Chapter 5
“Can I do anything to help you get ready before I leave for work?” Hendrix asks after spending the night on the couch.
“Uh, I think I’m okay. But thanks.”
He stares at me before switching to doctor mode.
“Are you doing your breathing exercises?” he asks.
“Yes. Of course.”
He nods. “Good. And your first outpatient PT appointment is today?” he asks.
“It is,” I say as I tap the armrests on my wheelchair.
“I’ll try to check in on you while you’re there…if it’s okay with you,” he adds.
“That’s fine.” I smile and he starts to leave my room.
I call after him. “Hendrix.”
He faces me again with a hand on the doorframe waiting for me to speak.
“Thank you.”
“For what?” he asks with a furrowed brow.
“For helping me. For being patient. For…caring.”
He smiles kindly. His long strides close the distance between us and then he leans down and presses a soft kiss to my forehead. “You don’t have to keep thanking me. I’ll always care.”
Without making eye contact again, he leaves and this time I hear my front door open and close.
I glance around the bedroom and then toward the bathroom.
I’d love to soak in the tub, but I don’t want anyone’s help to do it.
I’m supposed to have my first outpatient physical therapy appointment today.
I’ve done some while I was still a patient in the hospital, but they were very slow-moving.
Baby steps basically. I’m hoping I can start doing a few more things for myself soon.
My legs seem to be okay. It’s the pain in my pelvis that has me unsteady, keeping me in this wheelchair.
They did reconstructive surgery while I was still in the hospital, leaving me with lots of metal pins and a metal plate.
It’s not a joint replacement per se, but there’s a lot of metal in there holding everything in its place, leaving me feeling stiff and hurting.
My ribs are better even if they’re still sore.
But when I try to take a deep breath, it’s more than sore, it’s downright brutal.
The pain from the ribs combined with recovering from a collapsed lung is the least fun thing I’ve ever done…
I think. As far as I can remember anyway, which isn’t all that far.
I pull my phone from beside me in the chair. I’ve got two hours before my parents will be back to take me to my appointment.
I roll closer to the bathroom and gaze longingly at the tub. It’s time to try to live again. I can figure this out. Making sure the brake on my chair is engaged before trying anything is easy. I remove the sling from my left shoulder.
I can’t really use my left arm for much of anything right now. Hendrix wasn’t kidding when he said this recovery would be long and hard. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror from across the room.
I tug my shirt over my head and suck in a breath when I move my left arm. Once my shirt is gone, I can see what’s left of the bruises from my face to my rib cage. They’ve turned that greenish-gray and yellow color which means they’re healing.
I run the water and slide onto the edge of the tub.
Thank goodness for stretchy leggings. I’m able to slide them down and kick them away.
Once the tub is full enough, I glance down at myself.
I’m still in my bra and panties. They’ll have to stay on in case I need help.
I need this, but I’m not na?ve. I know this could be a mistake to do alone.
Casting a glance back to my chair to ensure my phone is within reach is the last thing I do before I turn my body and gently slide into the waiting warm water. And it’s glorious.
I could lie here all day. This is the most human I think I’ve felt in…well, since I can remember. Certainly, since I woke up in the hospital.
I don’t even care that I’m in my underwear. Once I soak for a few minutes, I squeeze some bodywash onto a washcloth I found beside the tub. I wash myself the best I can. Then I slide down further to rinse off. I lean my head back and wet my hair.
I find a bottle of shampoo and pour some straight on top of my head with my good arm. Once I’ve washed it the best I can, mostly one-handed, I slide down into the water again.
This time I slide all the way under the water. I keep my eyes closed as the warm water soothes me from head to toe. I’m just about to surface again when a set of hands pull me up.
“Lennon!”
I cough and spit as I surface. I rub my eyes so I can see what’s going on and find Dash kneeling beside the tub looking like he’s seen a ghost.
“What the hell, Dash?” I ask rubbing my hand down my face.
“I thought you were…” He trails off but doesn’t finish.
“I’m fine. I was just trying to take a bath.”
