Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
LIVIANNA/LILY
Now
Brutal Blackouts & Crimson Images
When machines and printouts remember more than you.
Beeping machines. Hushed voices. And a hospital room that feels like it’s closing in on me.
My eyelids are heavy, fighting against the weight of whatever drugs they’ve pumped into my system. Voices filter through the fog, familiar and unfamiliar all at once.
“Her vitals are stable.” Something tight around my arm loosens, and a woman keeps speaking. “Blood pressure’s good and her heart rate’s normal.”
“What about the concussion?” That person I know. Callum. His tone carries an edge of worry that makes my chest tighten even through the haze. “Is she gonna be okay?”
“The doctor will discuss everything with her when she wakes up. For now, all signs are positive.”
I force my eyes open. The room swims into focus, white ceiling tiles, fluorescent lights turned low, and medical equipment surrounding the bed I’m lying in.
A nurse stands beside me, checking the IV in my arm. Callum hovers on the other side, his blue eyes locked on me with concern that jolts me more awake.
“Lily.” Callum sighs heavily as he reaches for my hand. “Thank God.”
“Callum?” I slide my palm into his. My throat is raw and I’m hoarse. “What happened?”
A doctor approaches my bedside, taking the nurse’s place. “Ms. Hemings, I’m Dr. Knight. How are you feeling this morning?”
“My head hurts and my body aches.” I try to sit up, but pain shoots through my skull and ribcage, forcing me back down. “Oww. That was miserable.”
“That’s normal with a severe concussion and the other injuries you sustained. I need to ask you some questions to assess your cognitive function. I need to see if anything has changed from yesterday.” He pulls a penlight from his pocket and checks my pupils. “Can you tell me your full name?”
“Livianna Grace Hemings.”
“Good. And how old are you?”
“Eighteen.” I glance at Callum.
His grip on my hand tightens and his eyes twitch.
Dr. Knight stands upright. “Ms. Hemings, I’d like to explain something to you.”
The shift in his tone sends ice through my veins. “Explain what?”
“You’ve experienced a traumatic head injury resulting in retrograde amnesia. Based on your responses, it appears you’ve lost a significant period of memories.”
“Amnesia?” My breathing picks up speed. “What do you mean?”
“You’ve told our medical staff twice now that you’re eighteen when in fact you’re twenty-three. It appears you’ve lost approximately five years of your memory.”
That makes no sense. Five years? That’s impossible. I force myself to process what he’s saying, but my mind can’t connect the pieces.
“Five years?” I sit up, agony be damned. I need answers. “You’re wrong. Callum, tell me the truth.”
He shrugs, and Dr. Knight continues his medical explanation.
“I understand this is frightening. But your brain has protected itself by reverting to a safer time. The last clear memories you have are from when you were eighteen.”
“But I am eighteen.” The panic staggers up my throat now, sharp and suffocating. “I’m eighteen. I just flew to New Jersey for Callum’s birthday. That was yesterday.”
Callum’s face crumbles into a grimace. “Lily—”
“No.” I pull my hand from his, my lungs constrict with each breath. “No, this isn’t real. You’re wrong. I’m eighteen. I know I’m eighteen.”
Dr. Knight pulls out a phone from his white jacket and does something on the screen. “Ms. Hemings, you’re twenty-three years old. You’ve lost five years of your life due to head trauma.”
He shows me a screen with today’s date listed at the top. There’s a calendar with appointments he has every hour of the day. He must be showing me his schedule.
I sink back with my eyebrows pinched together. Twenty-three.
The number echoes through my thoughts, but refuses to land. Twenty-three means I’ve lost birthdays, holidays, and years of my life I can’t remember. Years that apparently happened without me being there to experience them.
“That can’t be.” The blood in my veins starts to pump harder. “How does this happen?”
“Ms. Hemings, I know this is overwhelming.” Dr. Knight exchanges a glance with Callum, then steps closer to my bed. “Your memories may return gradually over time or—”
“Or what?” My words come out hostile and desperate. “Or they won’t come back at all?”
“It’s possible.” He remains in his clinical persona. “Every case is different. Some patients recover fully, others regain fragments, and some—”
“Stop.” I grip the hospital sheets. “Just stop talking.”
Five years. I should know what happened during that time. But there’s nothing. Just a blank void where my life is supposed to be.
My pulse swooshes in my ears. The room tilts slightly, and I fist the sheets tighter to anchor myself.
“Lily, breathe.” Callum moves closer, his hand reaching for mine again. “You need to calm down.”
