draw some of his strength. He is still standing, and I get the feeling that I may need to make more of an effort to get him to let his guard down.

  “The doctor says you’re responding better than he expected and you’re doing well in physical therapy.�
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  “I have many reasons to get better. I’ve already lost a lot.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, it occurs to me that he may think I am referring to something or someone else rather than him. I need to correct that.

  His expression alters slightly. He looks even more withdrawn. “Yeah. I’m sorry. I would take it all away if I could.”

  “Don’t be, it’s not your fault. You’ve always been the perfect boyfriend.” He looks at me quizzically, but I continue talking denying him the chance to ask any questions. “I have some memories about us, and I don’t know if they’re real or I dreamt them but they are what kept me going. Even when I was unconscious, you were on my mind. I’m sure they are what helped me find my way back to you.”

  Julian looks surprised. Clearly he wasn’t expecting me to say anything so personal. “Addison,” he starts to say.

  “Why don’t you sit down?” I suggest, interrupting him. “You could help me identify which of my memories are real.”

  He tries to pull his hand away but I hold on to it. “I just want to pull up a chair,” he says gently.

  “You don’t have to. There’s enough space on the bed,” I point out.

  “We’ll both be more comfortable if I sit on the chair. I’ll be right beside you. Okay?”

  He seems determined not to sit on the bed. What does he think I’ll do? Jump him? That’s actually not a bad idea but I don’t have anywhere near the strength required for such a simple act. I reluctantly loosen my grip, and he pulls his hand away. He places the white plastic chair next to the bed and settles into it, but he makes no attempt to hold my hand. This upsets me, and I don’t have the time to make sense of my feelings before I burst into tears. The tears make me feel worse because I don’t want him to see me feeling so weak. I cover my face with my hands and cry harder.

  Immediately, Julian is beside me on the bed cradling me. “Addie, what’s wrong? Do you need a doctor?” he asks urgently.

  “No,” I cry. I need you. Those three words are unspoken. “I just want to get better,” I whisper brokenly.

  “You will. You’re already getting better,” he says soothingly. He grabs the box of tissues beside the picture frame, and holds it out for me to take some out. I wipe the tears off my face. We sit in silence for a few minutes which thankfully doesn’t feel awkward. In the midst of attending therapy and trying to get my strength and body back, I’ve had time to think about Julian and I. And there’s not a single doubt in my mind that I want my husband back. The only way I can think of to accomplish that is to take us back to happier times, before the mistake.

  Julian starts to move away but I stop him. “Stay. Please.” There’s a pleading note in my voice. He doesn’t say anything but he acquiesces by relaxing back on the bed. Feeling a sense of relief, I decide it’s time for us to talk. “Maybe you could clear up some things for me.”

  “Sure. What do you want to know?”

  “We got engaged?” I ask.

  He hesitates a moment before he responds. “Yes,” he says softly. “We got married.”

  “We did?” I silently congratulate myself for affecting a surprised but excited tone. “That’s . . . Wow. I remember clearly how certain I was that I want to spend my life with you. When did we get married?”

  “You don’t remember?” he asks curiously.

  “No. I remember when you proposed. We were at home. I remember planning the wedding. I had just found the perfect wedding and reception dresses.” I add in a softer tone, “I’m glad I wasn’t dreaming about the proposal and planning our wedding.”

  There is a slight pause, like he’s weighing his words first before speaking. He seems to be doing that a lot. I can only assume he’s deliberately being extra careful with me so that he doesn’t upset me. When he finally answers, his voice has a lightness to it that sounds forced. “We got married four years ago.”

  “Four years ago?” I don’t have to pretend to be upset, I am genuinely unhappy whenever I am reminded that I’ve been unconscious for over two years. “I want to remember it.”

  “You will. Just give yourself some time,” he says.

  “Was I a beautiful bride?”

  There’s another pause, and then he says a simple, “Yes.”

  “Do you have any pictures of our wedding?”

  “No. I don't.” He obviously doesn’t carry any with him.

  “Can you bring some for me to look at tomorrow?”

  “Addison . . . I don't have any.”

  “I don’t understand. How can you not have any?” Now, I’m genuinely surprised.

  “Why don’t we talk about this later? We have plenty of time, and other things to discuss.” What on earth could be more important for us to talk about than this? I can’t believe Julian doesn’t have a single picture of our wedding. Did he destroy them all? I pull out of his arms and turn my face to him.

