Mind Lies (2 page)

Chapter One

Not knowing who you are is probably the most terrifying thing you could ever experience in your lifetime.

Of course, losing a child, a loved one, or finding out you’re dying would be equally or more painful. But I’m not there yet. Or, at least, I don’t think I am.

I know nothing.

I don’t know my name. I don’t know my hair color, or if I have any family.

I don’t know how old I am or where I came from, and I don’t know who the woman holding my hand is. I can hear her, though.

A man called her Portia.

And she called me her best friend.

The sister she never had.

So why can’t I remember her? Why do I know nothing of this room, or the people in it?

Why can I only remember
him
?

More importantly, why isn’t
he
here?

The man from my dreams never comes when I’m awake, which makes me want to stay asleep more often because it’s the only time my heart feels full.

I want answers to the million questions I have; but if he’s not here, who will give them to me? Or more importantly, why hasn’t Portia mentioned him?

The only person I remember.

A beautiful man named Locklin.

* * *

“How long?” a groggy female voice asks.

I still don’t recognize it, but I know she is Portia and it sounds as though she’s in pain.

Not physical.

No.

It’s the kind that tears you apart inside and shatters your soul.

Emotional pain.

“As you were told over the phone, it’s been ten days since she was brought in,” an emotionless voice replies.

A quick bang follows before Portia continues. “I damn well know how long she’s been in here! I want to know when she’ll wake up!” She ends on a sob.

The man sighs. “The force of impact caused a great deal of trauma to her brain. Not to mention the blood loss and fractures. We have no choice but to keep Ms. Sloane in a coma until the swelling on her brain has reduced.”

Sniffles can be heard before her small voice asks, “Back to my original question, Doctor. How long?”

“Could be a few days, could be a few weeks. Everyone heals differently.”

The woman cries, the sound soothed by a caring masculine voice “She’ll pull through, Portia.”

I feel terrible for the couple. No doubt this news is heartbreaking, and I wish I could take away her pain. Wish I could wake up, give some answers, and ease minds.

“I should also inform you that it’s not clear what to expect when she wakes,” the doctor says. “When we pull Ms. Sloane out of the coma, you need to be prepared.”

“For what exactly?” A male voice asks.

“Anything,” the Doctor says. “She may have little voice. The damage to her neck and vocal cords is not something we can predict the outcome of. We also have to be prepared that although she seems strong, and has fought this far, we don’t know what kind of memory she will have, if any at all. These circumstances aren’t easy to predict. And unfortunately we’ll know nothing until she wakes up.”

“But she will wake up?” Portia asks.

“There is always a small chance that sometimes people don’t pull out of these things; however, I feel strongly that she’ll pull through. She’s a healthy woman. Her MRI shows that she’s healing well. And following each scan, her brain activity increases.”

“That’s good news, Portia.” I can hear the smile in the man’s voice and the subsequent happy sob, followed by, “I’ll take it.”

The Doctor, whose voice is not nearly as interesting to listen to, cuts off my eavesdropping. “Talk to her. Talk about things present and past. It always seems to help.”

He’s incredibly stoic and clearly needs some help in the bedside manner department, but I’m happy that they have good news. And when I wake up, I plan to tell them so.

The voices begin to drift off, and I welcome the sleep that starts to pull me under.

Strangely, it’s the only time I feel lucid.

It’s the only time I get to see
him.

Chapter Two

“Eggs?” he asks. Most likely the thirtieth question of the day, and I can’t help but smile at his handsome face before I answer. Full, dark hair flips out a little at the base of his neck. His beautiful bone structure is covered in two days’ worth of stubble, which makes you uncertain whether you would call him pretty or reckless.

The only thing I call him is mine. Because at this moment, that’s exactly what he is.

Mine.

I smile as I answer his question: “Smothered in hollandaise sauce.”

He chuckles. “Benny then.”

“Always,” I tell him as he reaches out and brushes my hair away from my eyes. I’m sure my hair’s a mess after the many hours spent rolling in this bed last night. But I don’t care. The way he looks at me is nothing if not precious. His features are relaxed, save for the small tip of his full lips. His eyes are soft and filled with so much adoration it makes me certain my bedhead is the last thing on his mind.

It’s the last on mine too.

To say my hair isn’t important would be an understatement. It’s just that he is so much more important that everything else falls to the wayside. I wish I could hold onto this moment forever, hold onto the way he’s looking at me, hold onto his warm body as he holds onto mine, hold onto the feeling . . . and never let go.

A tender hand moves down the side of my face, over my neck, and down my back. I sigh as he rubs my lower back before resting on my hips. “Open your eyes, Jerri girl.”

I shudder. From his voice, his touch, and the energy that hums between us. I absorb the sensation, having never felt anything like it, hoping—praying—that I never have to let it go. His lips touch each of my eyelids. And when they leave, the second I open them, he pulls my leg up over his hip and enters me with one swift thrust.

