4. Layla
I had spent the night writing in my journal all about my night with Brock. I relived every detail so I wouldn’t forget it. I’m sad that he had to leave, but I know we’ll be together again soon.
It’s impossible to get that gorgeous face out of my mind. He’s so sweet and hot.
After writing it all down I felt as though I would crawl out of my skin with need. I needed to take another walk.
The sound of crashing waves echoes in my ears as I walk along the deserted beach. The moon casts a silvery glow on the sand, creating a path of luminescence that leads me forward. It”s a quiet night, the kind that makes the world feel vast and mysterious. The rhythmic ebb and flow of the tide offers a soothing cadence, yet my mind refuses to find peace.
As I stroll along the shore, the gentle breeze carries a hint of salt and the distant sounds of the night. The sky above is a canvas painted with stars, a celestial display that, on any other night, would captivate my imagination. Tonight, however, the beauty of the night sky fails to distract me from the turmoil within.
The sand feels cool beneath my bare feet, grounding me in the present moment. I”ve always found solace in the rhythm of the ocean, the vastness of the sea offering a perspective that puts my troubles into context. But tonight, even the waves can”t wash away the unease that clings to me.
After a while, I decide to turn back. The walk on the beach has done little to ease the restlessness within me. The dorms are not far, and the path back is familiar. I quicken my pace, hoping the brisk walk will tire me enough to welcome sleep when I return.
As I approach the dorms, a sudden loud noise pierces the quiet night. It”s a sound that”s jarring and unfamiliar, like the screeching of brakes mixed with a deafening crash. My heart skips a beat, and before I can process what”s happening, everything goes dark.
***
When I wake up, the world is a blur of sterile white. The antiseptic smell of a hospital room greets me, and the steady beeping of machines provides a disconcerting soundtrack. I blink, trying to clear my vision, but the room remains a hazy tableau.
Panic sets in as fragments of memories try to assemble themselves in my mind. I try to sit up, but a dull ache radiates from my body, and I realize that I”m hooked up to various tubes and monitors.
The door to the room opens, and a nurse enters, her face a mask of professionalism. ”You”re awake,” she says, her voice gentle. ”Take it easy. You”ve been through a lot.”
I struggle to find my voice. ”What... what happened? Where am I?”
The nurse offers a sympathetic smile. ”You”re in the hospital. You were involved in an accident. Do you remember anything?”
An accident? The memories feel elusive, slipping through my grasp like grains of sand. ”I... I”m not sure. What happened?”
She sighs, as if choosing her words carefully. ”You were hit by a car. It”s been about a month since the accident. You”ve been unconscious, and we were worried about whether you would wake up.”
My mind races, trying to grasp the severity of the situation.
Hit by a car? How did I end up like this?
The nurse leaves the room, promising to fetch the doctor.
When he arrives, the doctor explains the extent of my injuries – a concussion, broken ribs, and fractures in my leg and arm. As he speaks, I struggle to reconcile the information with the foggy memories of the loud noise that preceded the darkness.
“Oh Layla,” an older woman breathes tearfully as she rushes into the room.
She engulfs me in a hug, crying as she does. Two men, one older and one younger follow behind her.
”I”m sorry. Do I… I don’t...”
”It”s okay, sweetheart. You”ve been through a lot. It’s me, Mom.”
“Mom.”
She points behind her. “There’s Dad and your twin brother, Eric.”
How do I not recognize these people? My own family.
How do I know that I should recognize them but can’t recognize them?
”I... I don”t remember…” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper.
My mother nods, her eyes filled with a mixture of sorrow and understanding. ”You suffered a head injury, Layla. It”s not uncommon to have memory loss after such an event. The doctors say you have amnesia, and it might take time for your memories to come back if they do at all.”
Amnesia.
The word echoes in my mind, and I try to grasp the implications. My past, my identity, everything that defined me – now shrouded in a fog of uncertainty.
“What does that mean?”
“It means a lot of different things for different people. You’ll know everyday things like how to walk and brush your teeth, and you’ll remember who wrote a book you love but you won’t remember why you know that. It’s very possible that you won’t ever remember anything that happened before the accident as far as memories of your life, people, places, things. Or your brain could just be in a sort of protective mode and in a few days or weeks you’ll remember everything.”
“I don’t feel well,” I moan before a wave of nausea hits me and I begin puking.
“Is that normal?” Mom asks in a shrill voice.
“It’s fine. Just give her some room to breathe,” the nurse instructs.
Once I finish vomiting, I close my eyes.
I just want to sleep. Maybe when I wake up this nightmare will be over.
***
I open my eyes sometime later and the man that my mother said was named Eric sits in the chair beside my bed. My parents are on a couch nearby, their eyes closed as well.