  “What did you do with our pictures?” There’s no disguising the pain in my now wavering voice. He makes no attempt to hold me.

  “I didn’t do anything to them,” he says. “I just don’t have any. It’s been a while.”

  “So what? I’m in a coma and you just decide to forget about me and move on with your life?” I ask bitterly.

  “There’s no reason for you to be upset. I never forgot about you.” I am upset, and his perfectly reasonable tone isn’t helping, but his words pierce through the hurt. I need to win him back, and fighting with him isn’t going to do me any favors. I focus on the fact that he said he never forgot about me.

  I lie back on the bed but not in his arms, and murmur tiredly, “I'm glad you’re here.” And then add, “Where can we find them?”

  “Your mom has some.” My mom? That’s when it dawns on me.

  “You didn’t want them.” It’s not a question.

  “Addison, let’s talk about this when you’re feeling much better.”

  “No. I want to talk about this now.” I take a much needed deep breath. “Do you still love me?”

  He shakes his head, and my heart skips a beat. Is that a no? “Addison, this is not the time or the place for this conversation.”

  “Why not? It’s a simple question.” Taking a deep, fortifying breath, I continue. “Because I do. I love you, and I always will no matter what happens between us.” He stares at me intently, and I feel like I just said too much. Hoping my statement doesn’t bring undesirable memories, I soften my tone and inject what I hope is the right amount of emotion in my voice, and say, “I’d still love you even if you spend twenty years in a coma.”

  Before I can blink, Julian gets up from the bed and walks to the door. “I have to go. I’ll be back to see you next weekend.”

  “You haven’t answered my question,” I say, struggling to keep the desperation out of my voice. His blue eyes hold mine. I’ve always liked his eyes. They are much lighter than mine. I’ve always felt that you could tell a lot about him just from his eyes. For instance, you could always see how open, kind, passionate and brilliant he is from just looking at them. Now they look closed-off, and I hate it.

  “Too much has happened between us. We can talk about it when you’re well enough to leave here. I’m really glad you’re awake. I’ll see you in a few days.”

  I watch him walk away, and I feel tears running down my cheeks. I’ve never been much of a crier, but I must have cried more since I regained consciousness than I did in the twenty years preceding the accident. The doctor said it’s not unusual to feel overly emotional and to have rapidly changing moods. I hope it goes away soon . . . and hopefully with it Julian’s coldness.

  THIRTY-ONE

  Sofia

  I’ve resorted to searching online for any information on Addison – yes, that’s how low I’ve sunk. I didn’t find anything useful. It seems the Walker family don’t want the story of her health in the news. I can’t imagine what they must be going through. I close the tab and drop the tablet beside me.

  For the past month, Julian has been going to the h
ospital three times a week but he hasn’t spoken to Addison yet. We haven’t spent as much time together but he calls and texts on the days I don’t see him, and we always have dinner together every Friday no matter how busy we both are. Sometimes, when he comes back late from the hospital, he comes over to my apartment and stays the night. It’s obvious that he’s trying to make sure that I don’t feel neglected or ignored. However, despite his efforts, I can’t help but feel like he’s a bit distant. And the truth is that I’m struggling not to feel insecure about the entire situation.

  The feeling is particularly pronounced because for the first time in weeks, I haven’t heard from Julian in two days, and now I find myself scouring for information online. I can’t believe I’ve resorted to that. Today is Sunday so I don’t expect to see him until tomorrow. It’s hard not to feel like I’m the other woman. It’s not a pleasant feeling and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.

  I should be working on the lighting and electrical plans, and elevations for a client, which I need to have ready by Friday but I can’t seem to focus on anything right now. To be honest, I feel like there are dark clouds hanging over my head and I don’t know what to do about it. I drop my head in my hands and let out a loud breath. Maybe I should call Skylar and see if she’d like to go out with me and get drunk. I look at the time – it’s not even four yet. Okay . . . clearly, that isn’t my best idea.

  I hear the buzzer, and since I’m not expecting anyone, I’m tempted to ignore whoever it is. But I don’t. It may be important. Reluctantly, I go to the intercom.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Sofia. Can I come up?” Julian. My heart skips a beat. I glance at the tablet to make sure the screen is dark.