Beep

Beep

Beep

Through heavy eyelids, flashes of white light gleam in. It’s like living in a world of solitude. All alone, no connections, no expectations, no pain, no memories, and then suddenly everything rushes back.

Sounds overwhelm me.

Swish

Swish

Swish

Hummmmmmm

With careful precision I pry my eyes open, but I’m unnerved as the world around me comes alive. The sounds, once muffled, attack me like a passing freight train. They infiltrate every pore in my body, relentlessly. They are an unwelcome attack on my senses.

A voice breaks through. “I think she’s waking up.”

Beep

Beep

“That’s right, sweetie, open your eyes,” coos a soft, comforting voice.

My blurry vision focuses and I’m facing two women dressed in purple scrubs. Where am I? A plain room that’s void of all emotion and warmth. Sterile. The walls are a dirty white, not quite cream, and the smell of disinfectant permeates the air. My mouth opens to speak, to ask them for some explanations but it’s too dry. I try to swallow however the thickness of the saliva pooling makes the action feel impossible. With wary movements, I press my fingers toward my lips, but even this small gesture is too much as pain radiates throughout my body.

“You need something to drink. Let me grab you some water.”

“Where . . .” It sounds as though I’m talking with a mouth full of marbles, so I try again but my words are jumbled and make no sense. The sound of the faucet running causes even more liquid to collect. I watch in parched desperation as she slowly fills a pitcher and then grabs a cup and straw.

“Where are you? You’re at Sinai-Grace Hospital. You were in an accident.” My heart rattles heavily at the new information. No wonder everything hurts. Even my skin burns.

Finally, the nurse steps over to the bed, carefully fills a cup with water and then offers me the precious liquid. Thank you, God. The water feels like heaven against my tongue.

“What . . . What happened?”

“A car accident. You hit your head and were unresponsive. You’ve got quite a nasty gash on your left temple and on your cheek.”

“An accident?” My eyes widen and the sharp bite of the bandage pulls against my skin. I wince in pain and then she gives me a small smile. “Can I see? Do you have a mirror?” I motion to my face and the shorter woman proceeds to leave the room. I turn my attention back to the remaining nurse, who is speaking.

“Yes, you were brought in a little bit ago. I can’t tell you much more than that, but from what I hear, there’s nothing to fear. You’ll be okay.” The other nurse walks back in and approaches the bed, placing a mirror in my hand. Just as she had said, a bandage covers my forehead. My eyes are dull today. You can barely see the blue as my pupils are dilated. My once blonde hair is now matted and caked to my skin. I look skeletal and pale. “I notified the attendee that you’re awake, so he’ll come speak to you once he gets in,” she says before stepping out of the room.

My gaze locks on the window, and I watch as the snow softly falls, drifting down the pane and leaving streaks of murky water. The familiar cage closes in all around me, robbing me of air.

I’m afraid . . .

And I’m not ready to face the truth.

I’m not ready to face what’s happening to me.

Hearing footsteps, I turn my attention back to the door and am met with a pair of soft brown eyes that I know so well.

“Oh, my God,” Sydney cries as she steps into the room. Her face is blanched and her straight brown locks are now back to their curly form thanks to the snow. “You’re awake. Thank God. I was so scared.” She grabs my hand and it feels so warm wrapped around mine. I welcome the comfort, leaning closer to her to bask in the feeling of home she evokes.

“What are you doing here? How did you know I was here?”

Her brow lifts up in confusion. “How could I not be here? I got the phone call and I came at once.”

Of course she’s here. She’s the type of friend who would always be there for me. That’s one of the things I love most about her: how fiercely loyal she is. We’ve only been friends for a short time, but with Sydney, time doesn’t matter. The moment we met at the office, I felt as if I had known her a lifetime.

When my father passed, his best friend Richard had stepped in, assuming a father figure role. After I told him I was uncertain what major I should declare, he volunteered to discuss my options. Richard also happened to own one of the leading marketing firms in the city. Together we decided a degree in marketing would be a great fit, and once I was done, he had a spot ready for me.

I had been at my new job for all of one minute and I already loved it. The energy, sounds and excited voices booming through the hallways were everything I hoped for. As I stepped farther into the space, Richard lifted his head. His lips turned up in a giant smile and he strode over to me. Greeting me with a fatherly hug, he walked me over to a set of desks positioned in front of a giant window overlooking Park Avenue.