“Hey,” he smiles.
“Hey.”
“How do you feel?”
“Like I was hit by a truck.”
“The humor is still there, that’s a good sign.”
“Did I use to be funny?”
He laughs and nods his head. “I’m sorry I didn’t protect you.”
I shrug my shoulders and look away. The nausea is still there.
A blonde in scrubs walks in and grins back at me. “I need to take some bloodwork.”
I nod. She draws the blood she needs and then empties my catheter. She pulls out a pregnancy test and places it in a sample vial.
“I’ll be back in a second, I’m going to drop these to the lab.”
It’s not long before she’s back in the room. She picks the test up and looks at it.
“Oh.”
“Oh, what?” my mother replies.
“Um, well, this says you’re pregnant.”
“Pregnant?”
“Yeah, I’ll do another one. I’ll have the doctor change the order of the blood test too. It could be a false positive.”
“Whose baby would it be?” Eric asks angrily.
“I don’t know. I don’t…”
“Would it be Randy’s?”
“Who is Randy?” I ask.
My brother blows out a breath and the nurse puts her hand up in the air.
“There’s no need to panic or push. We’ll figure this out, okay? It could very well be a false positive.”
I close my eyes and try to think about how this could even be possible. It’s all blank. There’s nothing there.
How am I pregnant but don’t remember the father?
Eric begins pacing the room as the nurse does yet another test that’s also positive. My brother gets madder by the second.
“I knew something happened. If I find out which one of my teammates did this to you… I will…”
“Did what to me?”
“They almost killed you.”
I gasp as I look back at my family in shock. “What do you mean?”
“They took advantage of you and then left you to die.”
“I thought you said I was hit by a car.”
“Well, that’s what the footage says from the security cameras but I think you were with one of my friends and he watched you get hit and left you there because he was scared…”
“Eric, walk out of the room with me,” my father demands gruffly.
It feels like there is a giant elephant on my chest. How is this possible? I don’t even remember my own family and I have a life growing inside me.
It’s hard to breathe. My mom rushes to my bedside.
“Look at me, baby. Inhale… exhale… inhale… exhale.”
I try to focus on her words and it helps a little. Ten minutes later, my brother and father are back in the room.
“Eric’s being overprotective. All we know is that you were walking back to your room after being on the beach and a drunk driver ran off the road and hit you,” my dad says. “Your brother is speculating anything else in an attempt to distract him from everything that’s happening.”
“Well,” the doctor interjects as he walks into the room. “It looks like you’re about a month along. Are you seeing anyone or…”
“I don’t know.”
His eyes flit to my family who all shake their heads.
“We’re going to run some tests to check gestation, heart rate, all of those things to make sure the baby is okay and then we’ll go from there.”
The doctor leaves and I look down at my hands. I can feel everyone staring at me but I don’t know what to say or do at this moment.
How can I be pregnant and not remember anything about the conception?
Tears roll down my cheeks. My mother ushers my brother and dad out of the room while she climbs in bed with me. She holds me and lets me cry.
“You know,” she says about an hour later. “Your brother brought your backpack in. I went through it, I think I found your journal. I didn’t… I didn’t read any of it, but that’s what I think it is. Maybe it has something in it.”
I shrug. She stands up and walks to the corner of my room. She grabs a pink Nike backpack and carries it over to me.
“Maybe this will help trigger a memory.”
It doesn’t.
I go through the backpack and it feels as if I’m going through someone else’s belongings. I pull out a notebook with a flowery pattern on the front. I open it to the last page.
After Randy cheated on me, I wanted to focus on myself and learn to love and trust myself again. I put up with far too much crap from that man child and that’s because I didn’t see my worth at the time.
And then, he came along.
I had no idea I would meet the man of my dreams today.
He’s so sexy. So dreamy. He’s everything I’ve ever wanted in a man. No, I didn’t just decide that from our first meeting, it was after spending time with him.
But damn if that man can’t kiss. I need more of that. I want to feel him more, see him more. I need everything with him.
I don’t want to jinx this so I’m going to wait to say his name in here. I also can’t risk Eric being a jerk and reading my journal. He will not be happy that I’m seeing someone already. He spent an hour preaching to me on the phone about taking my time before jumping into another relationship.
What would he know? He’s in a different relationship every week.
This is different. This man is different.
This man is everything.
When we made love on the beach it was like something straight out of a romance novel. It was perfect.
The next few lines read like porn so I stop and close the journal. I shake my head.
“I’ll read it again later, maybe I’ll remember something by going through more of it.”
“Okay, sweetie,” my mom says as she plays with my hair.
I close my eyes and focus on slowing my breathing again. I’m hopeful that my memories return soon, I can’t have a baby in eight months and not be able to contact the father. That’s horrible.