Restore Me Page 3

  Her hand rests on my arm and gives it a reassuring squeeze. “It’s just going to take time. He’ll come around. I’ve heard that Dr. Versan is one of the best. He’ll help him. Just have faith.”

  I nearly smack her hand away at the mention of faith. I don’t have a lot of faith in anything; much less in Dr. Versan’s aptitude for bringing people out of a state like the one Damon’s in. Diane gives me one of those sympathetic smiles that I despise so much and sidesteps me to leave the room.

  I’m left standing here across from my love, except he’s not my love anymore. I don’t have the slightest idea who the man laying in the bed is, but it’s not the Damon I know and love. The Damon I fell for seems to have died or gone somewhere far away from here. I wish like hell I knew how to get him back, but I’m at a loss. I’ve been trying like hell, for days, to get him to look at me; to say something to me; to say anything at all.

  He won’t talk. He doesn’t react to anything. He just lies there, motionless and expressionless. When I was first allowed to see him, after he was stable, I ran to his side and cradled his face in my hands. I cried so hard and with such relief that cramps shot through my aching lungs. I held his hand in mine and squeezed. He didn’t squeeze back. Tears slipped from the corners of his stoic eyes, but since then, nothing. I know he knows I’m here. I know he can hear and see everyone. Dr. Versan explained it all to me. When I realized he was so…gone, I flipped out and insisted that the doctors order more tests. I was certain that he’d suffered some type of brain damage or something that was causing his silence. Of course, after they threatened me with calling security for the second time, I shut the hell up and listened. It wasn’t that I didn’t believe them, it was more that taking their word for it hurt. Dr. Versan, all of the doctors that had been in and out, and the nurses, told me that this happens often; a person can be so shocked and traumatized that they simply shut down, turn off the world and retreat into their head.

  I heard what they said. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust the medical staff; I didn’t want to believe that the love of my life refused to talk to me.

  Damon shifts in the bed and I instinctually hurry to him. I know he knows I’m here and I think, or at least, I want to believe that his shifting around is his way of calling me to him. Maybe I’m out of my fucking mind. I really have no clue anymore. I drop my bag to the floor beside the bed.

  “Hey. Hey, are you okay?” I sit on the edge of his bed and pick up one of his big hands. I stroke the back of it with my fingers and pray to… whoever…that he’ll finally snap out of this; that he’ll say something to me. His silence is unbearable. I’d rather him open his mouth and say “fuck you” than see him sitting here like a vegetable.

  The good Dr. Versan calls it an acute stress disorder. The way he explained it was like something out of a movie. When something horrible happens to a person and they start acting like a fucking zombie and people slap them across the face to make them come to. It seems ridiculous on TV, but it’s an actual disorder. I can’t imagine being so traumatized that I’d disappear into my own head. It seems impossible, but clearly it isn’t.

  Damon looks very much…gone. I have no idea where the hell he is or how to get him back, but I won’t give up on him. They said he should come out of this and he may even suffer memory loss from the event itself. If he doesn’t remember anything, how the hell do I handle that? Do I remind him that I walked out without giving him a chance to explain and he ended up on the side of that road without a pulse? The thought of it makes my stomach turn and my heart speed. I guess I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.

  He still lays here, not giving me one ounce of proof that I am talking to my Damon. I don’t care what is on the outside. I know in my heart that wherever he’s gone to in that head of his, he wants out. He wants to come back to me. He has to.

  I shift on the bed to face him more directly. I place my hands on his face and turn his head to look at him squarely. “I know you can hear me. Baby, say something. Please. Just nod your head.”

  His amber eyes, that usually burn so warm and intense, are empty. Seeing his eyes so lifeless shreds me to pieces on the inside. I’m not talking to the Damon I know, I’m talking to his shell. I don’t care what is on the outside. I know in my heart that wherever he’s gone in that head of his, he wants out. He wants to come back to me. He has to.

  “Listen to me, Damon. I’m not giving up on you. I know you’re in there somewhere and I swear I’ll bring you back. I promise.”

