He looks to be in his mid-thirties and he’s wearing an expensive looking suit. He’s lean, and tall, but not too tall. He has disheveled black hair, as if he’s been running his hands through it. He has stress lines around his face, but at this moment his face is lit up and he’s happy to see me.
“Oh honey, you’re finally awake, I've been so worried about you,” he says as he reaches me, giving me a kiss on my forehead. I’m really confused about who he is because I don’t recognize him. But when my mind takes in his voice, realizing that it sounds very familiar, I panic.
If I were still hooked up to the monitor at this moment I'm pretty sure it would be making the crazy noises from earlier, because my heart rate is going crazy. First it feels like it had stopped, and now it's accelerating because I'm freaking out.
This is the voice, the male voice I heard the last time I heard anything, but he’s alone this time. I immediately start looking around, thinking about the other mystery voice, the one that belongs to the woman, expecting to hear it any minute. But I don’t.
He follows, as the nurse continues to push me back into my room and once we're all in the room, he starts attacking the doctor and nurse with different questions. There are so many, it’s even confusing to me. Although the most important one is how much longer I'm going to be here now that I’ve woken up. That particular question is the one I care about the most, because I'm pretty sure when I leave here I don't want it to be with this guy. The uncomfortable feeling I’m getting from him is not making me feel good.
I keep staring at the guy, hoping that I would recognize him somehow, but I can’t. He seems worried about me, so obviously he must be someone important. However, I think about the ominous conversation that took place that included his voice.
Wanting to know who he is, I demand, “Who are you?” I say out loud, looking directly at him.
He snaps his head to look at me and he’s disoriented, like I just asked the stupidest question in the world. At this point it sounds pretty stupid to me too, but I really need to know who this stranger is.
He frowns, bringing his lips into a flat line, and finally he says, “I'm Bill, your fiancé.”
Now I'm screwed, I think. I'm pretty sure that this was the voice I heard with the woman the last time I tried waking up. But, why would my fiancé be someone else's fuck buddy? I don’t understand. Right now my life is starting to feel like some kind of soap opera and I’m obviously the starring actress.
They’re all still looking at me, as if they’re waiting for me to say something.
“Abigail, are you sure you’re feeling okay?”
If my throat weren’t hurting so much, I would be saying right now: No you dumb ass, I just woke up, my body feels like shit, and you guys keep calling me a name I don’t recognize.
Another thing to add to the list is that I don’t trust them! But I keep my mouth shut knowing this is the best thing to do. However, I ask again, knowing that I still need an answer. “Who’s Abigail?”
Ignoring my question, Bill turns to the doctor. “What’s wrong with her, why doesn’t she know who she is?” he demands, pointing his hand in my direction.
Looking perplexed over the whole situation herself, she answers him, “She seems to have had a bit of a memory loss.” The doctor gives him a calming look like this is normal. “She may just need time to recover properly; it can happen with patients in her situation.”
Shaking his head, Bill grabs the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, sighing to himself. He’s still quiet, like he's concentrating on what he's going to say next. I think he’s still shocked.
I hate that they won’t give me any detailed answers.
“What happened to me?” I ask, looking between Bill and the doctor.
Everybody is looking at me, still very uncertain whether to tell me or not.
Bill walks up to my bedside, taking one of my hands into his, and drops his head, looking gently at my face.
He takes a breath and begins, “A friend of ours was having a party at a hotel downtown, and as usual we had a room there so you could get ready. As we were waiting for the elevator to go down to the party, you became impatient, and decided to take the stairs instead. You were wearing some really high heels and lost your footing on one of the steps and hit your head pretty badly on the way down.” He pauses like he’s concentrating on what to say next, then carries on, “When you arrived at the hospital you had some really bad swelling in your brain, so the doctor here suggested that we put you in an induced coma.”
I’m trying to absorb all the information he’s just given me, then I look over to the doctor, still really confused about the whole situation.
“How long have I been in a coma?” I whisper, staring at the wall ahead of me, holding back the tears that are fighting to come out.
She looks to Bill first, then directly back at me answering, “It’s been a little over four months since the swelling in your brain reduced and we reversed the medication. You didn’t wake up right away,” she calmly states, as if reassuring me everything is fine.
I look over in Bill’s direction and ask again, “Who are you?” I want confirmation.
He’s now starting to look irritated by my question, but he responds again. “I’m Bill, your fiancé, baby.”
His answer still throws me for loop and I panic a little.
Why would my fiancé want me to stay in a coma? He had looked relieved to see me awake, but I keep replaying the conversation in my head, wanting to doubt it. I know what I heard. It was loud and clear, even if my eyes weren’t open.
Another thing that comes to mind, is why does he have someone else as a fuck buddy?