“This will be your desk.” Richard pointed to the desk adjacent to where a pretty brunette worked. “And this is Sydney White. She’s on your team.” Her eyes were locked on Richard as he spoke and as if on cue her mouth split into a large smile, showcasing a mouth full of perfectly white teeth. “Get settled and then come to my office so I can go over some information with you.” He laid his hand on my shoulder and gave me a reassuring squeeze. “It’s good to have you here.” He gave me one last smile, then turned his back and walked down the hall.

Sydney sighed. “Damn, that was a close call.” Her brow furrowed.

“Are you okay? You look a little pale,” I asked her as she glanced over her shoulder to see if anyone is behind her. “Is it Richard? Do you not like him?”

“Oh, no, nothing like that. It’s really no biggie. I’ve just been spending a lot of time lately looking for a roommate instead of leads and I thought I was busted.”

“Roommate?”

“Yeah, my current one totally ditched me. She met some guy and skipped out. Didn’t even pay this month’s rent. Trying to find a roommate sucks.” She huffed as she threw her hands up in the air.

“I wouldn’t know. I live with my mom.”

“Shut up!” she exclaimed, making me laugh. This girl definitely had a flair for the dramatic. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-two.”

“You’re twenty-two and you’ve never had a roommate? Not even in college?”

I shook my head and her eyes grew wide. “My college was close to home. I didn’t need to dorm. It’s pretty pathetic, actually,” I responded in a timid voice.

“Move in with me.”

My mouth flew open.

“I’m not even joking. You have no idea what types of freaks I’m finding on this site. I mean, you seem like a cool girl . . . please. Unless you’re a serial killer or something, then I revoke the invitation.”

“I . . . I . . .”

“Come on . . . You can’t live with your mom forever. Time to fly the nest.”

She did have a point. “Um . . .”

“Say you’ll think about it. Please,” she whined and I couldn’t help but nod in agreement as I stifled my laugh. I knew, right then and there, that not only would I move in with this crazy girl, but also it would be the best decision of my life.

One week later we were roommates.

Shaking my head to pull myself out of the memory from two years ago, I focus on Sydney and try to remember why I’m here.

“What happened?” My brain feels cloudy. It’s as if the information is hovering above me but I just can’t reach it.

“We were at the funeral. You remember being at the funeral, right?” Her eyes close, then reopen with unshed tears.

The muscles in my chest tighten, gripping my heart to the point of pain. How could I forget? Richard is dead. My mentor, my boss, my father figure. The only father I know—knew. Closing my eyes, I think back to him. He was the one who was there for me through everything for years.

My small, fourteen-year-old body wracked with sobs as I pressed my head to my pillow. Tears poured from my eyes, wetting my long, tangled hair. In the faint distance the door creaked open, followed by footsteps padding on the wood floors.

“Where’s your mom?” Richard asked as he walked into my room. Often he stopped by our apartment to check on me and my mom, always making sure we were okay. I peeked up at him, pushing my hair out of my eyes.

“She’s sick.” My voice cracked as my chin trembled with my sobs.

“Why are you crying, sweetheart?”

“She’s always sick. She doesn’t do anything but lay around in her bed,” I stuttered and he nodded with understanding. This was what my mom did. She said she was unwell and never left her room. Just cried all day and all night. But no doctor could ever find anything wrong, and that made her cry even more.

“What happened? What did she miss?”

“She didn’t miss anything, but you know how she is. There’s always something. What if she’s sick again? What if she won’t leave her room again for days?” Richard sat on the edge of the bed. I scooted closer until his arm draped against my shoulder and I let out a muffled cry.

“I know I’m not your father but I think of you as my daughter. Tell me where you need me to be, and I’ll never let you down. I promise.”

Life was never easy with my mom, but Richard made it bearable. He never forgot his promise. He was always there.

I open my eyes and meet Sydney’s stare.

“When they pulled you out of the car, you wouldn’t wake up, so someone called for an ambulance and they brought you here.” She bites her lip. Sydney only does that when she’s nervous.

“What? What aren’t you telling me?” My eyes narrow.

