“Pra…Pre-yah…” I mutter with miserable success.
“Priyanka. I’m Priyanka.”
“Right.” That’s not a hard name to say. What the hell’s wrong with me? “Thank you, Priyanka.”
There’s a clinical pause while she examines me and the machines monitoring my condition. When my numbers are collected, she starts to leave, but turns around at the door.
“Oh, and your…boyfriend? He went to get a coffee. He said he’d be right back. Can you say his name for me? I’m having trouble with it.”
“Uew-sa-lav,” I say it perfectly.
“Great. Thanks. You know, he’s been here since you arrived,” she tells me in a cheerful voice.
“Oh.” Is that good? I don’t remember. Priyanka’s news fills me with uncertainty. She shoots me a puzzled look, then gives me a quick smile before leaving.
Usalv is here? Yeah, he’s here. My memory is messed up, but somehow I already knew before she told me. The sensation of my brain being offline and suddenly functioning in overdrive to catch up with life in real time jars me like a bolt of electricity. My temples start to pulse as I focus on my memories of what happened.
The party. The…sex. My declaration of love. Usalv’s fast exit.
Pain floods my temples. But is it real or a memory? My thumbs press hard into my skull as I force myself to push through the excruciating fog.
That bitch in Usalv’s kitchen… Too many whiskey shots… My exit from the house…
Sadness. Fear. Confusion. Terror.
I scream. It’s not a glass shattering tirade, but everything around me stills in anticipation before it reacts.
“Louise?” A large hand strokes my forehead. “Are you okay, sweetheart? Can you open your eyes?”
I open my eyes to see large cobalt ones studying me with intense concern.
“Hey, Sweet Lou.” Usalv sits in a gray chair next to the bed and smiles at me.
“Hi-i.” It’s good to see him, even though deep down something seems off. “What happened to me?”
His expression becomes a mix of anger and concern that he’s quick to mask. “You had a concussion.”
“I’m aware. Priyanka, my nurse, told me. How did I get a concussion? Do you know?”
“Yes,” he says then pauses. “But maybe we should wait until your nurse gets back.” Usalv looks over his shoulder at the door.
“Well if you don’t want to tell me, then call her please. Trying to remember what happened makes my head feel like someone’s splitting it in two with a hand axe.” I lean forward to clutch both sides of my head.
“All right, I’ll tell you.” He reaches for the call button next to my bed and presses it. “The night of the party, after you left the house and went for a walk, you were attacked.” His voice is calm and certain as his eyes study my expression.
My eyes shift away from the intensity of his gaze and focus on the far wall, trying to take in what he told me.
“That explains why the last thing I remember is hellish terror,” I reply. I look down at my lower body. “Was it…sexual?”
“No. No.” He plants a chaste kiss on my forehead and rubs my cheek so hard it almost hurts. “I would never let that happen.” He presses his forehead into mine. “As it is, I damn near killed him.”
“You were there.” It’s a fact. I don’t remember, but somehow, I know.
“Not for all of it.” His voice is remorseful. “When you didn’t come back, I got worried and went looking for you. I’d almost given up.” His face looks strained at the memory. “But then I heard…fighting.”
My brain processes his words. They force me to wonder if I’ll ever remember what happened. Part of me isn’t sure that I’d want to. But some things about that night come back to me.
“What about you? You were in bad shape after your Pay-Per-View. Did…he hurt you?”
“No. The guy had you on the ground, but he took one hell of a beating for trying to keep you there.” Usalv’s voice is distant. “The broken nose, the dislocated jaw”—he shakes his head—“that wasn’t me, Louise.”
“You mean…I did those things to him?” My memory fails me. “But he still kept coming? Why would he do that?”
“Someone broke my nose in a fight before,” Usalv tone is almost casual. “If there’s not much blood flowing down your throat, you can keep going. I won that match. This guy was either in a fit of rage or amped up on something or both.”
“Are you sure it was me who did that?”
“Positive. I broke his ribs and ankle. Was trying to avoid his head because I didn’t want him to pass out.” He pauses. “I wanted him to hurt for a while after what he did to you.”
“Oh my God.” A long time passes while the weight of his words sinks in. They feel like an anchor around my neck. “Thank you. For coming after me.” My throat swallows hard before I continue. “But why did you come? And how did you know I wasn’t okay?”
“I didn’t know.” He breaks eye contact and stares past me. “I wanted to talk to you and got sick of waiting for you to get back.”
“You…wanted to talk to me?” My mood turns optimistic. “About what?”
His hand stills on my forehead, then withdraws. “I wanted to apologize.”
“Apologize?” I grasp his hand. “For what?”
“Everything.” He shrugs. “The argument we had before I left for Pittsburgh. The party. Kylie. Lots of things.”
“Oh,” I reply. “That. Don’t worry about it. I’ve forgotten it. Literally.” I try to laugh but it sounds hollow.
Usalv responds with a stilted, wordless smile.
“Is there anything else you want to discuss?” I ask.
There’s an awkward pause while I wait for him to mention what happened between us in my bedroom that night, to acknowledge my feelings for him, to tell me he feels the same way. But the more time passes, the more awkward it feels, until it approaches weirdness. Panic wells inside me until it bursts.