My panic is obvious to Bill, so he says, “We’ve been together for over a year now. We met at one of your shows over two years ago when I became your agent and we started dating a little while later. It was love at first sight for me.” He tries to reassure me with a smile. But I’m not buying it.
I look over at the doctor with a look like, “Please tell me he’s kidding.” From the way she’s looking at me, I know she believes his story. Bill looks up to the doctor and begins asking how soon I’ll be able to go home.
While she goes over the lecture about needing my rest before leaving, I block out their bickering at each other.
This is when I start reciting a number in my head, 951-555-2945. It comes to me naturally, like I’ve called it regularly.
That’s weird, why would I be thinking of a phone number at this moment? I’m happy that at least something is coming back to me.
“Bill, what’s your number?” I ask, loud enough so they both can hear me.
They both snap their heads in my direction in confusion for asking such a question, but Bill automatically answers. “555-6213, why?”
Mmm, not the answer I was expecting, so I try again, “Is there any other number I would call you at?”
I must have excited the doctor because her face is beaming. “Are you remembering something Abigail? Whatever it is, it might help. What is it you remember?”
Bill looks excited as well, but knowing that it isn’t his number, I just fib. “I thought I remembered, but it was only a glimpse of an area code, then it disappeared.” I lie to both of them, keeping the number to myself.
“By the way, what is the area code here?”
The doctor is the first to speak up, “206.”
That is definitely not the area code I’m remembering. They’re both still patiently waiting for me to say something, so I answer with the only excuse that I can think of at the moment. “That’s why I asked Bill to recite his number hoping it would spark something, but I was wrong… I’m sorry.” I look at them, disappointed.
Seeming just as irritated about the whole situation, Bill turns to the doctor, barks at her to order more tests, wanting to know why I’ve lost my memory.
The neurologist decides to steer the conversation by saying, “Although she has a bit of a memory loss, she might get it
back in time, especially once she goes home and begins to see things more familiar to her. Give her time; she’s just woken up,” she says before her lips go into a frown of disappointment as well.
“Then how soon can she go home so she can start remembering?” he barks at her, making me flinch from the anger in his tone.
He turns to me and with a nicer voice says, “Baby, your name is Abigail Adams. You’re a famous model. Is it ringing a bell?” he questions with desperation.
I shake my head and pick at the imaginary lint on my blankets. The name doesn’t ring a bell at all. I want it to, but it doesn’t.
Bill notices my lack of response and begins fumbling with his phone like he’s looking for something and once he’s found it he brings the phone close to my face for me to look into the screen. On it is a photo of myself with a whole bunch of make-up, and I’m half-naked.
“See, that’s you at your last photo shoot, it’s for Vogue!” he says with enthusiasm. “Of course you know who you are, you’re legendary since this cover came out.” The phone is still in front of my face as if he expects the light bulb to turn on in my head.
When I shake my head at him he only sighs again, clearly disappointed. I think I’m really beginning to irritate him.
He moves to the corner of the room dragging the doctor with him, by the arm, and in hushed tones he begins speaking with her. The nurse walks in at this moment saving me from having to look at both of them, knowing that they are discussing me and leaving me out of the conversation. The nurse entertains herself by fluffing my pillows, in an effort to make me more comfortable, but I know she’s really just trying to be nice about the whole situation.
They both stop talking and look over in my direction and he smiles. The only trouble is that his smile is worrying me and I want it to go away. It’s the type of smile meant to reassure me that everything is okay, when in reality it’s not.
Knowing the situation is not going to get any better until my memory comes back, I bring up the excuse that I’m tired so they will leave me alone. Right now I want to be alone and sleep. My body feels drained, even though I just woke up a couple of hours ago. What I really want is for Bill to leave, so whatever excuse I can give them to make him leave works for me.
They all leave me to get my rest and as I’m left alone with my thoughts. I wonder again if I’m wrong about Bill. I keep trying to convince myself that maybe it was someone else, or maybe I had dreamt the whole conversation. I begin to get drowsy and my eyelids start to feel heavy, dragging me into sleep once again.
In my dream, I feel happy, and I see this guy who's laughing with me.
He’s young, early twenties, good looking, and really fit. He’s taller than me, enough so that I have to look up at him. He has a narrow looking face, his hair is a dark color, with dark chocolate brown eyes, and thick lashes that are long, curl, and make you jealous that he has them. But what really catches my attention is his smile. He has a smile that just makes you melt inside and it makes you smile with him. He's all sweaty and I note that he looks like he just finished working out. Or has done something that has made him breathe really fast and heavy. His shirt is soaked and he's chugging water from a water bottle like he's dying of thirst. I look at my surroundings and notice that we are in a park, at the end of what I think is a trail, and in the background there are a lot of tall trees. He then throws his arm around my shoulders and says, “Keep up that pace and we’re definitely going to PR this race.”
