Chapter 9 #2
I couldn’t argue with the logic and weighed my options. As much as I wanted to find out about my past, whoever tried to hurt me was still out there. Until my memories returned, I was at the mercy of the universe.
With reluctance, I admitted, “You’re right. It isn’t safe out there.”
His eyes finally softened. “You’re safe here as long as you’re with me.”
There was no denying it. Until yesterday, I was on the verge of death. I probably wouldn’t have made it past the week. If the hunger hadn’t killed me, the untreated injuries would have. I was grateful to him more than he knew.
I glanced at the doctor to find him watching me. “When will we return to New York?”
“In a couple of weeks.”
I sagged. I could do a couple of weeks. It would give me a break from the constant survival mode. I could spend the time recovering physically and trying to remember the unnamed man’s face.
“Have you remembered anything else?” he asked, placing another slimy bite of Jell-O on my bottom lip.
I shook my head.
“Did you know you had stitches here?” He tapped behind my ear. “I took them out last night. It seems you were recovering from a recent surgery.”
I frowned, touching my ear. I had felt them but couldn’t remember what they were called until now.
“You likely suffered an accident, perhaps a fall,” he continued.
“How can you tell?”
“You were treated for internal bleeding. A fall would also explain the memory loss, as the impact would’ve damaged your hippocampus.
You seem to have retained a great deal of your semantic memory, such as your name, and general knowledge, like reading and writing.
But you’re having difficulty with episodic recalls.
Of course, I can’t confirm any of this without a CT scan. ”
I let his words seep in, focusing on the important ones— semantic memory, name, reading and writing, and episodic recalls. “Real-life amnesia,” I mumbled.
He gave me half a smile. “It’s not as dramatic as they make it out to be on TV.”
“Will I remember who I am? Will I remember my past?”
“Perhaps with time.”
“So, it’s possible that I’ll never remember?”
“Yes.”
“Oh.”
A calloused hand rubbed my shoulder. I barely noticed when he rose to settle against my pillow, and he wrapped an arm around me. I sank into his hold, feeling the weight of exhaustion pressing down on me. His presence brought a natural sense of peace.
It was abnormal to seek comfort from a stranger while on the run from an unnamed threat.
I was fully aware of the danger men posed.
Believe me. A faceless man was trying to kill me, and every man I had come across treated me like a piece of meat.
Even the authorities, the guards at the pier, had scared the crap out of me.
Compared to Dr. Maxwell, they might as well be prepubescent boys.
Dr. Maxwell was the largest, most intimidating man I had encountered.
How was it that this mammoth of a man made me feel safe, and the tiny guards at the pier still gave me the creeps?
It defied logic. The elementary concept of stranger danger didn’t exist with him.
“Where’s this boat taking us?” I asked out of the blue.
His eyes moved over my weary face. “To the Bahamas.”
It sounded like a warm destination. “But I don’t have anything to wear.” Or any worldly possessions for that matter.
The slight quirk of his upper lip told me he was amused.
Reading his body language was the best I could do since he was stubbornly inexpressive.
It was crazy, I had to predict his moods from a minimal lip flicker.
I suppose it was comical to be worried about inconsequential dilemmas, such as clothing, given my other predicaments.
“Everything you need will be provided for you,” he assured. “The boat is stocked with essentials for guests.”
There was still one problem Dr. Maxwell had overlooked. “I don’t have the money to be a guest on this boat.”
“We’ll work something out.” His voice sounded convincing as he restarted his efforts to feed me. The clinking of silverware filled the space between us as he reached for utensils, and in the silence, I listened to the waves crashing against the boat rhythmically.
This boat looked like a million bucks, and renting a room probably cost just as much. It would take the rest of my life to work off the debt.
“Maybe I can get a job on the boat and work off the debt,” I offered, though I had no idea what skills I possessed, and if I had to guess, even the maids’ quarters on this boat were a luxury commodity.
He shook his head. “Your only job is to get better.”
My shoulders hunched. I had nothing to offer without a job. I didn’t even have clothes on my back to trade for a room, and I had no right to expect a free ride. The doctor had already been too generous. He had given me room and board and free medical care in exchange for what?
The verbal diarrhea started before I could pump the brakes.
“Why are you doing this for me? Why take care of me when I have no way of repaying you? Why did you break that deliveryman’s hand when I was the one who snuck in?
I was in the wrong. Why not dispose of me instead of hurting one of your own guys? ”
“Because.” With his eyes fixed on my mouth, his thumb glided across my bottom lip to wipe away excess juices from the gelatin. His deadpan face was softer than usual, a rare glimpse into an unguarded moment, as he said, “You’re the furthest thing from disposable.”
The words tugged at something deep inside me, simultaneously breaking and mending me. Since waking up, he had been the first to show me I wasn’t disposable. The realization burned like a hot blade, closing the wounds in my soul. Something terrifying dawned on me as he continued to feed me.
I believed him—I was the furthest thing from disposable to him.