“Why are you crying, Louise? Stop that. Please.” His voice becomes anxious.
“I’m sorry.” I rub my eyes with balled fists, fueled by ferocious embarrassment. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” It’s a lie. His silence just delivered a soul crushing blow and my ability to manage emotions is extremely fucked up at the moment.
“Sudden mood changes can be expected for a while, Mr. Markovski,” a voice calls from the doorway. “It might not be possible for Louise to explain her feelings.”
Dr. Gayle Cooper stands in the doorway, watching us with dark ebony eyes over the maroon rims of her geometric eye glass frames. She’s worked trauma ICU since before me, and she’s among the best docs here.
“What should I do?” Usalv asks her in a concerned voice.
“Remain calm. And most of all, be patient,” she advises. “This might go on for a while.”
Usalv nods and gives me a reassuring pat. “It’s going to be fine. You’ll see.” He smoothes the hair on my forehead then rubs away my tears with his thumb pads. “You haven’t had a chance to speak to the doctor yet. Do you want me to stay?”
“No.” Right now I want him far away from me. It doesn’t make sense, but that’s what I’m feeling. “It’s all good. Give me some time with Dr. Cooper, okay?”
“Sure. If that’s what you want.” He seems surprised as he turns away and looks at Dr. Cooper. “I’ll leave you two alone.”
“Thanks, Usalv. I’ll see you later.” My voice is on automatic pilot.
“Of course,” he replies and squeezes my hand. He releases it quickly and nods at the doctor before exiting the room.
“Hello, Louise.” She approaches my bedside. “It’s nice to see you up.”
“Hello, Dr. Cooper.”
“Gayle. Please.”
“Thank you. Gayle.” Though we’ve often worked the same shifts, we’ve not spoken much outside of our work. It’s weird and strangely comforting to talk to her like this.
“How do you feel, Louise? Any pa
in?” she asks after a quick glance at my electronic chart.
It takes me a few seconds to answer. “My body is…sore. From running, fighting, getting hit. But what really sucks are the headaches that come whenever I try to concentrate or remember what happened that night.”
“I’ll make sure to prescribe something for pain.” She nods. “But you shouldn’t push it right now. You know that, right?” She tips her head and long gray dread locks frame the rims of her glasses.
I shrug in a helpless gesture. “What does that mean?”
“I like your stats. I like what I’m seeing here right now.” She gives a sage, reassuring nod. “Your prognosis is good. But you need to give yourself time to heal. You know that, right?”
I know she’s right, and she knows I know it. “What exactly does that look like?”
Dr. Cooper pauses, then pulls up a chair next to me and settles into it. “I’m going to recommend a month of full-time, outpatient treatment. Your treatment will include neurocognitive evaluations and therapies for symptoms you might have that we don’t know about, or that might develop after you leave. It also includes a patient support group, which no one thinks they need, but everyone ends up admitting helps.”
“A whole month?” I’m stunned.
“To start with,” she confirms. “We’ll need to see how it goes.”
“But, but…” My head starts to hurt. “What about my job? What about school?”
“Take it easy.” Dr. Cooper pats my hand gently. “You’ll need a medical leave of absence from both. You’re probably looking at three months off from work. Your job is both physically and mentally demanding. You’ve got to be a hundred percent before you can come back.”
“Understood.” My response embodies her clinical dreariness. “What about school?”
Dr. Cooper gives me another sage nod and pats my hand before she speaks. “That will take longer.” Her voice grows quiet. “As you know, we need to limit high level cognitive tasks for a while. And graduate medical studies are about as high level as it gets.”
The room stills as I process the news. “How long?” My eyes well with tears.
“A guess would be at least three months, possibly longer. Again, with reevaluation and follow up. You should be able to get a full refund for the term.” She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a business card. “I’ve taught in that program and have colleagues that do. If you run into problems, call me.”
“Thank you, Gayle.” My tears start to flow again.
Dr. Cooper waits a few moments, then continues, “Your prognosis is good, Louise. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you. Your job and a great career, and people who care about you. You’ve had a lot of visitors, and that doesn’t include the fine-looking man who’s clocked more hours in ICU than me since you’ve arrived.” Gayle and I exchange smiles. “You’ve got a life worth fighting to get back to you. You’ve seen it happen. You can get yours back too. You know that, right?”
“Yeah. I know that.” There’s a lot going on that was taking a toll on me before this happened, but it looks like my brain is going to be okay. Someday. That’s huge.
For the time since waking up, I feel hopeful.
32
I squeeze the box of the engagement ring through the fabric of my jeans as I approach the entrance to Sweet Lou’s hospital room. It’s a rose gold vintage ring, with a big round diamond surrounded by smaller ones along the setting and around the band. I keep picturing her expression when I give it to her, and how it will look on her long thin finger.
The thought makes me smile.
When I returned after the doctor left, she’d gone off to sleep. The nurse told me it was a good time for me to go home and rest. Confused and troubled about my future with Louise, I walked the whole way. It took me over an hour, but I wasn’t it really in a hurry. As my head started to clear, I passed an old-school jewelry store, and this ring—our ring—was in the window.
