Page 100 of Heart Sick

“Don’t worry about anything,” she says, producing some paperwork. “I’ll take care of everything. This is just to say you appoint me to be the executor of your affairs until you’re…better.”

She offers me a pen and I sign on the dotted line without reading it and when I do, a bright light blinds me as I remember—I watch the rise and fall of his chest and memorize every single breath.

I come to a shaky stand and forget where I am as I climb onto the hospital bed and press my ear to his chest. I listen to the tender rhythm of his heart, the heart which was always too big for this world.

“Oh god,” I cry softly. “I remember. You’re right. I did do all the things you said I did. I fabricated this entire world, living in a fantasy, thinking it was real.”

Joy wipes away her tears. “You’re going to get better. No matter what happens, I’m always here.”

We hug for an eternity and her smell transports me to a time when things were simple, when we were laughing and none of this despair plagued us both.

An orderly appears. Visiting hours are over.

“Could you bring more photos? Or maybe some of my belongings. It might help me remember.”

Joy nods. “Of course. I’ll be back next week. Until then, you just focus on getting better.”

She lays a kiss on my forehead before leaving me alone to deal with this hell.

I don’t know when that was because time all morphs into one never-ending cycle of chaos. The medication I’m on just makes me want to sleep. But maybe that’s for the best. Although, I can never escape his eyes, no matter how hard I try.

“All ready for your session?” A nurse whose name tag reads Beth smiles.

I don’t know why she phrased it as a question because it’s not like I have a choice in the matter. But I nod nonetheless.

She unfastens the restraints around my wrists and ankles, humming under her breath. On any given day, I wouldn’t mind, but today, the humming grates on my nerves. Images of Beth’s brain matter soiling these white floors as I run over her head with my wheelchair suddenly flash before my eyes and an inappropriate laugh escapes me.

Beth looks at me, brow raised, no doubt wondering what I’m laughing at, but she doesn’t say a word.

Once I’m strapped to my chair, she wheels me toward therapy, still humming that fucking tune. The wheels squeaking over the linoleum and the flickering of the fluorescents is akin to nails being dragged down a blackboard.

I want to cover my ears, but I can’t, thanks to fucking Beth.

What’s wrong with me? Why am I so angry?

Once inside the room, I’m wheeled to where a few others sit. Beth locks my brakes, not that I can go anywhere, and leaves me to deal with this shitshow that is therapy. I don’t like therapy. I wonder if I did before.

But I would rather down a stomach full of pills again than be subjected to Jade’s mumbo jumbo.

Once a few more prisoners are wheeled in, Jade dings her “serenity bell,” as that’s supposed to give us inner peace or some bullshit. The rage I feel begins to mount, and I can’t stop it.

Suddenly, the air is ripped from my lungs and déjà vu hits because I’ve been here before.

“I thought this was a safe place, Doc?” Bowie counters, arching a challenging brow. “I thought anything can be changed by asking the right questions?”

His tenancy, it reminds me so much of…

And then I’m sucked back into the now.

So much of who?

Squeezing my eyes shut, I focus on nothing but that gaping hole in my memory, desperately trying to remember. But it feels like I’m standing at a cliff’s edge, peering down into a blackened abyss.

Why can’t I remember his name?

The harder I try, the faster my heart beats. It suddenly feels like I’m running a marathon, a race for my life.

“Remember,” I mumble under my breath, rocking back and forth.

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