Page 11 of The Fall
Except that I am.
“I’ll be in the room,” he says, gliding his hand down my back. He lets it linger at the small of my back.
And then he’s gone. The door clicks shut.
It’s me and Dr. Lin.
“Tell me about what’s really going on.”
I can’t speak. There’s a roaring in my ears, a howling in my soul. She knows, how the fuck does she know? Blair doesn’t know, but she does. Fuck, I am going to lose this life before I’ve even lived it.
“Dr. Lin—” My voice breaks.
“When I walked in here a few minutes ago, you had the same look on your face that you had the last time you had an episode.” Her voice is low and intimate. “Like your whole world has collapsed.”
She’s waiting for something, a response, a confession. She leans forward. “I kept your secret before. When you were overwhelmed, when the pressure was too much, and you couldn’t take it anymore. Do you remember that?”
I’m going to shatter. This isn’t the first time? I’ve never had this happen to me before. Or have I? I don’t remember, I don’t remember, I don’t remember?—
“I’m going to be direct with you, Torey, because I think you need to hear this. This is important: if you are having ongoing issues after the hits to your head you’ve taken, especially with your history, that could be a sign of something very, very serious.”
“I don’t…” I’m flailing, grasping for words, for explanations. But there’s nothing. My mind is blank, a vast, empty void. I can’t think, I can’t breathe. I’m pinned by her stare, and she’s looking right through me. She knows I’m lying; she has to know I’m lying.
“What would it mean, um…” I swallow and look down. I can’t look her in the eyes. “What would it mean if it was more? If things were… serious?”
“Serious how? Are you experiencing something specific, Torey? Something beyond the typical concussion symptoms?” I feel her watching me, cataloging every twitch, every hesitation.
Her expression is carefully neutral, professional, but there’s something in her eyes that makes my stomach drop. What if this has happened before? What if I’ve lost time before and... forgot that I forgot? I grip the edge of the exam table. My heart pounds so hard she has to hear it.
“So… hypothetically. If someone had... recurring issues. After multiple hits.”
She shifts on her stool. “That would depend on the nature of the issues. Memory problems, mood changes, difficulty concentrating can all be part of post-concussion syndrome. But there are other possibilities we’d need to rule out.”
She’s watching me so carefully, like she’s trying to read the truth in the way I’m breathing. If I tell her I’ve lost a year, what happens? Do they pull me from the roster? Do they send me for brain scans that might find something worse? Do I lose this life—Blair, this team that apparently likes me, this best hockey I’ve ever played—before I even get to live it?
Breathe. “Everything feels...”
It’s a little memory problem. I took a hit last night, that’s all. This will pass. Itwill.
...hazy.” I lie. “That’s probably the best way to describe it. The hit, and last night. It’s all hazy.”
“Can you be more specific?” She doesn’t move, doesn’t even blink.
“I’m a little slow on the uptake.” I shrug. “Like my brain’s trying to get out of first gear. Pretty standard, right? After a hit like that?”
She sets her tablet aside and wheels her stool closer. Her fingers are cool against my temples as she checks my pupils with a penlight. Left eye. Right eye. “Follow my finger.” Side to side. Up and down. It makes my head swim but I focus on her finger.
Don’t let her see the way the room tilts. Normal players have normal reactions.
“Any episodes of confusion? Lost time?”
If she only knew. “No.”
She blinks. The silence between us hangs, and I realize she’s waiting for me to clarify things. Trouble is, I can’t, and I stay stubbornly silent.
“Torey, your health is more important than?—”
“I’m fine,” I plead. “Really. I know the protocol.” My voice sounds thin even to my own ears. I’m trying to dodge the protocol that’s supposed to protect players like me, that’s meant to catch the damage before it becomes permanent, because I’m terrified of what they’ll find. Or what they won’t find.
