My Heart to Remember

Chapter 1

“Hold my hand.” A whisper floats through the recesses of my mind. Is it real? Is someone telling me to hold their hand right now? Am I dreaming? My chest feels heavy. Where am I?

Opening my eyes and then blinking several times, I find the room is dark, but I hear a steady beeping coming from somewhere, indicating I’m hooked up to monitors in a hospital. But why? What happened?

I wiggle the fingers on my right hand, and it feels empty. My left hand has wires and tubes adorning it—and that’s painting a much prettier picture than what I see.

Something was pulled from my grasp. I can’t shake the feeling of loss.

But what did I lose? I wiggle the fingers on my right hand again and it’s still empty but I don’t think it’s supposed to be.

The heavy feeling in my chest doesn’t let up.

It’s telling me what my hand already has.

I’m missing something. And it’s important.

Glancing around the darkened room, I see a woman in a chair beside my bed curled in on herself. That’s strange. I’m not sure who it is. I try to sit up but my head hurts. My chest is on fire and my left arm seems to be pinned to me. My other limbs feel heavy and sore at the same time.

How long have I been out of it? I glance back at the form of the woman beside my bed and again wonder who she is.

Confusion and frustration fill my mind. Why can’t I remember anything?

The beeping gets a little louder and faster, so I glance at the monitor off to the side of my head to see my heart rate is spiking. I try to take a deep breath but cry out at the pain it causes.

“London?” The woman in the chair shoots up and darts toward me. Tears swim in her eyes as she starts to touch my hand, but I pull it back despite the pain that shoots up to my shoulder making me grimace.

She pulls back. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean to startle you.”

I blink at her a few times. London? Sweetheart? That’s not right.

“Who’s London? And who are you?” I ask.

Her lower lip trembles as tears drip from her chin. “It’s me, London. I’m your mother. Don’t you remember?”

“I don’t have a clue who you are, or where I am. And my name is not London,” I tell her firmly.

Her eyes are wide as she speaks but there’s something behind her gaze. Pain maybe?

“What do you think your name is, sweetheart?” she asks like she’s babying me.

“I’m not your sweetheart. And my name is…” I trail off. What is my name?

She takes a deep breath and squeezes her eyes shut.

“I’ll call Hendrix,” she says as she reaches for her back pocket but stops when I speak again.

“Who the hell is Hendrix? Don’t call anyone except a doctor. I need to know what happened to me.”

“He is a doctor, London. But he’s also your boyfriend. You’ve been dating for almost two years,” she says sadly with her brow furrowed.

She reaches behind her again and pulls a phone out of her pocket. This time, she makes a call as I tune her out. My mind is spinning, and my heart is racing. Panic fills my chest like a heavy weight. I can’t even remember my name.

Moments later, two men and a nurse come inside my hospital room. One is older and he’s wearing a white shirt with a navy button-up over it. His salt-and-pepper hair looks as if he’s raked his fingers through it more than a few dozen times. But what stills my heart is his haunted, red-rimmed eyes.

“London,” he says hoarsely as if he can’t believe what he’s seeing is real.

The woman claiming to be my mother puts her arm out in front of him, blocking him from getting any closer to my bed.

She shakes her head the slightest bit and his shoulders drop as he pulls her into his side in a one-armed hug.

He turns away from my gaze and rests his chin on her head and sniffles.

I think he’s crying, and it would seem he already has been if his red-rimmed eyes are any indication.

The other man in the white coat is hovering next to my bed.

He’s checking all the monitors but not letting his gaze meet mine directly.

I notice the dark circles under his eyes.

When he finally looks at me, I feel nothing.

Even if I don’t remember anything, wouldn’t I remember someone I’m supposed to be in love with?

Wouldn’t the mere sight of him trigger something? A small flicker?

“How are you feeling, London?” he asks in a deep voice I wish I could say I recognize.

“I’m not London. And I don’t know her,” I say pointing to the woman who claims to be my mother. “I don’t know him either,” I say as I nod to the man consoling her. My gaze lands back firmly on this doctor. “And I don’t know you.”