“Eyes on me, Lass. Keep them open,” he rasps. I do exactly as he says, continuing to hold on, taking everything he gives me and still wanting more.

Gently rolling me onto my back, he settles himself between my legs, his strong arms creating a cage I never wish to be released from.

“Stay,” I tell him.

Or ask?

I don’t know because I can’t figure out why he would leave.

Why he might want to leave when I, lying here, would never want to be anywhere else.

Be with anyone else. 

I try to focus on his eyes, hoping they can tell me the answer I desperately seek. But, unlike last time and all the other times when I focus too hard on them, his face starts to blur.

Features unable to be discerned.

Striking eyes, too dark to see clearly.

I don’t get his answer.

Because then I wake up.

* * *

“Alright, woman, now that everyone’s gone, we’re going to dive into Jerri and Portia’s box of shit that’s never said aloud, but I’ll never let you forget,” Portia says.

The first day I heard her, she was all distraught and somber. These past few days, she’s been nothing but fierce. She’s a fighter this one, and I’ve come to realize she likes to talk to me.

Her best friend. 

Whose name is
Jerri
.

I don’t know why I can hear but can’t wake up, but I love the stories she tells me. Even though I strain to keep my mind awake, I try to consume everything she chooses to share.

“First in the box of shit would be home waxing kits. We didn’t know each other then, but we each have our horror stories,” she snorts. “It’s no doubt the reason your asshole is still a virgin, and I saved for years just to get laser hair removal. Moral of the story: if you forget a lot when you wake up, always remember home waxing is a big fat no!”

I laugh but there’s no sound.

She sighs. “Second in the box is the time I thought it would be cool to try out a D/s relationship, not you and I together, and it was long before those books came out. Any who, in case you don’t remember, I’ll remind you now: do not let a man spank your ass unless he knows what he’s doing. I lived off Ben and Jerry for a week and didn’t leave your couch for days. Oh, and we called in sick to work due to a death in the family so you could stay home and look after me,” she pauses to take a breath. “I know, I know. We shouldn’t have pulled the
death
card. But seriously, there was no other way we could get away with both of us being off work at the same time. I was young, stupid, and thought that because I was twenty-two I had all the answers in the world.”

She squeezes my hand and I try to squeeze back, but it remains limp. “We’ll fast forward to one of the biggest mistakes of your life: Tom Black. You never saw him coming, but we’ll agree to disagree when it comes to men with good looks and hair. ’Cause seriously, when it comes to something that’s all shiny and pretty on the outside, it’s probably rotten leftovers on the inside. Either way,
you
learned your lesson,
I
may or may not have broken a finger, and
you
look so much better without him. If I saw you in another pantsuit, I was seriously going to kick your ass, strip you down to your knickers, and burn that stuffy sucker.”

It’s quiet for a few moments, and I take the time to try and place the memories. Running through all the images she gave me, I try to picture things as she says them. But I come up blank. Other than my own interpretation of how she described them to me, nothing sounds familiar.

“That’s the bulk of our most embarrassing times and life lessons. The big ones anyway. Visiting hours are almost over, and if you’ve heard me when I speak to you, you’ll know that I like to say what’s important before I go. So, I love you, Jerri Sloane. I’ve loved you since we met in night school. I’ve loved you for the past ten years.”

Ten years.

“I need you to wake up so we can meet for coffee on Thursday. Arabica isn’t the same without you. Actually, that’s an understatement; it’s just too fucking quiet,” she laughs, stifling a sob. “Most of all, I need you to pick up the phone because it really sucks you haven’t been picking up lately. I burnt the damn beef when I tried to make Cooper dinner last week, and I knew you’d help or tell me how to fix it, or you’d just show up with a bottle of wine and takeout because you know I can’t cook for shit when Cooper’s around. Anyway, come back to me babe. I miss you so much. Please wake up.”

I try. Lord do I try.

I can hear, I can smell, but I can’t move. I didn’t think about it before, but the not moving bothers me more than not waking up. I try to stretch my neck but it won’t budge either.

Why can’t I move?

What if I’m paralyzed?

I will my legs to move. In my mind, I’m kicking them.

I’m pulling with my hands, but they don’t catch anything.

I feel like I’m suffocating. The loss of pressure on my hand, and its sudden drop in temperature, is the only indication I might have feeling in that particular body part. Portia has let go.

Don’t leave, Portia!

“What’s happening, Jerri?” Portia’s shrill voice echo’s in the room, overpowering the incessant beeping. Like an alarm clock on steroids, the beeping won’t stop, just gets faster.

Louder.

Beep, beep, beep, beep.

I feel sweat coating my forehead. I think my eyes are moving, but I can’t see anything.

Jesus Christ, I’m blind.

Fuck, somebody help.

“Somebody help me!” I scream.

But it’s useless because there’s no sound.

I struggle but there’s no movement.