What race and what PR event is he talking about? My dream begins to fade away, and I'm trying really hard to ask him what’s going on, or who he is?
Unfortunately, I can't get the words out of my mouth. I want to know his name, but he quickly fades away.
As I open my eyes, I notice it's morning again, with the light coming in through my hospital room window and a new nurse is taking my blood pressure, which is what must have woken me up.
Now that I’m awake, I take the time to focus on trying to bring back some type of memory. When the nurse sees that I’m awake, she informs me that Bill came by early this morning while I was still sleeping and dropped off my stuff.
I turn my head and notice an iPad on the side table and I reach over and grab it. Wanting answers fast, I start to Google my name, “Abigail Adams.” Right away all kinds of articles and images come up.
According to the Internet, I’m not a world famous model, but I am in high demand in the states. Thanks to my current fiancé, slash agent and manager, I was on the way to becoming the most highly sought after model in recent history. Before my accident, I had wrapped up an interview and photo shoot with Vogue that was going to get me those international shoots I was working towards.
I was born in Seattle, but raised in the foster system. My mother died when I was twelve, leaving me to be raised by the state in different foster homes until I was discovered at the age of eighteen. I had begun with small photo shoots for a local agency that kept me financially above water for a couple of years, until I met Bill, making him my current agent and manager.
On the Internet there were a ton of pictures of me, some from different interviews, photo shoots, or pictures that must have been taken by paparazzi when I was out and about. There were so many, it's almost like I wanted to be constantly photographed or spoken to, which feels a bit disturbing.
After reading a couple of articles and flipping through what seems like thousands of photos, I feel even more confused than when I started. The only thing it’s proven to me is that I was a shallow and conceited person who only cared about herself. For some reason this makes me feel like crap.
After sitting in my room for most of the day, I notice that I start to feel jittery and stressed. Eventually, I start twitching my leg, swinging my foot back and forth and feeling trapped like I want to get out and do something. It is driving me crazy.
I blame it on being immobile for so long.
On this second day since I've woken up, the doctor is in my room giving me my routine daily check-up. Bill showed up this morning, but most of the time he’s on the phone barking commands at someone about a deal that he's trying to close. He's been coming to visit me as often as he can, but I have a feeling that he'd rather be at his office than with me.
He claims that he is really busy at work, but that he misses me badly and wished that he could spend every waking hour with me, but I doubt it. It takes all of my willpower not to roll my eyes at his response. Even when he kissed me that first day, it didn’t feel right. There was no emotion in it on my part. As if to confirm that my body didn’t really know him. It had worried me, but I had made it a point to Bill that I just needed time and space, giving him an excuse to stay at a distance.
Before I could even allow him to think things were back to normal, I had to figure out what normal was.
Find Gabbie S. Duran on her website at gabbiesduran.com, Faceboook, tsu, Twitter, and Goodreads.
The Wrong Way
© 2014 Casey Harvell
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without the express written consent from the author, except in the case of a reviewer, who may quote brief passages embodied in critical articles or in a review.
Trademarked names appear throughout this book. Rather than trademarked name, names are used in an editorial fashion, with no intention of infringement of the respective owner’s trademark.
The information in this book is distributed on an “as is” basis, without warranty. Although every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this work, neither the author nor the publisher shall have any liability to any person or entity with respect to any loss or damage caused or alleged to be caused directly or indirectly by the information contained in this book.
The characters, locations, and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity or resemblance to real persons, living or dead is coincidental and not inte
nded by the author.
Edited by Fancy Pants Formatting
Cover by Fancy Pants Formatting
Interior Design and Formatting by Fancy Pants Formatting
Featuring Poetry by Julie Mishler
Dedication…
This book is dedicated to my friend Jordan Bault because anyone with that much passion for books deserves a story all her own ♡
Disclaimer…
This fictional story contains strong language, sexual situations and violence. It’s intended for mature audiences (18+) only. If you’re offended by any of these things please return now for a full refund—but I can promise you that you’re missing out on one hell of a ride…
“It is during our darkest moments that we must focus to see the light.” ~Aristotle Onassis
Prologue…
I’m always in the background. I fade away into it, a mute obscure nothing in the huge world around me. In life there are certain moments when the world around you sparks or dims. Everything brightens or dulls. My world has been grey for so very long now. There’s not even the faintest glimmer.
There’s this hope that maybe—just maybe—everything will be okay…that I will be okay. Yet somehow that hope scares me more than anything. To try and to fail is expected—but to hope and to fail is just downright soul-crushing. Whether they want it or not, everyone needs to be saved sometimes...
Chapter One…
Anyone who walks through this place on a Friday night that I don’t know is just passing through. Believe me—I know everyone in this town. I have lived here almost all my life. So when something like that walks through the crappy bar doors, I notice. Hell, every damn woman here notices.
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