“They tried to call your mom as your next of kin, but she refused to come in to the hospital, so they got in touch with me. Good thing we added each other as emergency contacts when you walked into that wall and had to have stitches.” She laughs, but it does nothing to soothe the pain growing inside me.

No matter how much I tell myself not to expect much from my mom, that she’s “sick” and can’t help herself, it doesn’t lessen the ache in my heart. At the end of the day there isn’t anything wrong with her other than the fact that she’s a hypochondriac. One who, for the last eighteen years since my father’s death, has been too scared to live. She wouldn’t even go to Richard’s funeral and that felt like a slap in the face considering all he’s done for us.

Shaking my head, I turn my attention back to Sydney. “Do they know what caused the accident?”

Sydney’s nose crinkles and she puckers her lips as she peers around the room. The nurse is in the corner, but she’s rummaging through the cabinets looking for something and it appears she’s not paying attention to us. Satisfied with this, Sydney leans in closer.

“They’re not really sure,” she whispers. “But . . . but they said you didn’t hit your brakes.”

“I don’t understand?” My hand rises to my mouth, smothering a gasp. “Oh, my God, they think I did it on purpose?”

“I know, sweetie, I know. But do you remember what happened? What made you crash?”

“I honestly have no clue.”

Her hand strokes my arm as I continue to sob. “I’m sure it will come back to you. You were really distraught when you fled the funeral.”

I shake my head. “I can’t remember anything from the funeral. Is that normal?”

“I don’t know, but they did say you had a concussion.”

The nurse chooses that moment to make her way to the side of my bed with a blood pressure kit.

“Excuse me, I was wondering if it’s normal for Eve to not remember anything from right before the car accident?” Sydney asks her.

“It’s actually quite normal, dear. After a concussion, sometimes your memory will be a little spotty. It should come back as the swelling recedes.” She smiles down at me as she places the strap around my arm.

“Oh, thank God.”

I hear the relief in Sydney’s voice and smile weakly at her. “Syd, did I say anything before I ran out?”

“No, not really—”

A man walks into the room before Sydney can continue. “Hello . . .” He looks at my chart, “Ms. Hamilton. I’m Dr. Levin. I’m glad to see you’re awake. I’m going to ask you a few questions, if that’s okay?”

“Yes.” Reluctantly I agree as my stomach clenches tightly against the idea of talking about myself.

“And your friend?” He motions to Sydney, who is now perched on the foot of my bed.

“She’s fine. You can speak in front of her.” Sydney and I have no secrets. We accept each other, faults and all.

He looks back down at the tablet in his hand. “Have you ever had a concussion before?”

“No.”

His fingers tap lightly on the glass. “And how are you feeling right now? Dizzy? Lightheaded?” I shake my head no. “What were you feeling right before you crashed?” He lays the tablet down and pulls the stethoscope from around his neck.

“I don’t really remember, but my heart has been racing quite a bit recently and I guess I’ve been feeling kind of dizzy, like I can’t breathe.”

“How long have you had these symptoms?” Leaning forward, he places the cold metal against my skin. I start to breathe in deeply, then exhale my breath.

“I guess maybe they started when Richard died.”

“And you never experienced any of these symptoms before his death?” He pulls away from me and straightens my gown.

“Not that I recall.” My memories are blurry, like a fading dream. I search through them, grasping at anything that will make sense of what happened. A strange clarity forms as I begin to remember feeling a cold sweat, the knots that formed in my muscles and so much more. “I actually kind of remember—”

“What do you remember?” Sydney cuts in, her voice rising in surprise.

A rush of images from the accident starts to play out in my mind. I recall every pain as the memories resurface.

I needed distance.

I needed to escape this reality hovering all around me.

My muscles constrict, alerting me to run. My heart would explode if I stayed.

“Where are you going?” Sydney whispered as she reached out to stop me. I didn’t allow her to halt my progress.

I needed out of here.

With shaky arms, I pushed open the door and a sharp gust of wind battered my frail body. Small pellets of water hit me as I stepped out into the cold winter air. The distance to the car stretched out in front of me. Chilled droplets of water clung to every inch of my sweat soaked skin. Rain and tears melded together.

I tilted my head back and looked to the sky. If only the rain could wash away this moment. Transport me back to a time when everything was still right.

But it wouldn’t.

It couldn’t.