  His indifferent eyes remind me that he isn’t going to respond to my words. It hurts. I want nothing more than for him to sweep me up in his arms and pull me to him into the bed with him. For now, those are daydreams. I give him a bogus smile and kiss his cheek. I know I’m an asshole for faking the smile, but it’s the best I’ve got right now. It’s all I’ve got right now. Fuck.

  “You’re going home in a bit. I brought you some comfortable clothes to wear. Brian’s here with me.”

  Hearing his name, Brian, who’s been playing on his phone in the hallway, joins us. “Hey, buddy. Ready to go home?”

  Nothing.

  I ramble to fill the silence. “Dr. Versan is going to follow us home and help us get settled at the penthouse. Everything is ready for you at home. I brought Hemingway, want to see him?” I hate rambling. Why do people do this? It’s infuriating! I hate having this urge to fill the damned silence, but staring at him just feels so uncomfortable.

  Every second that passes without even a semblance of my Damon only further solidifies the truth. He’s gone and I have to find him. I have to bring him back. I have to make him believe what I believe. The accident wasn’t his fault and we’re made for each other, tragic past be damned.

  I hear a tap on the door and look up to see Dr. Stephens, with Dr. Versan in tow. Dr. Stephens is a handsome black man with an easy smile. He was the first doctor to come and talk to me in the waiting room. He’s been a great with Damon and was patient with me when I was making a scene in the waiting room.

  “Hey, just the men I need to see. Are his discharge papers all ready?”

  “Yes, Ms. Geroux, his paperwork is all set,” Dr. Stephens affirms with a practiced smile. “You’ll get a copy of all of those things before you leave. I’ve included a list of things I want you to keep an eye out for, but you shouldn’t worry. Physically speaking, Damon is quite healthy. His chest is likely very sore from the resuscitation and he may have some digestive discomfort from the gastric irrigation. But other than that, just make sure he’s back for a follow up in two weeks.”

  I nod and Dr. Stephens extends his hand, which I shake with another bullshit smile. “Thank you, Dr. Stephens.”

  “I’ll leave you in the capable hands of Dr. Versan now. Take care, Ms. Geroux. I’ll see you in two weeks, Damon.”

  I’m not looking at him, but I feel Versan’s eyes digging into me. I start gathering things up while I pray the nurse hurries her ass in here to free us from this hospital.

  “How are you doing, Josephine?” Bingo. Let the shrinking begin.

  “I’m fine. I’ll be better once we get out of here.” I pretend I’m busy chatting with Brian and arranging Damon’s clothes, hoping he will just save his head-shrinking bullshit for another day. Maybe a day when I’m stuck in his office watching him write who knows what on his notepad.

  “You don’t seem fine.”

  I clench my jaw and for a moment I think I may flip out and lose my shit right here in this hospital room. “Don’t. Save that shit for my appointment.” We engage in a staring contest for a moment and I thank fuck that I win. “Okay? We’ll be okay. We have Brian, and you’re going to be in and out, right? Making house calls?”

  He nods and I breathe a silent sigh of relief. I’m scared shitless to have Damon at home. What if he does something crazy? What if he gets sick from the stomach pumping procedure? I’m no nurse, so to say that I’m nervous about playing nurse to him is a giant understatement. I’ve never taken care of anyo
ne really. Not like this. I’m petrified. As much as I don’t want to admit it, I’m going to need the support of Brian and Dr. Versan.

  “Ms. Geroux?”

  I snap my head up to face the night nurse. Apparently the shift change happened while I was trying to crack Damon’s shell. This is the super happy nurse with the bouncy curls and constant smiles.

  She holds out a clipboard and pen. “Read these aftercare instructions and sign at the bottom, please. Do you have any questions for me?”

  Her tone is a little too chipper and it drives me up the wall. What’s she got to be so damn happy about? I’m not happy. I’m scared and worried and guilty. I shake my head, refusing to ask questions. I have a shit ton of questions, but right now I just want to get him out of here. I want to get him back to the penthouse and make him better. I want to lie in bed with him until he snaps out of this shit.

