She smiles at me as if this news should cheer me up.
"What?" I screech, bolting upright in bed. "No." I shake my head. "That's not possible."
That's a whole year in the future.
Unless…
I gulp for air. "Have I been in a coma?"
I've been out cold for a whole freakin' year?
"No, you were admitted three days ago," she explains. "Retrograde amnesia refers to the inability to access memories. You've lived through the past year; it's just that your mind isn't able to retrieve those memories at the moment."
The year she stated circles endlessly in my mind without making any sense.
"So you're saying we've somehow fast-forwarded in time?"
She gives me a look, the kind one reserves for explaining complex things to a child. "No." The year echoes in the room again as she repeats it.
Stop sayi
