Chapter 8
I understood what she was getting at.
Three years ago, after the car accident, Camden lost his memory.
I had taken him to see famous doctors everywhere, had every test imaginable done.
All the doctors said the same thing–his memory loss wasn’t pathological. The accident hadn’t caused significant head trauma. It had to be psychological.
I took him to therapists too, but he was completely resistant. No one was willing to treat an uncooperative patient.
Eventually, I just gave up.
As long as he was alive, that was enough. Whether he remembered me or not didn’t matter.
I turned to my side, back facing Nina, facing the sunlight.
I tilted my head back, resting against her.
Too late for all that now.
The sunlight was still too harsh–I had to close my eyes.
The incision in my abdomen was still throbbing. Even the painkillers weren’t helping anymore.
After that day, my run–ins with Camden in the hospital skyrocketed.
Always in the hallway.
Sure, it was the route to the psychology department, but it couldn’t be coincidence every single time.
So coincidental that I was starting to suspect he was camping out there just to catch me.
Thanks to Nina, I made it through winter!
But I was getting greedy–I wanted to make it to summer.
I wanted to die under the blazing sun.
Every time I said stuff like this, Nina would snap at me, her tone cutting and harsh.
It would’ve been more convincing if she didn’t turn away to wipe her tears when she thought I wasn’t looking.
The painkillers were losing their effect from overuse.
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Chapter 8
I’d often go days without sleep from the pain.
Other times, I’d sleep like the dead.
Nina said I was passing out from the pain.
I thought passing out wasn’t so bad–better than insomnia.
That night, I was jolted awake by pain and nearly jumped out of my skin seeing a dark figure sitting beside me.
But I knew that silhouette.
At fifteen, his shadow had been etched into my heart.
And now I was thirty.
“Camden, what are you doing here?”
I whispered, barely breathing the words.
He sat in silence, not answering.
“I heard you’ve been doing hypnotherapy. Is it working?”
Still nothing.
“Maybe not remembering isn’t such a bad thing.”
I nodded as I spoke.
He suddenly asked:
“What’s wrong with you?”
Like he didn’t know–wasn’t it all written on the chart at the foot of my bed?
Then I remembered the room was dark. He couldn’t see it.
“Pancreatic cancer.”
After that, the room fell silent again. I started drifting off.
“That day you said someone wanted you to be happy. Who?”
I was surprised he still remembered after all this time.
Sleep was fogging my brain. I answered without thinking:
“Someone I’ll never see again.”
After that night, I never saw Camden again.
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Chapter 8
I only heard Nina gleefully recount how disheveled Camden looked when he stumbled out of the psychology department.