  She peels the tape from his hand to access his IV. He doesn’t even flinch when she pulls it from his hand. The rest of the shit stuck to him is quickly removed and I watch with wonder as she moves him about. It’s like his body is going through the motions but his mind is off someplace else. He’s the closest damn thing to a robot I’ve ever seen.

  “Do you need help getting him dressed?”

  I hear her but nothing is registering.

  “Ms. Geroux?”

  Brian elbows me. “Jo!”

  “Huh?” I stop staring at Damon and bring my eyes to meet hers.

  “Do you need help dressing him?”

  “No. I can get it,” I snap, a little too harshly. There I go being an accidental bitch again. “Brian’s going to help me.”

  Brian has been like a fly on the wall. He’s been right next to me almost the whole time, like a shadow, since he came in the room. “I’m happy to help. You’ll need my muscle to get this oaf dressed.”

  “Okay. Buzz the nurse’s station if you need anything. Other than that. You’re all set. Good luck to you two.” She dismisses my bitch moment easily and pats me on the shoulder.

  I watch her walk out and turn to eye Versan.

  “I’ll wait in the hall.” He stands from the chair against the wall, leaves the room and shuts the door behind him.

  Brian grabs the clothes we brought and moves to Damon, who doesn’t even acknowledge him.

  I hold my arm out to stop him. “Let me try by myself, ok, Brian?” I take a deep breath. “I’ll need to practice doing this alone.”

  “You sure, honey? I’m happy to help.” He flexes like a complete dork and I stifle a giggle.

  “No, really. I’ve got it.” I probably outweigh him by 25 pounds, so I’m not sure he’d be much help anyway. “Go talk to Dr. Versan. Maybe you could bring the car around?”

  Brian sets the clothes on the bed, pats my shoulder and then squeezes Damon’s hand. “Go easy on her, buddy. We’ll get you home soon.” He picks up the bag with Hemingway, who’s snoozing as usual, and leaves us alone.

  Alone.

  This is it.

  I take a deep breath and slide my hand beneath his back to lift him. I don’t have to lift much. His body responds like a machine. It’s absolutely heartbreaking.

  I lay the jogging pants across his lap and spread out the rest of his outfit. Once it’s ready for him to put it all on, I hook both hands under his arms to get him to stand. He complies in true zombie fashion.

  “I’m going to help you get ready,” I explain as I untie the hospital gown at the nape of his neck and then mid-back.

  The fabric slips from his shoulders to puddle at our feet. He’s stark naked and appears not to notice.

  I press my palms down on the tops of his shoulders. “Sit.” He sits back on the side of the bed. With the socks and boxer briefs in my hand I crouch down to his feet. His eyes don’t stray from whatever invisible thing they’re focused on. I pull both socks onto his feet and guide his boxer briefs up his legs. I reach up and grab his pants and guide them, too, up his legs as far they’ll go with him sitting.

  “Stand,” I say softly as my hands hook beneath his arms again. He gets to his feet like he did before, without a sign of coherency. The boxer briefs and pants slide up easily. I straighten the band of his pants and press my hands to his shoulders again, prompting him to sit. He does. I gather the shirt and pull it over his head, guiding his arms into the sleeves. He’s fully dressed but doesn’t move. Hardly blinks. Nothing.

  Seeing him so despondent rips me apart. He’s like a snake that’s shed his skin. This Damon has the shape and markings of his old self, but he’s brittle and empty. It feels like my love died in that truck and left this skin, this shadow, as my consolation prize for instigating this disaster. If that’s what this is; I deserve my punishment.

  I run my finger tips over his cheek and do my best to muster up some courage. The task before me is daunting as hell and it scares me, but the alternative is far worse. I can either bring him back to me or lose him forever. The idea of never having him back the way he was is frightening. It robs the breath from my lungs.

  I’ll find him.

  I’ll get him to come back to me.

  I have to.

  My desire to win him back is not just for him. The need to save Damon from his own personal hell is self preservation in its purest form.

  “Time to go, Big Man.”

  ***

  “Thank you for helping us up, Howard,” Brian says, slipping the doorman a generous tip.