Something flickers in his eyes as his jaw clenches tight. I can see the muscle ticcing.

“What happened to me?” I ask, but it’s not a polite question. It’s a demand. I wiggle the fingers on my right hand again. It’s still empty. The feeling of overwhelming loss is all I sense.

Frustration pours down my throat with angry tears as the only outward symptom.

“Lennon!” I hear someone shout from the hall. It’s a cry filled with the most gut-wrenching, soul-gripping pain.

Everyone’s attention turns to the doorway as another man frantically enters my room. Chills prickle my skin as I search his watery eyes.

The woman collapses against the man with salt-and-pepper hair as he stares at the mystery guy angrily. His lips are pinched as he tries to console her.

“Lennon?” he asks me. Something pulls at my memory about the name, but why?

“I don’t know who I am. Who are you?” I ask.

Tears trail down his handsome face and he doesn’t bother to wipe them away. “I’m Dash. Dash Conrad.”

He moves closer to my bed but the man with salt-and-pepper hair stops him. He shoves him away, but Dash’s gaze never leaves mine.

“Leave, Dash. You’re the reason this happened, and you know it. You’re the reason my baby girl is dead!” he shouts in his face as the woman tugs on his arm.

“Who died?” I ask as they continue to argue with each other. Everyone is shouting or talking except Dash. His haunted gaze is still on me. He stares at me like he knows my every secret. Does he? Am I Lennon? Is that my name?

“Lennon,” Dash says again as he shrugs away from the older man.

This time he gets close to my bed. He leans in like he’s about to kiss me before the doctor named Hendrix jerks him back. “Enough, Dash! You’re going to have to face it, she’s gone! And trying to find her in my girlfriend won’t bring her back! You need to leave!” he shouts.

He stares at the doctor. “I would feel it in here if she was gone, Hendrix,” he says as he rubs his chest over where his heart is. “How do you feel?” he asks pointing at Hendrix’s chest.

The doctor gets closer to him. “Maybe you didn’t love her like you thought you did, Dash. Because that woman is not Lennon. She’s London.” He points at me while staring Dash down.

“Someone tell me what’s going on right now!” I shout.

All stares settle on me. The nurse exits the room and shuts the door. Dash, Hendrix, and the older couple remain.

Hendrix comes over to my bedside and takes my right hand in his.

It feels off somehow. “You were in a wreck with your twin sister. You’ve been unconscious for four days.

You’re in a step-down ICU. You sustained a TBI—a traumatic brain injury.

The left side of your body was crushed on impact leaving you with a broken shoulder, several cracked ribs, your left lung collapsed, and the left side of your pelvis was crushed. Recovery will be a long, painful road.”

“And what happened to my memory?” I ask as I feel a tear trail down my cheek and hit my lips.

He watches the teardrop’s descent and then he takes a deep breath before his shoulders drop in what seems to be defeat.

“TBI’s can cause amnesia,” he says.

I pull my right hand free from his. “And what? What does that mean? I won’t ever remember who I am?”

“Amnesia can be unpredictable. It can last anywhere from as little as twenty-four hours to…” His words trail off and he glances down like he doesn’t want to tell me.

“To what?” I ask pushing him to continue.

“To forever. There’s a chance you might not ever get your memories back.

But there’s also hope you will. It really depends on the severity of your brain injury and what might trigger memories for you,” he says quietly as he glances back up at me with his own red-rimmed eyes. Clearly, he loves London.

My chin quivers as I glance at the older couple who seem to be my parents. Then my gaze lands on Dash and my heart aches. If I’m who they say I am, then he’s lost the woman he loves. They’ve lost a daughter. I’ve lost…my twin sister. And I feel like I’ve lost myself.

I wiggle my empty fingers and instantly know, even if I don’t remember, it was her voice whispering, “hold my hand.” And now the sense of losing something important is explained.

And I know, from this day forward, none of our lives will be the same.

Because not only did I lose my memories, but I lost the other half of myself.

And I don’t know how to remember her without remembering me.