Chapter 6
The neurology office smelled like sanitizer and stale coffee, and somebody’s child kept dragging a toy truck across my feet. I smiled politely, trying not to snap at the kid, but he wouldn’t stop.
“Goddamn, bitch! Get yo’ muthafuckin’ baby,” I barked at the chick sitting beside me on the phone.
She jerked her head up from the phone, eyes wide and offended. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” I snapped, my patience worn thin as tissue paper. “Control your child before I do it for you.”
The woman’s mouth opened and closed like a fish, and I turned away before she could form a response. I wasn’t trying to start anything, but my nerves were already shot, and I’d been sitting in this waiting room for forty-five minutes waiting for my doctor to see me.
The receptionist kept saying he was running behind, and that he’d be with me soon, but “soon” wasn’t coming fast enough.
I sat there with my leg bouncing while daytime television played from the mounted TV in the corner.
Every now and then, the receptionist would call another name, and another person would disappear behind the double doors while I sat there trying not to think too hard about all the things I had learned about myself from Giana.
It wasn’t working.
“Konika Holiday,” a nurse called, and I stood quickly, ready to get this appointment over with.
Dr. Reeves was already inside the room by the time I reached the back.
“Sorry for the wait,” he said as soon as I walked in. “We had an emergency patient come in earlier.”
“That ain’t got shit to do with me,” I said under my breath, shutting the door behind me.
The corner of his mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile. “Still, I apologize.”
I dropped down into the chair across from his desk while he looked over my file.
“How have the migraines been?”
“Worse.”
“How often?”
“A few times a week.”
He nodded and wrote something down.
“Any new memories?”
I hesitated for a second. “Some.”
“Anything significant?”
My mind immediately went to Giani. Then Booda.
“I’ve been remembering more people,” I answered truthfully.
“How has that been affecting you emotionally?”
I laughed under my breath. “You asking me that after hearing me curse somebody out in your waiting room?”
“So that was you.”
“That badass kid kept running over my feet with a toy truck.”
Dr. Reeves set his pen down and looked at me for a moment.
“You seem more reactive than usual today.”
“Maybe my patience is gone.”
“Or maybe your memory returning is affecting you more than you realize.”
I leaned back in the chair and folded my arms across my chest. “You say that every appointment.”
“Because every appointment, you tell me the same thing.” Dr. Reeves glanced down at my chart again. “The headaches are getting worse, your emotions are becoming harder to regulate, and the memories are increasing in frequency.”
“That still don’t explain my attitude.”
“Actually, it could.” He set the file down and looked me directly in the eye. “Traumatic brain injuries can affect emotional control, impulse regulation, and aggression. Pair that with the stress of memory recovery, and it creates a difficult adjustment period for some patients.”
“So basically, I’m losing my shit.”
“No.” His tone stayed calm. “I’m saying your brain experienced severe trauma, and it’s still healing.”
I looked away, irritated by how reasonable he sounded.
“Have the memories become more detailed?”
My thoughts immediately drifted to Booda.
The sound of his voice.
The way he looked at me.
The things Giani had been saying about who I used to be before the accident.
“Some of them,” I admitted.
“And how do they make you feel?”
“Depends on the memory.”
“Have any of them made you feel unsafe?”
That question sat with me for a second.
I thought about the man in the car.
The threats.
The gunshots.
The feeling that somebody was always watching me.
“Yeah,” I answered honestly.
Dr. Reeves nodded before scribbling something down. “Konika, I want you to be careful about making major emotional decisions right now. Your memory is still incomplete, and familiarity can create a false sense of trust.”
I frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means familiarity can feel safe even when it isn’t.”
I leaned back in the chair and folded my arms. “You saying I shouldn’t trust people I remember?”
“I’m saying you should be careful,” Dr. Reeves corrected calmly. “I’d hate for you to put yourself in difficult situations while you’re still recovering.”
A dry laugh escaped me. “Too late for that.”
His eyes lingered on me for a second longer than I liked, but he didn’t ask any more questions. Instead, he picked up his pen again.
“Since your migraines are coming more frequently, I’m going to refill your prescription and slightly increase the dosage. If they continue getting worse, I want another MRI scheduled.”
“Lucky me.”
That earned a small smile from him before he tore the prescription from his pad and handed it over.
