Chapter 6 Lyric
LYRIC
Are you Hank?
Mellie’s question ricochets from one brain cell to the next as I try not to give away the utter devastation it causes.
The doctor came in before the orderly brought Mellie to the room and told me that the nurse in recovery had noted memory issues on Mellie’s chart, so I tried to prepare myself. Obviously, I failed.
I take a deep breath and lock eyes with my fiancée, a woman who’s staring at me like I’m a complete stranger.
“No, I’m not Hank,” I tell her. “My name is Heath, but my friends and brothers call me Lyric.”
She scrunches her forehead in confusion. “Lyric?”
“Yeah, it’s…” I run a hand through my already disheveled hair. “Ya know what… that’s not important right now. My name is Heath. Hank is my dad.”
“But the nurse said I was in a car with a man named Hank,” she says quietly.
I sigh, unsure how to proceed with this conversation.
I want to tell her everything, shout every detail of our lives until it sinks in, and she remembers.
The doctor cautioned me against that, though.
If I want her to genuinely recall things, it needs to happen naturally and not because I’m an impatient bastard.
When I reach for her hand, she pulls it away, and it takes everything in me not to lash out. I’m not mad at her, but I’m fucking livid at the world, at what happened, at… myself.
How could I let this happen?
“You were,” I confirm, unsure how much to divulge.
Mellie fiddles with the blanket, her eyes cast down. “You, um… You called me Mellie, and then Mel. Is that…” Her throat works as she swallows. “Is that my name?”
My heart breaks for her, for the details she’s missing, the memories that have disappeared.
Words fail me, so I nod.
“Do you know my birthday?” she asks. “The nurse asked me that in recovery, and I couldn’t remember.”
“It’s March twenty-second, and you’re twenty-four,” I say.
She opens her mouth to speak, but the door to the room opens, and the doctor steps in with two nurses. One of the nurses is carrying a bag with the hospital’s name and logo, and white material spills over the side.
Mellie’s wedding dress.
“Miss Kensington,” the doctor says briskly. “I’m Dr. Foster, and I performed your surgery as a result of the car accident you were involved in.”
“If you say so,” Mellie states as she watches the nurse set the bag on the couch by the window. “What’s that?”
I stiffen at her question, but the nurse smiles and says, “It’s the dress you were wearing when you were brought in. Unfortunately, it had to be cut off of you, but because it’s a wedding dress, we thought you’d want it back. Normally, we—”
“Wedding dress?” Mellie demands, her voice weak.
“Let’s focus on your medical condition, Miss Kensington,” Dr. Foster states, saving the nurse, or anyone else for that matter, from having to answer.
He continues, not giving her a chance to inquire further about the dress.
“You sustained numerous lacerations and bruising, all of which will heal with time. Upon impact, you were thrown from the vehicle through the windshield and hit your head, causing your brain to swell and bleed. During surgery, I was able to reduce the swelling by draining the hematoma, but there is a chance the swelling will return. You’ll be kept in the hospital until such time as we can be sure you’re no longer at risk for that.
As a result of the swelling, you’ve developed what we call fugue amnesia.
Basically, your brain was so injured that you have gaps in your memory, including details about yourself and others.
Now, it is likely that all of the details and memories will return, but it will take time. ”
“How much time?” she asks.
“I can’t answer that. For some, it’s a few days, and others, it’s years. There are times when the memories never return, but I don’t want you to worry about that just yet. The more you try to force things, the worse off you’ll be.”
Rather than ask any more questions, Mellie turns her head to the side to stare at the wall.
She might not recognize the action and what it indicates, but I do: she’s shutting down.
Whenever Mellie is stressed or overwhelmed, she retreats inside herself.
I’ve always known how to pull her back, but I have no fucking clue if it’ll still work.
Knowing I’ve got nothing to lose at this point, I grab her hand and link my fingers with hers. She doesn’t even fight it. After placing a kiss on her palm, I hold her hand against my chest so she can feel my heartbeat.
“It’s part of a bigger plan,” I say softly.
Holding my breath, I wait for some sort of recognition. Sure, it might not be the specific song, but I’m hoping she at least realizes that I’m doing what I always do and quote lyrics to her in order to get her mind to focus on anything other than what’s bothering her.
It takes a few seconds, but her hand tightens on mine, and she turns her head to stare into my eyes. “Did you just quote Ed Sheeran’s ‘Thinking Out Loud’?”
For the first time since she was wheeled into this godforsaken room, I grin and exhale. “I did.”
Her head whips toward the doctor. “I remembered that,” she says brightly. “That’s good, right?”
“It is,” he agrees. “You’ll notice that there’s likely no rhyme or reason to what you can and can’t remember, but that’s normal.”
“Is there anything we can do to help her memories return?” I ask, desperately needing something to do.
“We?” Mellie asks, her voice laced with fear, as she pulls her hand away from mine.
“The most important thing is to make her physical health a priority,” Dr. Foster explains, his attention on Mellie despite the fact that he’s answering my question.
“Keeping up with medical appointments and following doctor’s instructions will help your brain to heal, which in turn, can help with the amnesia.
Apart from that, photos, familiar music and smells, routine, and people from your past can trigger memories.
Once you’re discharged, I highly suggest you surround yourself with people and things from your life. ”
“How am I supposed to do that when I don’t even remember who I am?” she snaps.
“Start with photos,” he suggests. “Those will give you a visual representation of who is important to you. I know it’s going to be difficult, especially considering you don’t even remember who you can trust, but the pictures can help with that.
If you can’t trust your gut, trust the proof that’s right in front of you. ”
“You make it sound so easy,” she grumbles before lifting her hand to cover a yawn.
Dr. Foster chuckles. “No, Miss Kensington, it won’t be easy.
But it will be worth it.” He glances at me and back to her.
“I can tell you one thing… If the amount of people in our waiting room is any indication, you have a lot of people who love you and want you to get better. Lean on them. Lean on Heath, here,” he says, nodding toward me.
“Whether you remember or not, he’s your fiancé, and you chose him to spend the rest of your life with for a reason. ”
Mellie sucks in a breath, and then she rolls away from me. “I’m tired.”
“I’ll let you get some rest,” Dr. Foster begins. “But I’ll be back later to check on you.” He nods at the nurses, indicating that they can leave. Turning to me, he says, “Mr. Jenkins, can I please speak to you in the hall?”
“Of course.”
“As hard as it is,” he says after we step out of the room. “You’re going to have to let her set the pace. I’m more than happy to set you up with our social worker here at the hospital. She might be able to assist you in navigating your new normal with Mellie.”
I stiffen at the offer of professional help. “I appreciate that, Doc, but I’ll manage.”
“Well, just know that the offer stands.”
“Thanks.”
He jerks a nod. “Why don’t you go and update your friends and family? Give Miss Kensington a chance to rest?”
“I’m not leaving her,” I bark.
He smiles. “I didn’t think you were. While she can have visitors, I highly suggest you don’t bombard her with too many people at once. Go and give them an update, and then you can come back. But please, for now, let her rest and try to process everything she just learned.”
He waits for me to give in, and finally, I do. Not because I want to leave her, but because he’s right… The waiting room is full of people who love Mellie, and they deserve to know what’s going on.
Life really knows how to fuck a person in the ass with a cactus.