Page 157 of The Fall
“I— We’re at home.”
Dr. Lin sits back on her heels, studying me. I want to crawl out of my skin. “What was the final score of the game?”
“We won, 5–2.”
“Who had assists on the second goal?”
“Blair and Holloway.”
“Do you remember who we played?”
“Dallas.”
“…and where we are now?”
“Tampa.”
“Do you know what day it is?”
“Tuesday. January 1. Or 2. It’s after midnight.” The floor beneath me has stopped shifting, at least. Small mercies.
“Okay.” She nods. “Think you can sit up now?”
I push through the dizziness. “Slowly.” Her grip tightens. “I want you in medical.”
“I’m fine,” I protest, but even I don’t believe it. My head throbs with each heartbeat.
“No, you’re not.”
I want to argue, but instead, I let her help me to my feet, pausing when the world tilts again.
“Easy,” she says, supporting more of my weight than I’d like to admit.
One step. Another. My legs are rubber, my balance shot. The hallway stretches endlessly before us. My stomach lurches.
Dr. Lin’s grip tightens. “Going to be sick?”
I shake my head. Being sick would mean stopping, mean explaining, mean more questions I can’t answer. We shuffle forward.
Dr. Lin shifts, taking on more of my lean. “When did this really start, Torey?”
The lie sits ready on my tongue, but my brain won’t form the words. Everything is static and cotton and the memory of Blair’s face closing like a door.
“On the plane,” I manage. Truth and not-truth tangled together.
“I need to run some tests,” she says.
Tests mean questions. Questions mean answers I don’t have, or worse, answers I do have but can’t share, not without sounding completely unhinged. “I need water and sleep.”
“You need more than that.”
She takes me into her office next to the medical suite and shuts the door behind her. That’s when I know it’s serious, thatshe’s worried. Even though it’s two in the morning, there are still people here, and she doesn’t want anyone to hear this.
Fuck.
She sits across from me. “Follow my finger.”
I track it, breathing through the throb behind my eyes.