Nothing could wash this pain away. Today was a day of sadness.

Unsteady steps carried me to the zip car I rented to go to the cemetery. I flung the door open and slid into the driver’s seat. My body was chilled to the bone from the rain that coated my skin during my walk, but I did nothing to lessen the bite. I welcomed the pain. It reminded me of what I lost.

Pulling out of the parking lot, I made my way back to the city. The farther away I got, the more air entered my lungs. My body was barely able to function in that room. Seeing the body . . .

It was crippling.

My vision blurred as new tears threatened to spill. In the distance, the glare from the opposing traffic shone and stung my eyes. Lights swirled in the distance as rain hit the windshield.

I should have said good-bye.

I owed it to him.

No . . .

I had to go.

I couldn’t stay there.

I couldn’t see that.

A flash of light descended.

The hiss of tires echoed in my ears.

Then all sound faded away.

“I remember my arm going numb. I remember the flash of lights. I remember thinking I was having a heart attack. Oh, my God, do you think I had a heart attack?”

The machine next to me beeps faster as panic kicks in and my heart rate accelerates considerably. The faces around me start to sway . . .

“What’s happening? What’s wrong with me?”

“Ms. Hamilton, I need you to take a deep breath. Please, take a deep breath.”

My brain feels as if it’s stuck in a vice being squeezed tight. My chest constricts. It’s too much. Black spots dance in my vision.

Crushing . . .

Suffocating . . .

Thud, thud

Thud, thud

I gasp for air as the world shrinks around me. White noise drifts in. I’m being blanketed by it. Immersed in a storm.

It envelops me . . .

* * *

“Open your eyes. It’s okay.”

A voice hums in the background.

“You can do it,” the voice commands again.

My eyes flutter open. “Wh-what?” I mumble, trying to get my bearings. “I’m . . . What’s happening to me?”

“You’re okay. Inhale . . . now exhale.” Sharp lines etch away at the handsome stranger’s face as he studies me.

He has the most mesmerizing pale blue eyes I’ve ever seen. Hypnotic eyes. They remind me of a cloudless sky on a summer day. I continue to survey him, trailing down to his lips then across his chiseled jaw. It’s dusted with the perfect five o’clock shadow.

Lifting my chin to get a better look, his blue eyes pierce the distance between us and I realize I’m openly gawking at this stranger. Heat spreads through my body until it coils deep inside my belly.

“Who . . . who are you?”

“I’m Dr. Preston Montgomery. I’m one of the hospital psychologists.”

“Therapist?” 

“Yes. Before the hospital is able to discharge you, they wanted me to talk to you. Are you okay to talk now?” No . . .

I bow my head in agreement.

“Okay, have you ever seen a therapist before?”

“No,” I whisper, wishing we didn’t have to talk about this.

“Do you often suffer from panic attacks, or is this something new?” His watchful stare sears me, and I feel restless under his scrutiny. His beautiful piercing blue eyes track my movements. They make my heart beat frantically in my chest.

“New.”

We sit in silence. The only sound comes from a cart being pushed in the hallway. My eyes wander around the room until I’m forced to meet his inspection again.

“To the best of your knowledge, have you ever suffered from anxiety or any of the other symptoms that presented themselves to you?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I’ve always been a bit anxious, but I’ve never felt anything like that before. I honestly thought I was dying. What’s going on with me?” My mouth drops open as I feel a sharp pressure in my heart. It hammers violently against my chest. This time I’m for sure going to die.

“Shh. Breathe . . . Breathe. One. Two. Three. In through the nose, out through the mouth.”

Squeezing my eyes shut, I take in his words. Try to follow his prompts. Inhale . . . One. Two. Three.

Exhale.

“Wh-why is this hap-happening to me?” Tears pour down my face. I make no move to wipe them. My arm is lead, weighing me down. Breathe.

I finally register the doctor’s voice as he answers me.

“You’ve suffered a traumatic loss, and sometimes it’s too much for our minds and bodies to handle.”

I don’t know what to say. I feel so stupid for freaking out. I want this to all to be over.

“How do you feel right now?” His blue eyes are studying me closely.

“My head hurts.”

He chews his bottom lip. “Do you have any current medical problems?” he asks, continuing to scrutinize my answers.

