Restore Me (4 page)

I tap two times on
the barely open door of room 210, and slip in as quietly as I can.
I see my favorite nurse, Diane, checking Damon’s vitals, and I wait
patiently for her to finish her routine. She’s been his day nurse
since he got here a week ago and I love her, so much more than the
night nurses. She’s an older woman, friendly and approachable. She
always asking me how I’m doing and does what she can to make me
feel comfortable. She never laughs at my questions and always gives
me as much information as she can. And she’s never been
patronizing. I like her so much more than the doctors I’ve seen in
and out of his room.

She turns when she hears me step into the quiet
room. Her small smile tells me nothing has changed and I feel
defeated as hell but still want to ask, just in case. She nods,
indicating that we can talk in a moment, pats Damon’s big hand, and
leaves his bedside. “I think that’s the longest you’ve been gone
since he was admitted,” she says with a knowing smile.

Geez! I’ve been gone a few hours!
I know
she doesn’t mean it in a shitty way, but her comment has me feeling
guilty. And apparently she can read minds, because when I look down
at my feet, she continues.

“I’m glad you were able to take a break, Jo.
There’s nothing wrong with stepping back for a little while.
Sometimes it gives you a fresh perspective.”

“I just had to get some shi—I mean things,
together and figure out how to handle him coming home. I’m scared.”
The words fall out of my mouth before I even realize it and I feel
dumb as hell. She isn’t a shrink, why would she need to know I’m
scared out of my mind to get Damon home?

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
anyone 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.