“Calm down?” A bitter laugh scrapes out of my mouth. “You want me to calm down? I just lost five years of my life, and you’re telling me to calm down?”
“I know, love. I know it’s—”
“No, you don’t.” I yank my arm away. “You have your memories. You know what happened during those five years. I don’t. I have nothing.”
Dr. Knight raises his hands in a placating gesture. “Ms. Hemings, getting upset will only make things worse. You need time to heal.”
“Heal?” I see spots and want to run the fuck right out of here. “My brain stole five years from me. How am I supposed to trust it to heal anything?”
The walls press in from all sides. My heart rate kicks into overdrive, and breathing becomes harder with each second. Sweat beads on my forehead despite the cool air circulating through the room.
Something underneath my skin starts to twinge. Not on the surface but deeper, in that place where anxiety lives and festers. My wrists tingle with a sensation, one I’m very familiar with.
My fingers inch toward my left wrist. The urge rises, swift and brutal, demanding release. I need to scratch.
I need to dig my nails in and drag them across the skin until the itch stops. Until the panic has somewhere to go that isn’t trapped inside my heart.
That’s all it takes. I lift my hands so I can claw at my…
What the fuck?
Tattoos?
I have little fucking rose tattoos all around both my wrists. I stare at them as I rotate my arms back and forth. They look like little bracelets, cute yet sexy somehow.
“Lily.” Callum leans forward, placing his palm around the ink I’m trying to remember getting etched into my skin. “Don’t.”
“When? Why did I do this?”
“Hey.” Callum tries to catch my gaze. “Look at me.”
My head whips in his direction. Those blue eyes hold mine with a protective force that causes me to focus.
“You’re okay.” His thumb brushes across my knuckles. “I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but you’re safe. I’m here and I’ve got you.”
“But I can’t…” I kick to get out of the sheets. “Callum, I can’t stay here.”
“I was afraid this would happen this morning.” Dr. Knight moves quickly to the IV stand. “I’m going to give you something to help relax you. It’s a mild sedative to take the edge off.”
“No!” I try to pull away, but Callum’s grip keeps me steady. “I don’t want drugs. I want to go home.”
“Lily, you need this.” Callum squeezes my hand. “Let him help you.”
The doctor adjusts something on the IV. Within seconds, warmth spreads through my veins and tension melts from my neck all the way down to my feet. The cutting edges of panic begin to dull, smoothing into something more manageable.
My breathing slows. The itch beneath my skin fades to background noise. My eyelids grow heavy again.
“There we go.” Dr. Knight steps back. “Just rest, Livianna. We’ll talk more when you’re stronger.”
Callum remains by my side, solid, and the only real thing in my life at the moment. “I’m not going anywhere, Lily. I promise.”
The room blurs as the sedative pulls me under. I sleep in a dreamless state.
Voices pull me back to consciousness. Not the clinical tones of doctors and nurses, but warmth that wraps around me like a blanket I didn’t know I needed.
“I don’t care what the doctor says, I think we should tell her everything about her past.” Ah, that’s Mom with her usual direction and taking over my life.
I open my eyes. The room comes into focus as reality slams into me.
Mom stands at the foot of my bed, her dark hair pulled back in a low bun, worry etched into every line of her face. Dad hovers beside her, one hand on her shoulder as if he’s keeping her grounded.
My brother leans against the wall near the window, arms crossed. His expression is unreadable, but his laid-back posture is exactly how I expect him to be.
“Livianna.” Mom moves to my side. She wrings her hands together like she doesn’t know if she should touch me. “Oh, darling. Thank God you’re okay.”
“Mom?” I try to sit up, but it hurts too much. I relax back. “What are you doing here?”
“I was worried sick.” She blinks rapidly. “You were in an accident, and we immediately chartered a flight home from Spain. I had to make sure you’re well cared for.”
Of course, she needs that. She always needs her fingers in my business.
Callum shifts from where he’s been standing near the door. “I called them right after you were brought in.”
“Cash filled us in on everything.” Dad steps closer, gripping the bed rail. “The amnesia, the memory loss. All of it.”
Right. My amnesia. The five years that have been erased.
My head throbs and I press my palm against my forehead. Please make the pain go away. I need to get out of here and figure out how to get my past back.
“We’re not going to overwhelm you, darling.” Mom pats my thigh. “Dr. Knight said to take things slow.”
“I lost five years of my life. How much slower can I go?” I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “It seems like I should be on fast forward so I can catch up.”
Bren finally speaks up. “Take it easy, Livianna. That’s all you should do.”