Just like that, I knew what to do. I hope she likes it.
“Louise?” My voice is just louder than a whisper as I call her name from the doorway.
She’s sound asleep, lying slightly elevated on her back. The sight fills me with disappointment and relief all at once. After entering the room, I lift one of the visitor’s chairs and set it down by her bedside, then settle in and wait for her to wake up.
Over the last few days, studying her face while she sleeps has become a habit, a way to pass the endless hours in a hospital room while waiting for the slow changes you pray will take place. Her demeanor is different today. Sweet Lou’s facial features are more relaxed, the tense lines around her mouth are gone, along with the deep crease between her eyes.
I rub the back of my hand along her forearm and sigh. Louise’s arm bristles, and it makes me grateful, especially after all those days she didn’t respond to anything.
“Hey,” she says without opening her eyes.
“Hey back,” I reply. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You didn’t. Not really. I was starting to get up.” Her eyes open cautiously. “Ow. Can you dim the lights, please?”
“Sure.” I study the numerous gauges and gadgets on the wall above her bed before giving up and walking over to the dimmer switch by the door. “Better?” I ask as the lighting takes on a dusk-like quality.
“Perfect. Thanks.” She sits up and focuses her attention on me.
I scratch my fingers against the ring box in my pocket, holding it in place through the fabric of my pants as I settle down beside her.
“You look good. Really good.” It’s true. “How do you feel today?”
“Much better,” she confesses. “They’ll probably move me out of ICU soon and send me home either tomorrow or the next day.”
“That’s good news.” I stroke her hair and smile. “It will be good to have you home.”
There’s an awkward pause as she shifts away from me and tries to sit up. “Yeah. About that. I was hoping to ask you for a favor.”
“Sure. Ask away.”
Sweet Lou takes a deep breath and her body coils with determination. “If you haven’t rented out your ground floor one bedroom apartment yet, I’d like to rent it from you. At market rate.”
“My…what? Why?” I stammer.
“It’s like I told you the night of the party,” she explains in a stoic voice. “That I want to move out of your house. Despite all of this”—she gestures around the hospital room—“nothing’s really changed.”
“Nothing? Are you for real?” I release my grip on the engagement ring in my pants.
Louise sighs. “Usalv, you saved my life. I will always be grateful to you for that. And you will always hold a special place in my heart. But I was right about you in the beginning. I just let myself get carried away. We both did.”
“What are you talking about?” This feels like some crazy, surreal experience.
“Remember the first time we amped things up? In the gym closest? Before we got down to it, I told you that you were a really nice man, and that it wouldn’t be fair for me to read into that just because you didn’t act like a Neanderthal.” She shakes her head. “And then you gave me an orgasm, and that’s exactly what I did. I read into things.”
“That’s not true.” I rise from the chair, and I start pacing the small room.
“I think it is. You’re an extraordinary human being, Usalv, who’s been extraordinarily kind and giving. That’s just who you are, and I’ve got to stop confusing that for…deeper feelings.”
Her determination makes me bristle. It also scares the hell out of me.
“Are you telling me that you think all of this has just been altruism?” My voice is louder than usual. “Of course I have feelings for you, Louise. Deep ones. Stop talking crazy.”
Louise takes a long, slow breath. “Maybe. But you don’t love me.”
“I never said that I didn’t.” Anger mixed with desperation creeps into my tone.
“You never said you did, eit
her.” Her words are followed by pin drop silence in the room.
I grip the sides of my neck while I resume pacing. How can I tell her what she wants to hear? That night, before she left the house and was attacked, I’d come very close to saying ‘I love you’ out loud to her. And what happened? She’d damn near died.
Those words are a curse coming from me.
“Okay, let’s come back to this in a minute.” I’m desperate to change the subject. “Is now even a good time for you to move? Especially given your physical condition?”
“Yes.” She meets my eyes with a steady gaze. “For both mental and physical reasons. The one bedroom is much smaller, and it’s on the first floor. It will be much easier for me to navigate.”
“And mentally?” I prompt.
“Being able to live on my own will be a huge boost mentally.” She hesitates before continuing. “And having some distance will give us both some time to adjust, to figure out what’s next.”
“Okay,” I reply in a defeated voice. “There’s no way I’m going to stand in the way of your getting better. Take the other apartment. I can have your things moved in the next day or so. You really didn’t have that much.”
Louise nods back at me. “Thank you, Usalv.”
“You’re welcome, Sweet Lou.”
Just like that, my marriage proposal goes up in flames. I feel like a lost ship in the middle of the night. No engines, no lights, no direction.
Fuck.
33
“Tell me you’ve got beer in the house.” Macy insists after I open the front door of my apartment.
“Sorry, girl. Not until after therapy’s over. Got a ginger-ale though.”
“Ugh. That’s nothing but a tease.” Macy steps through the doorway, her hands full of carry out and a beautiful bouquet of flowers. “I’ll take one, though.”
“Sure. Come in, please.”
“Should I just put these with the rest of the collection?” Macy holds out a bouquet while nodding toward several others resting on a long thin table that helps separate my kitchen from the living room.
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