“Not that I know of.” I lower my head, needing a moment of silence, but it snaps back up when he continues to fire off more questions.

“Are you currently receiving medical care for anything that I should be aware of, or are you taking any medications?”

“Shouldn’t you have this in my file? The other doctor already asked me a bunch of questions.” There is more bite to my comment than I intend, but I don’t want to answer any more questions.

“Unfortunately, the hospital computer filing system is experiencing some hiccups, so you’ll need to bear with me as I figure this out. I know that Dr. Levin is set to run a few tests.” He pulls out his phone. “He should be back in a moment to talk with you again.”

I close my eyes and wish for all of this to end. I just want to put the whole accident behind me.

“Okay.”

“Do you remember what was going through your mind right before the accident?”

My eyelids shut and I will myself to recall more details. Memories flash in my brain. “I was thinking about my . . . my . . . I don’t even know what to call him.” My chin trembles. “I was crying and I got distracted. Then I looked up and saw the lights . . . But . . . but then it was too late. My foot got stuck in the mat. I tried to stop—” My voice breaks into a sob.

Across the bed, Dr. Montgomery types on his iPad. I wonder what he’s writing. Does he think I did this on purpose? That it wasn’t an accident. That there’s something wrong with me? Does he believe me? Why would they send a psychologist in to speak with me? Can I ask?

Dr. Levin enters the room, ripping me away from my thoughts. “Hello, Eve. Dr. Montgomery,” he says as the device is handed to him. His eyes narrow when he reads the notes on what must be my chart, and nods to Dr. Montgomery in agreement.

Dr. Montgomery stands and reaches into his back suit pocket, then pulls out his wallet and removes a business card. “Eve, I want to give you my card. If you need me, please don’t hesitate to call and make an appointment. Anxiety and panic attacks can be serious and, if left untreated, can get worse. I think therapy can help you discover your triggers and help you find an appropriate way to manage and treat them.” His fingers brush against mine, and the soft pads cause my skin to pebble. “I really do hope you will call and make an appointment.”

I’m not sure I’m ready for that. To actually face what’s haunting me.

* * *

Hours pass, I lie in bed tossing and turning, waiting for the doctor to return. When he finally does, I’m filled with relief and foreboding at the same time. Everything is fine. Only a mild concussion, and a request to follow up with a therapist. A therapist. Can I do that? Can I speak to someone?

My hands grow clammy, and a tingling begins in my chest. With each moment that passes, the fear grows stronger and stronger. I don’t know if I can.

I’m waiting for my discharge papers when Sydney walks into the room and peers over at me. “So now what?” she asks as she rubs the back of her neck.

“We wait for me to be discharged.” I try to smile, but I doubt it reaches my eyes.

“Are you going to talk to that therapist? Will you make an appointment with him?” Her left brow quirks up when I shake my head.

“What? Why the hell not?”

“Are you kidding me right now, Sydney? Did you see him? I would have to be all types of desperate to let a man that gorgeous see my crazy.”

“Well, you better find someone else, then, and fast. You didn’t see yourself, Eve. You were basically catatonic. I have never been so scared in my life. You have to talk to someone. If not him, then someone else.”

“Fine, I choose option two . . . someone else.”

“Are you sure? I wouldn’t mind talking to him, seeing him, being over him, being under him.” She winks “He was pretty freaking gorgeous.”

I can’t help but laugh. Sydney makes things feel better, even if it’s short lived.

* * *

Much later in the day, I’m finally discharged from the hospital. Sydney stayed with me the whole time, holding my hand and reassuring me that everything would be okay.

As we exit the hospital, she steps forward and hails a cab. Thank God for that, because I’m too physically and emotionally drained to lift my arms. I swear I could sleep for days. My entire body is weak and fragile. Our cab speeds off into the flow of traffic. It only takes a few minutes to arrive at our apartment building. Sydney pays the driver and we both step out.

The sidewalk is crowded and I find myself having to avoid bumping into bystanders. My steps are slow and unsteady, and crossing the short distance to the lobby door feels like completing a marathon. The wind whips mercilessly against me, causing me to feel chills and tremors.

