Page 72 of Keeping Her Under
Her eyes widen as pain and panic hits. My soul aching for her, I grab her hand.
“It’s okay, baby. I’m here. Feel how the car isn’t moving.”
She breathes raggedly as she looks around. But even that small movement tires her.
“You’ve been in a coma for thirteen days. You’ll need to rebuild your strength.”
“I was in the hospital…” she says slowly, as if she isn’t quite sure.
“Yes,” I say.
“After I crashed my car…” Her eyes go distant.
I squeeze her hand. “Yes. Do you remember the accident?”
She shakes her head, her lips starting to wobble.
“That’s okay. Do you remember your time at the hospital?” I hold my breath, dreading the upcoming conversation where I’ll have to explain what I’ve done.
But how the fuck do you explain raping someone because you ‘didn’t know it was rape?’ What kind of bullshit is that?
Even if it’s true, it’s pathetic.
She looks at me, terrified.
My heart shatters in my chest. She doesn’t need to say the words for me to know her answer. I’m so fucking ashamed and disgusted by what I’ve done. I try to tell her I’m sorry, but she cuts in before I can get anything out.
“No…” she says. Don’t talk to me.
“No.” I don’t want to hear your fucking excuses.
I wet my lips as I start to shake. All of the words I thought of on the drive over slip away from me. I don’t know the first thing to say.
Her eyes latch on to me, wild and full of terror. “Why can’t I remember?”
I blink. My brow pinches together as I’m thrown off-guard. “You don’t remember?” I ask slowly.
“No… No.” Summer’s face twists with fear. “I don’t remember anything.”
Relief floods through me. Her accusation at the hospital was nothing more than the foggy thoughts of a coma patient. I’ve been stressing over nothing. She loves me.
“It’s okay,” I say as I squeeze her hand. “Amnesia is common after coming out of a coma. Your brain is fine. You’ve been discharged with a clean bill of health.” I smile wide as I remember the notes in her chart. “Even your spinal graft went well.”
“What does that mean?”
I nudge her foot with my own. “Feel that?”
“Yes.”
“It’s going to be a hard recovery, but you’ll be fine. I’ll be with you every step of the way.”
Exhaustion crawls across her face. As she blinks slowly, I’m tempted to end the conversation here. If she doesn’t even remember what I did to her, was she really raped? Rape requires the victim to be traumatized.
Doesn’t it?
Her eyes widen. “But I remember you”
I tense, my whole world freezing outside of the pounding of my heart. “What do you remember about me?” I rasp.