  I feel sorry for Howard. He looks dazed and a little confused. Damon is always so in control; I’m sure seeing his boss looking like a fucking zombie has Howard freaked out.

  “No problem, Brian. Jo,” he demurs with a nod. “Let me know if there’s anything else I can do.”

  “Thanks,” I say to his back as he hurries from the penthouse back to the elevator. Yep, he’s freaked out.

  Dr. Versan quietly observes us; he has been all day. I’m not sure he ever stops. He might as well get his fucking pen out and get to scribbling because I can tell he’s mentally noting everything. It’s irritating. I figure if he has something on his mind that pertains to me, I want to know what the hell it is.

  “So, what’s the game plan, doc?”

  He smirks at my overly casual attitude. “I want you at my office in the morning. Nine o’clock.”

  My arched eyebrow communicates exactly what I’m thinking. What the hell? My eyes shoot daggers at Brian. “Is this the appointment you set up?” I demand.

  Brian holds up his hands in mock surrender. “No, no, angry lady! I set one up for next week! I swear!”

  “Hmm…” I’m not sure I believe that one. “Do you mean both of us?”

  He shakes his head. “No, just you. Call me directly if I’m needed.”

  I want to pitch a fit, but decide that keeping my mouth shut is probably best. If I cut loose, I don’t know when I’ll stop. I’m not the one who just had a major breakdown. Sure, I have issues, but I haven’t tried to kill myself lately. I’ll handle Versan in the morning. “Fine. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  The good doctor nods and turns to leave. “Brian, I think Josephine and Damon will be okay now. She’ll let us know if they need anything.”

  “I’m just going to go pick them up some dinner,” Brian says. “I’ll be back in a hour or so?” He says his goodbyes to Zombie Damon and engulfs me in a fierce hug. “Good luck, honey,” he whispers.

  The front door closes and I am left completely alone. The last time I was alone in the penthouse with Damon, he was on his knees begging me to stay. Why didn’t I just stay?!

  I glance to Zombie Damon and see that he has seated himself on that ugly, hard as a rock, modern decor couch. I silently remind myself to throat punch Ms. Decorator Barbie for choosing such uncomfortable furniture for the common areas.

  “You scared Howard. Maybe you could go talk to him. Order him to do something so he feels better.” Did I really just reprimand him? That can’t be helpful. I set my bag on the floor and lazily stroll over to wher
e he’s sitting. I was nervous to have him here alone but now that we’re here, I feel more comfortable than I thought I would. I sit beside him and wait in vain for a response. I know he isn’t going to say a damn thing, but it doesn’t keep me from hoping.

  Hope is a mostly foreign concept to me, but where Damon is concerned, I have all the hope in the universe, multiplied by a million, and that still doesn’t accurately describe it. Who knew hope could be so frustrating and scary? I feel like I’m gambling and the wager is irreplaceable. My heart is the bet on the felt and I’m praying to God or whoever to let the cards fall just right; just this once. If having him the way he was is the extent of my good fortune for the rest of my existence, then I’ll happily take it. I’ll be content and never want for more. The man with whom my hopes and dreams reside is still sitting beside me, silent. I wish I knew what to say at this very moment to get him to come out of this…haze.

  The simple fact is I’ve been wracking my brain for days and I have nothing to show for it. Except maybe bags under my eyes from lack of sleep. I’m exhausted. I’m spent. Physically, emotionally and mentally. I’m running on fumes. I draw a deep breath through my nose and stifle back a yawn. I put my hand to Damon’s cheek and brush my fingers against the beard that has grown in since the accident.

  “This needs to be trimmed.”

  No response.

  “You look tired. Lay down.”

  No response. I scoot my body across the couch and tug his arm to pull him down. He lies down on his side with his head in my lap. My fingers lace through his dark, messy hair. It feels the same to me. Does it feel the same to him?

  “I meant what I said,” I whisper. “I love you. I won’t quit. I’ll help you out of this. If I have to wait, then that’s what I’ll do.” The yawn I held back a moment ago refuses to go away and my exhaustion wins out over my will to stay awake. I lean my head back and close my eyes, fingers still tangled in his hair.