Finally, we make it into the high-rise and into my apartment. I see a picture of Richard and me at my college graduation on the side table. Suddenly, I can’t breathe again. The walls close in as every muscle tightens in my chest, inflicting unbearable pain. Each beat of my heart is a thunderous pounding that threatens to be my last. My oxygen level dwindles to near nothingness as each pull of breath comes faster and faster. Why won’t it stop? The memories are so vivid, they play out as if it was only yesterday.

The day was finally here.

My eyes scanned the crowd, searching for her, searching for him. It was no small feat, getting my mother to come today. So with excitement, I looked out amongst the mass of smiling faces to find her. I finally did, but it wasn’t a look of pride I saw. Her eyes were void of emotion, a blank canvas. She fanned herself and checked her pulse against her neck. There she went again, feigning some imaginary illness. A deep-rooted sadness engulfed me. She couldn’t find it in her to pretend to be normal even for a day.

My shoulders slumped forward.

Richard’s gaze locked on mine. He squared his shoulders and lifted his chin. I understood what he was conveying to me all the way from across the room.

Stand tall.

Be proud.

And with that, I smiled at him and felt satisfaction swell up within for what I had accomplished.

“Here, drink this,” Sydney says while thrusting a glass in front of me. I take a swig, swallowing the water, but the room continues to spin as I breathe frantically.

Sydney’s hand rubs circles on my back. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

My body rocks in place, the movements growing faster and faster as I wait for the impending calm that doesn’t come soon enough.

“Shh, you’re okay. You’re okay.”

I lean back and close my eyes. I don’t know how much time passes, but when I reopen them, I realize I’m back to normal. I’m calm. The fear is once again dormant, but the fuse is now lit. I feel it in every breath. The flame is slowly burning away, and it’s only a matter of time before I explode again.

With slow movements, I turn my attention back to Sydney. Seated at the edge of the couch, her face is ashen as she nibbles on her bottom lip while she watches me.

“Are you okay? Do I need to call the doctor?”

“I’m okay. I promise I’m fine. I’m just tired. Really, really tired.” I slump back into the couch and sigh.

“That’s totally understandable. You’ve been through so much in the last few days. I swear I’ve never seen anything like the attacks you’ve had today. You must be exhausted.”

“I am,” I mumble as I force myself to answer her inquiry. As the words tumble out, my vision is blurry and it’s hard to focus on her.

“Does anything else hurt? You look like you might puke.”

“I kind of feel like I might.”

“It’s probably the concussion. They said throwing up could be a side effect. Why don’t you lie down in your room and I’ll sit with you while you rest?”

She stands and reaches her arm out to help me up.

“You don’t have to do that. I’ll be fine.” I’m not sure I will be, but I don’t have the energy to tell her.

“I don’t want to hear it. Between the concussion and your panic attacks, I don’t feel comfortable leaving you alone right now.” I nod, then walk into my room and lie on my bed. The bed dips with Sydney’s weight as I rest my eyes.

* * *

My eyes flutter open a few hours later. Sydney’s head snaps in my direction. Her eyes are red and swollen from lack of sleep. She rubs at them frantically and I notice moisture collect on her finger. Was she crying? Is this because of me? Or is there something else making her sad?

“Are you okay?” I ask her and her back stiffens.

“I will be.”

“Is there something you want to talk about?”

“Nah, I’m just tired.”

“You do look exhausted. Did you sleep at all, Syd?” I groan out, my voice still laced with sleep.

She gives me a tight smile. “No, not really. How are you feeling? Do you need anything? Some Motrin?”

“I can get it,” I say right before I yawn.

“No. It’s okay. I’ll grab it.” She lifts from the bed and heads out to grab me some water. When she returns, I notice how sad she still looks. It makes every muscle inside me tighten, constricting my breathing to the point of pain, and a wave of guilt consumes me. The thought plagues me again. It’s an incessant voice in my head playing on repeat. Is this because of me? Or is it more?

“I’m sorry, Syd. I hate that I’ve put you through such an ordeal these past couple of days. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. How are you? Do you want to talk about Richard’s death? You don’t talk about your family much, but maybe you would feel, I don’t know, more comfortable with me?”

My eyes well with tears and I shake my head. “I can’t.”

“I understand, I do, but don’t you think you should? You’re still grieving. Maybe it would help to talk about it.”

“We’ll see.”

“Please think about it.”

“I promise I will,” I lied.