Silver Dew (47 page)

“It’s not important, darling. The memories may come back to you but they may not. You may well never regain them – you should accept the fact that they are most likely permanently gone. All that matters now is that you are alive and you are safe. And in just a couple more weeks, we should be able to take you home.”

“Home?” I echoed, struggling to remember where that was.

“Yes, you’ll come back to Toronto with Dahlia and I – she’s here too, you know. Your mother has even made arrangements to stay in Toronto for a while until you’ve recovered more – she’s also in Greece, by the way.”

“She is?”

“She’s quite concerned about you, dear. I know your mother hasn’t always been the most maternal but she does love you, in her own way. We’re going to take good care of you, sweetheart, don’t you worry. I’ve already lined up the best physiotherapists and plastic surgeons to work with you upon our return home,” he informed me. I could tell he was trying to be reassuring in his gruff, take-control type of way but all of this information was overwhelming. The room starting spinning and a fresh stabbing pain drilled into my skull.

“Ah!” I gasped, squeezing my eyes shut and automatically reaching for my temple – with my right hand. The movement of my badly burned and injured arm sent even more agonizing pain coursing through my body. I was vaguely aware of my father calling for help as I slid, with silent relief, into the quiet, still darkness that beckoned to me.

Over the next week or so, my condition slowly continued to improve. The pain lessened and I was slowly weaned off the drugs I hadn’t realized I was on (strong pain-killers including morphine and several others whose names I couldn’t pronounce). My thoughts became clearer, my hazy memories of the past few months sharpened, but still – I remembered no new information about the explosion or the events leading up to it than I had the first day I awoke.

As my condition improved, I had several visitors whom I was able to tolerate for longer and longer periods of time as my mind cleared and my pain lessened. My mother came twice a day, her thin face drawn and lined. I was surprised to see her even though my father had told me she was there - and I was even more shocked by her genuine concern for me. She told me I looked awful, she criticized the hospital staff and the small size and plainness of my private room and she chastised me constantly, telling me that this was what I got for running away from home with an “obviously troubled youth” like Sebastian. But she also painted my nails for me, and brushed and braided my hair, and brought me magazines and books to read. She confided that she had been very lonely since Walter, a member of our household staff and close companion of hers whom I couldn’t quite remember, had quit her service and disappeared. I almost believed it when she said she had missed me. There were definite moments when I even enjoyed her company – it was strange.

The police also came to visit me several times during my hospital stay. They always asked the same questions, wanting more details about what our tour group was doing in those ancient ruins and pressing me for more information about the explosion. I could tell them nothing new. It was both frustrating and terrifying to have such large, gaping holes in my memory though I was definitely starting to grow used to it. It was reassuring at least, to hear from my father, that none of the other tourists could remember anything either. At least I knew that I wasn’t entirely alone.

But I was alone. Because though my mother visited me twice a day and my father and Dahlia spent most of the remaining daylight hours with me in my hospital room, I never once saw Sebastian. I knew he was awake and that he was in the hospital still. I even learnt from my father that his foster parents, the Jensons (whom I vaguely remembered), were also in Greece and staying in a hotel across the street from my father’s. Apparently, they would be taking Sebastian home on the same day that we were to depart as his injuries were healing at a remarkable pace, almost identical to my own. But still, Sebastian never came to my room.

I felt so confused about my relationship with Sebastian. I couldn’t remember much of the past year that we had known each other, there were only patchy glimpses of strange, foggy memories. Some information was there, and some wasn’t. I knew he was my boyfriend, I knew I had been very much in love with him but… I couldn’t remember exactly why. It was strange, remembering that you loved someone but feeling almost as if it were someone else’s memories, someone else’s thoughts and emotions that you were remembering. It was all so confusing, and disorienting, and frustrating. And it made it even worse that he was staying away from me. It made me feel both afraid and relieved in a sad type of way, that he might be feeling the same way as I did.

It was just two days before we were both scheduled to be discharged from the hospital in Athens that Sebastian finally came to my room. I was doing a lot better by then, wearing my own clothes instead of the plain, thin hospital gown and moving around a bit on my own. My burns were healing quickly and some of the bandages had already been removed, exposing the fresh, red scars and melted skin around my right wrist and forearm. My mother was horrified by these marks so I tried to cover them up when she came to visit to avoid upsetting her. I found them strangely fascinating though, often staring at my scars in bewilderment as I tried to recall how exactly I had gotten them.

It was late at night, long after visiting hours when Sebastian knocked softly on my door. He didn’t wait for me to answer, just quietly slipped inside with a small and uncertain smile. He paused just inside the doorway, staring at me and suddenly looking confused, like he wasn’t certain exactly what he was doing there or if he were making a mistake. I wasn’t sure either.