“Try to avoid unnecessary stress,” he advised.
I looked at him flatly. “You got a different life I can borrow?”
He chuckled softly under his breath while I stood and headed for the door.
“Konika.”
I paused and looked back at him.
“Be careful.”
Something about the way he said it made a chill crawl down my spine.
A few minutes later, I was back in my car heading toward the pharmacy near my apartment with another migraine slowly creeping in. At this point, the pharmacist probably thought I was addicted to the pills, given how often I came in. I was going through them faster than I could keep up.
By the time I pulled into the lot, my head was pounding hard enough to make me regret every bright light I passed. I grabbed my purse from the passenger seat, locked my car, and headed inside.
The line moved slowly, giving me too much time to look around. I studied every face out of habit, but nobody stood out to me.
When it was my turn, I stepped up and slid my ID across the counter. The pharmacy technician, a thin, White guy with tired eyes and a name tag that read “Derek,” barely glanced at me as he typed my name into the computer.
“Holiday?” he asked, still not looking up.
“That’s me,” I said.
He turned away and disappeared into the back.
I used the time to scan the store, checking exits, noting where the security cameras were positioned, and mapping out the quickest route to the door in case I needed it. Old habits died hard, and paranoia was the only thing keeping me alive.
Derek returned with a small white bag and set it on the counter between us. “That’ll be forty-three seventy-five,” he said, his voice flat and disinterested as he started typing on his register.
I pulled out my wallet, counted out the bills, then slid them across the counter. He took them without making eye contact, punched a few more keys, and handed me my change along with a receipt.
“You take these with food,” he said, finally glancing at me for half a second before looking away again. “And don’t mix them with alcohol. Shit can get dangerous.”
I nodded, taking the bag. “I know. Thank you.”
“Alright then,” he said dismissively, turning his attention to the next customer.
The moment I turned to go, I misjudged my step and clipped the edge of the display beside me. The plastic handles bit into my fingers as I steadied my balance, but I pretended it didn’t hurt.
Nobody seemed to notice or care that I’d nearly taken myself out, and I was thankful for that. I lifted my chin and prepared to walk away with my dignity intact.
However, before I could take a step, a familiar voice said, “Still clumsy, I see.”
That voice. Deep and smooth, with a rasp underneath, froze me mid-step. It was one I hadn’t heard in— I couldn’t remember how long.
I turned slowly, real slow, thinking that maybe my brain was misfiring. Nah, that wasn’t it. It was pulling sounds out of thin air the way it does those flashes of memory. This couldn’t be real.
But it was. It was sooo real.
“Booda.” I mouthed his name.
He was real. And was standing near the shelf beside me, looking like time hadn’t touched him at all.
For a second, nothing moved. Not me, not him, not even the air between us as my eyes ran over him from head to toe.
Booda was the same height and same build, maybe a little leaner, but still filled out in all the ways that used to make it hard for me to think straight. His skin was still that same deep brown, holding its smoothness even under lights that had no business being that harsh.
He wore the same face that I had longed for and at the same time tried to forget.
He was still handsome as ever, and the gray growing in his beard only made it worse.
“…What the fuck?” I whispered, not knowing what else to say.
Of all the places. Of all the times. Why had I run into him? This didn’t make sense. I was told he had a lot of time, so how was he standing here?
This couldn’t be real.
“Damn, Ko,” Booda drawled, his eyes filled wyd admiration as they roamed over every inch of me. “That’s how you greet the love of your life?”
“When you get out?” I asked, still trying to make sense of things.
“Fix your face. I’m starting to think you not happy to see a nigga.” He chuckled softly.
I closed my eyes, breathing heavily. “Just answer my question—please.”
“Nah. Not until you get some act right and show me some love. I know you missed me,” he replied, and I pinched the bridge of my nose, losing what little patience I had.
“I don’t wanna play games. If you can’t answer one simple question, then you wasting my time,” I spat, my next breath coming out ragged.
Nearby, a woman stopped mid-reach to look at us, and the pharmacy tech leaned over the counter, glancing my way.
“You okay?” The tech asked.
His eyes followed my line of sight, then swept across the store, and came back to me.
“I’m good. You can get the next customer. I can handle him,” I said, waving him off.
“You sure? Do you need me to call someone for you? You look a little—”