Page 29 of My Dark Prince
“I’m afraid I don’t have that information.” Doctor Cohen adjusted my IV cart, tucking it into the gap between a machine and my bed. “He came with you in the ambulance and filled out your forms. You may speak to him, if you wish to. He’s right outside.”
“Yes.” I cleared my throat. “I wish to. Thank you.” Doctor Cohen started to leave when I added, “Will I be okay?”
He rolled a stool over and sat, resting his forearms on the rails of my bed. My heart sank. I didn’t want a serious bedside conversation. I wanted a quicksure thing. Maybe a thumbs up. With one gesture, he managed to undo the peace Oliver’s proximity had brought me.
“Yes, you will be okay, Ms. Auer.” He took his time answering, choosing his words with care. “Post-traumatic amnesia is not uncommon in people who suffer from serious concussions. Most people regain their full memory within mere days or weeks. I need you to stay very calm and take care of yourself. Can you do that for me?”
I nodded, struggling to swallow. It burned. Half from the dryness, and the other half from the possibility of never regaining my memories.
He retrieved his clipboard, depositing it in his lap. “Now, can you tell me what you do remember about your life?”
I frowned, considering his question. “I remembersomethings, but not their context.”
“Totally normal.”
“I remember my childhood pretty well. I’d say, up to age fourteen, I probably remember everything.”
“And after?”
“Bits and pieces. Like flashes that come fast and leave faster.” I winced, chasing a memory and failing. My head throbbed like I’d tossed my brain into a wood chucker.
“Don’t force it. They’ll come at the pace they’ll come. You can do more harm than good.” He jotted some notes down. “What else?”
“The lake. I remember the lake. With Oliver. He surprised me the first day the summer I turned sixteen.”
“That’s good. Good stuff.”
“I remember other things, too. Up to age eighteen. Noteverything. But a nice chunk.”
“And everything after?”
“Gone.”
He frowned, his pen sprinting across the paper. “Entirely?”
“I remember taking a flight to America from Switzerland. I’m not sure when. It must’ve been college, because I remember I attended one in the States.”
“Which college?”
“I don’t know.” The panic crept its way back up my gut, slinking to my heart. “I just remember my roommate. I don’t even remember her name.”
“And your job?”
“I remember that I work, but I don’t remember where. Or even what I do.” The panic, which had clawed up my chest, began cloying its way back up my throat, spiraling into a ball of anxiety. “I don’t remember where I live. I don’t remember any of my friends. I don’t remember if I am in a relationship.”
Doctor Cohen set down his pen and squeezed my hand. “It’s okay not to remember those things. You remember a lot, already. This is good. A great start. Keep going.”
A light panel flickered above us. Shadows danced around Doctor Cohen’s deep-set eyes. I tried to focus on them instead of the frustration waltzing inside me.
After a stretch of silence, I sighed. “I don’t remember where my parents live right now, but I do remember not being in contact with them. I don’t remember my job, but I remember … sewing underwear?”
Underwear. Hotel. Golf. Nothing made sense.
Doctor Cohen coughed out an awkward laugh. “Believe it or not, Briar, this is all very positive.”
Briar.
“I remember I changed my name from Briar Rose to Briar.”
