Page 6 of Lotus

“Oliver,” I repeat. My own hands move behind my back, wrists crossing as a way to prevent them from reaching for him. “I’m Sydney. Do you remember me?”

I monitor his micro-expressions carefully. The subtle twitch of his mouth. The tensing of his jaw. The muscle spasm in his right bicep.

The slight widening of his eyes—so quick, I wonder if I imagined it.

I continue forward, stepping closer until the front of my sweater grazes the guardrail and I can feel his body heat warming my skin. Curling my fingers around the rail, I mutter softly, “It’s me, Oliver… it’s Syd.”

A flash of recognition washes over him; I swear it, I’mconvincedof it.

My throat tightens on a sharp inhale, ribs vibrating with delirious beats. The side rail is the only thing keeping me from collapsing onto him, a mess of tears and heartbreaking joy.

Oliver cranes his neck as he finally pulls his focus off the ceiling, head shifting lazily towards me until our faces meet.

Eyes of blue incredulity meet his haunted, hollow pools of burgundy and brown. I can’t express what the moment does to me. Emotions so raw and unbidden, so inconceivable, threaten to drown me. I want to weep and wail and hug him so tight, he won’t be able to escape.

He can’t leave me.

Not again. Not ever.

As his eyes search my face, both wandering and heavy, Oliver inhales a choppy breath. Gold flecks shimmer back at me, masking years of mystery, of unknown horrors that have whittled away the carefree, fun-loving boy I can recall with agonizing clarity.

When he speaks, his voice is laced with a touch of disbelief, a hint of awe, as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing. I think he’s about to say my name, but instead, he rasps out, “Queen of the Lotus.”

What?

The air between us thickens. I have no idea how to respond to the words that just broke free. A tear tracks down my cheek like a quiet reply, while the back of my wrist lifts to swipe it away. We hold our stare, and I watch as confliction etches itself into his features, pulling his brows together, narrowing his eyes with bloodshot bewilderment. Something new washes over him, something frightening, replacing that fleeting pocket of recognition with…panic.

Oliver shakes his head back and forth, his hands tightening around the covers as he twists away from me. “No, no, no… this isn’t real.”

I wet my lips as I determine what to do next, my nerve-endings tingling and frayed. I want to reach for him, to console him with my touch and heartbeats and words of solace, but I’m afraid I’ll only make it worse. “It’s okay, Oliver. You’re safe.”

“This is all wrong. I’m dreaming…” Oliver continues to chant under his breath, head swinging side to side, knuckles white from fisting the sheets. “You can’t be real…”

Tears burn while my heart breaks for him. “I’m real. I’m—”

“You’re fine, Oliver. It’s all right.”

A nurse enters the room, stealing away the rest of my words and causing me to flinch back from Oliver’s bedside. I glance at her, visibly shaken, my palms clammy as I wring them together in front of me. “I-I’m sorry. I’m not sure what upset him.”

The woman offers me a cheerless smile. “He’s confused and easily agitated. There’s no telling what may trigger him,” she explains, tinkering with a long needle. “I’ll give him a sedative to help him relax. He’ll be okay.”

My bottom lip catches between my teeth and I bite and nibble until it hurts. Gaze floating back to Oliver, my stomach pitches at the sight of him so broken, so unhinged, soconfused. His eyes are squeezed shut, lips moving with jumbled, mixed-up blather.

He recognized me in some way, I’m sure of it, but did he trulyseeme?

Does herememberme?

“I think we should let him rest now.”

I blink at the nurse’s request, taking that as my cue to get lost.

Swallowing, I produce a small nod, pacing backwards from the room with my eyes fixated on the man who is now curled up onto his side, blanket to his chin, knees drawn up like he’s trying to hide. The image is a swift punch to my gut, dizzying my feet until I find myself tangled up in that awful, goddamn blue curtain.

I break free and push through to the hospital hallway where I steady my ragged breaths, the heel of my palm pressed against my breastbone.

One question floods my mind as my shoulders heave up and down.

What happened to you, Oliver Lynch?

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