Page 44 of Bred

“I wasn’t going to put it that way, but yes,” she admits. “I’m afraid you’ve suffered some damage. Your reflexes are slower, your mental acuity is...”

“I’m not stupid.”

“No, of course not, but brain damage...”

“I’m not brain damaged! I just don’t remember...” I feel tears rising to my eyes. I am damaged. Something happened. Something so terrible I lost everything that ever mattered to me, and I can’t even fucking remember it.

Pure helpless rage overcomes me, demands outlet. I pick up the vase of fake flowers on the therapist’s desk and I dash it against the floor. I am expecting a splash of water, the crash of ceramic, but the whole thing is plastic and there is no water, so the vase just lands with a dull thud and the flowers spill out almost apologetically.

“We’ll prescribe you some sedatives,” the therapist says without skipping a beat. “You’ll feel better in time. And there are many other roles you can be useful in. There will be opportunities to...”

“No, there won’t be. I’m going to be pensioned out.”

“I know this is difficult, Miss Patrovich, but give it time. All things are healed in time.”

She means accept what happened to you and stop trying to change the outcome. From my perspective, I blinked and lost my entire world. My career is over and I don’t even recall fucking it up.

“Sorry about your flowers,” I mumble as I get up and leave.

Things get worse when I get back to my hospital room. It has been cleared out. The bed is being remade. And there’s a nametag on the door that says Mr. Jenkins. I am pretty sure I am not Mr. Jenkins.

“What’s happening?” I ask the nurse.

“You’re being transferred to veteran quarters.”

“But what about my place? My apartment?”

“Someone will talk to you about that.”

Someone does talk to me. Five hours later. I find myself in an uncomfortable office, talking to an uncomfortable little man.

“I want to go to my apartment.”

“That’s been reassigned. You’re retired, so you’re going to veteran’s quarters.” Five hours for him to tell me what the nurse already told me. That’s almost more maddening than discovering I don’t have a home anymore.

“Well, fuck you.”

He gives me one of those sympathetic smiles that people give people they no longer consider real people. I have been shuffled out of normal society and into a category of ‘poor Lyra,’ which means I’ll never be taken seriously again.

“A transport will be coming soon, if you just want to wait outside.”

I do not want to wait outside, but I find myself settling in for another long wait on another uncomfortable chair. It’s there that I start to feel very lonely. Nobody has come to see me since I woke up. I mean, plenty of medical and security people, but no friends. They must have been kept in the dark.

I need a friend now, more than ever, so before I get sent to veteran’s quarters, I reach out to the one person I know must have been horrifically traumatized by what happened. I kind of expected her to come see me already, but I guess she hasn’t been told I woke up.

I grab the phone from the nurse’s station when they’re not looking and dial Caddy’s number from memory.

“Hello?”

It is so fucking good to hear her voice.

“Caddy? It’s me, Lyra.”

She pauses for a moment. The background is noisy, some kind of repetitive jingle blaring in the background. “Lyra?” she squeals down the phone. “We have to catch up some time. Kimmy is just so much fun right now! You’re going to love her.”

I frown. This is not the response I expected. Caddy doesn’t sound surprised to hear from me. It’s almost like she already knew I was awake.

“That’s cool. I just woke up from a coma, so I’m a lot of fun too.”

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