Chapter Two: Where am I?
1116 Words
CHAPTER TWO — Where am I?
I wake up to the quiet, steady beeping of machines. For a moment, I think it’s my alarm, and I almost reach out to hit snooze—until my hand meets a tangle of tubes. Cold plastic. Cold air. Blue sheets.
My eyes blink open slowly, adjusting to the blinding white lights above me. The air smells sterile. Too clean. Too foreign.
“Where am I?” The words scrape my throat like sandpaper. It hurts just to speak.
My body aches everywhere. Every breath feels like fire clawing through my ribs. My mind is fog—thick, heavy and suffocating.
I try to remember.
But nothing comes.
“Oh, no…” My voice cracks. “I can’t remember anything.”
Who am I? Where am I? What the hell happened?
My chest tightens, panic rising like a wave that won’t stop. I start tugging at the tubes in my arms, desperate to get them off me, desperate for something familiar. The machines go wild; alarms start blaring, lights flashing.
The door bursts open. Two nurses rush in. “Ma’am, please, calm down!” one pleads, reaching for me.
“Don’t touch me!” I scream, thrashing. “What happened? Who am I?”
“Ma’am, you were in an accident,” the nurse says gently, holding my wrists. “You’re fine now. You’re safe.”
Safe? My heart is pounding so fast I can’t hear her. “Why can’t I remember?” I choke out, but my words dissolve into sobs.
Then I hear a voice. Deep, calm and sure.
“Let her go,” the voice says from the doorway. “I’ll handle it from here.”
The nurses pause, exchange a look, then slowly back away.
And then he walks in.
A man—tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a simple black shirt that hugs his chest like it was made for him. His hair is tousled, his face tired but handsome in a way that feels… steady. He moves like he belongs here. Like he belongs with me.
The moment he speaks again, my body stops fighting.
“Bethany,” he says softly, and the name feels foreign yet familiar. “I’m glad you’re awake.”
I stare at him, searching for a spark of recognition, but my mind is empty. “Who are you?” My voice trembles.
He looks hurt, but it’s fleeting. “I’m your husband,” he says carefully. “You were in an accident six months ago. You’ve been in a coma ever since.”
Husband.
The word echoes in my skull like a dropped glass.
I feel lightheaded like the world just tilted without warning.
The word husband hits something deep and hard buried inside my chest that I can't explain.
He steps closer, sits beside me, and before I can react, he wraps his arms around me. The warmth of his body seeps into mine, and something in me loosens—like my muscles remember even if my mind doesn’t.
“Six months?” I whisper.
He nods. “Yes.”
I look down at myself, at the pale skin of my hands, at the bruises that look old but not forgotten. Tears sting my eyes. “But… why can’t I remember anything?”
“The doctor said you suffered a head injury,” he explains gently, brushing hair from my face like it’s something he’s done a thousand times. “It affected your memory. But he believes it’s temporary. With time, things will come back.”
I try to believe him. I really do. But my head still feels like a stranger’s house.
“I don’t want to stay here anymore,” I say suddenly, clutching the blanket. “I want to go home.”
For the first time, something shifts in his face—a flicker of tension. It’s small, almost invisible, but I catch it.
He stands up slowly. “I’ll get the doctor,” he says, heading toward the door.
“Wait.” My voice is small. “What’s your name?”
He pauses, turns.
“Brandon,” he says after a moment. “Brandon Alexander.”
The name rolls off his tongue easily. Too easily.
He leaves before I can say another word.
When the room is quiet again, I sink back into the bed. My mind is chaos.
Brandon Alexander. My husband.
The words sound wrong. Like a script someone handed me halfway through a play I don’t remember auditioning for.
I glance at my left hand. No ring. Just a faint pale band on my finger—like something used to be there. Like something was.
I look toward the door, where “Brandon” disappeared, and a chill runs through me. He said the accident happened six months ago. He said my name is Bethany.
But if I’m married, where is my wedding ring? My phone? My family?
The room feels smaller now. The hum of the machines louder. My heartbeat races again.
I close my eyes and try to remember anything. A sound. A face. A smell. A single flash of memory.
Nothing.
Except… a feeling.
Someone saying my name softly. Beth. Not Bethany. Just Beth.
A man’s voice.
Deep. Familiar. But not Brandon’s.
When I open my eyes, tears are rolling down my face, and the pain in my chest is unbearable.
“Who are you really?” I whisper into the air, not sure if I mean Brandon—or myself.
The nurse returns later, checking my vitals, adjusting my drip, pretending not to notice the panic behind my eyes.
“Your husband stepped out to talk to the doctor,” she says kindly. “You’re very lucky to have him. He’s been here every day.”
“Every day?” I ask, my voice distant.
She smiles. “Never missed a single one.”
I try to get used to the idea of a doting husband but something doesn't quiet feel right.
When she leaves, I stare at the closed door.
Something inside me—deep, buried—whispers that luck has nothing to do with it.
And as the machines beep softly around me, I can’t shake the feeling that I didn’t wake up to my life.
Husband.
The lighthearted feelings comes back again. I gasp, momentarily loosing my grip on the bed rails.
Husband. I'm your husband.
Tears well in my eyes although I can't explain why. A deep sadness echoes inside me that has nothing to do with the Greek god who says he's my husband.
It's something dark and twisted that I can't seem to understand nor explain no matter how hard I try.
- Writer