He blinks a few times as realization hits. He swallows hard when his gaze falls to my bruised and broken body.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine,” I tell him.
“No. I’m not sorry I pulled you up from under the water. I’m sorry for what you’ve been through. For what you’re going through,” he says.
“Well, don’t be sorry. Just help me up since you’re here,” I deadpan.
He doesn’t avert his eyes, but he’s not looking at me in a sexual way as he helps me stand. More like he’s categorizing each injury in his mind.
“Can you step over the edge if you lean on me?” he asks.
“Maybe. I’d like to try.”
He’s patient with me as I try and fail the first two times, but finally I’m able to step out onto the bathmat. He reaches beside us and grabs a towel before wrapping it around me.
“Do you need some privacy?” he asks while keeping his gaze locked on mine.
“Uh, yes and no. If you wouldn’t mind helping me get out of this bra and into a dry one, that’d be great. I think I can manage everything else.”
He swallows hard again. “Sure. Just shift the towel around so it opens at your back,” he says as he helps me turn away from him.
I follow his instruction and then I feel his fingers brush against my skin as he unfastens the hooks. I close my eyes as the feeling of familiarity overcomes me.
“It’s like you’ve done this before,” I say just above a whisper, meaning to sound light-hearted although it comes out anything but.
His gaze finds mine again in the mirror across the room. He never breaks eye contact as he leans close and says in a gruff tone, “It’s because I have. Many times.”
Chill bumps prickle my skin as his breath tickles my ear. It’s my turn to swallow.
“Where’s another bra?” he asks as he stands back up to his full height.
“I don’t remember. Check the drawers in the bedroom I guess.”
He nods and leaves me leaning against the wall for support. He returns with one and hands it to me as he takes control of holding the towel up to cover me. Once I have it loosely on my shoulders, he fastens it for me.
On shaky legs, I turn toward him. He’s studying me like he’s searching my soul to see if I’m really London or if I’m somehow Lennon.
That’s a question I don’t know the answer to any more than he does.
I just know what I’ve been told. And all I’ve been told points to me being London. It’s hard to dispute the facts.
“I’ll be out in the hall if you need me,” he says.
I simply nod because I’ve somehow forgotten how to speak in his presence as if I needed to forget something else.
Once I’m dressed and back in my chair, I find Dash in the living room. He’s staring at the floor but glances up quickly when he hears me approach.
“How’d you get in here anyway?” I ask as the thought suddenly dawns on me that Hendrix surely would’ve locked the door behind him when he left.
He smiles and it’s the first time I’ve seen it in this post-coma version of myself. He appears younger and his eyes seem to sparkle with a hint of mischief. He’s even more handsome this way.
“What?” I say as I guffaw.
“We can leave it at I know how to pick locks, and when you didn’t come to the door, well, you get the picture.”
“I do,” I say as we stare at each other. I’m unsure if his determination to check on me is sweet or something that borders on alarming and unhealthy.
“So, what do you want to talk about, Dash?”
His jaw moves like he’s clenching his teeth. “I want you to come somewhere with me.”
“Why would I do that?” I ask.
“To see if you remember anything,” he answers.
“I have therapy in a little over an hour,” I say trying to deflect. I want to remember, and I need to. But part of me is scared. I know once I do, everything will shift again.
“So…I’ll pick you up after,” he says not waiting on me to say yes or no.
I close my eyes.
“What?” he asks.
“I’m scared,” I admit, knowing I’ll go anywhere with him whether I should or not. I need all the help I can get trying to regain my memory.
“I know. I am too. But we need to find out what really happened and whether or not you’re really…”
“London,” I supply.
He stares at me with his nostrils flared like he refuses to accept I’m not Lennon, as though he knows in his soul who I am. It’s safe to assume he believes me to be Lennon.
“All the evidence from the report says I’m London. I’m not sure you should get your hopes up, Dash. What if I’m not Lennon? Can you deal with that?” I ask.
He answers with another question instead of answering mine. And I must admit, it lands square in my chest.
“But what if you are?” he asks.