I studied him in silence, noting the differences between the boy who stood before me and the one of my memories. He was a little thinner and paler than I remembered. His hair was slightly longer but just as messy as I recalled. He wore loose sweat pants and a t-shirt that showed his bandaged right arm with almost identical scars to mine peeking out from beneath the white, linen wrap. He was even more attractive than I remembered, I realized. His pink lips pursed together thoughtfully, his dark eyes were deep and intense above the faint marks that shadowed them. I suddenly felt intimidated, and unexpectedly shy.

“Hi,” I greeted him softly.

“Hi,” he answered. He hesitated again and then stepped forward. “Do you mind if I sit down?”

“Not at all.”

He took the empty chair closest to where I sat in my bed. I slowly shifted my body upright more, wincing slightly from the twinge of pain in my side as I moved. I ran a quick hand through my shoulder-length, curly hair, feeling a little self-conscious. I was glad, more than ever, that my mother had helped me to bathe and wash my hair that morning.

“Do you remember me?” Sebastian asked. He definitely looked nervous, like he was holding his breath. The sight relaxed me a little.

“Yes. Well… mostly,” I clarified. He smiled and I relaxed even more, automatically responding with a smile of my own.

“It’s strange, isn’t it? To remember but to not really remember at the same time.”

“It’s confusing,” I agreed. I watched him curiously, trying not to stare too much at his attractive and compelling features. “How much do
you
remember, exactly?”

“Not much,” he admitted. “I remember our school – Craigflower Academy. I remember spending time with you there, sort of. I can’t remember many specific conversations or details but I remember you. I remember… your ex-boyfriend, Clarke, and his friends beating me up. And then I remember that we broke up for a few months but I can’t remember why exactly… and I don’t remember getting back together but I’m sure that we did.”

“Yes, we did.” We shared another smile that made me blush and lower my eyes. I couldn’t remember anyone making me blush in a long time. It was strange the reaction this boy was causing within me. “I can’t remember why we broke up either – or how we got back together. I was mad at you about something, I guess it wasn’t that important.”

“And then, I’m told, we ran away together just before graduation.”

“My dad told me that too. He wasn’t impressed,” I added with a smile.

“I don’t know what we were thinking – literally,” Sebastian agreed with a teasing grin. “I can remember riding my motorbike across Canada with you. We camped… I think. I actually can’t remember that much of it to tell the truth.”

“Neither can I.”

“I know we visited your father in Toronto briefly but I can’t remember what we did there…?” He looked at me questioningly, leaning forward expectantly in his chair. I looked into his eyes and for a moment, I found myself lost within their gray swirling depths, searching for that faint and familiar hint of blue. My heart skipped a beat and butterflies fluttered in my stomach. I looked away, trying to focus and calm myself as I prepared my answer. My father had told me about Sebastian and I visiting him in Toronto and it was one subject that I felt quite awkward about. Still, Sebastian deserved to know the truth or as much of it as I had been told, anyway.

“Well…” I paused trying to gather my thoughts. It was hard when Sebastian was staring at me like that. I couldn’t believe how intense his eyes were. “My father told me we dropped in on him unannounced. I don’t remember any of it really but he said it was obvious we were in some kind of trouble. He suspected we might be involved in some kind of criminal activity – maybe even with a gang or something. He said we both looked a little “strung out”. Apparently, we convinced him that people were after us and that we needed to get out of the country fast. He bought us tickets to Europe and made travel arrangements for us, he had been planning on doing so for me as a graduation present anyway. He wasn’t even quite sure why he helped us out – he told me he’s regretted it every day since we disappeared but I guess we were quite convincing…”

“Oh.” Sebastian frowned down at the floor. He looked as confused as I felt. “I don’t remember any of that.”

“Neither do I. I don’t remember ever doing drugs or being involved in any gangs – or even any kind of trouble… Dahlia, my father’s new wife, tells the exact same story though.”

“Bizarre,” Sebastian muttered. He winced, rubbing his forehead with one hand.

“Do the headaches still bother you much?” I blurted out.

He opened his eyes, looking at me strangely.

“Did I have headaches before?”

“No… I don’t think so. I just meant… are you feeling better? They said our injuries were almost the same and I’ve been having headaches since I woke up,” I struggled to explain. It was hard when I wasn’t entirely sure what I meant.

“The headaches are slowly improving. David’s been having them too – he was also standing close to the explosion. We were put in the same room so we’ve been chatting. I can’t really remember him but at the same time… I’m certain we were friends. Everything about him is so familiar almost as if I know him as well as you – well, not quite.” He shrugged with an almost embarrassed smile.

“My burns are healing fast,” he continued. “It’s strange, David was found even closer to you than I was but he doesn’t have a single burn on his body – only bruises, a broken arm and the memory loss. A nurse told me that my burns are identical to yours on my arm, hand and side but my back was also badly burnt and so was the left side of my rib cage and part of my chest.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.” I immediately felt guilty. My father had never mentioned that he had been even more badly burned than I.

“I didn’t lose any blood though. I heard you nearly bled to death.” His eyes flickered to the stitched wound still healing at my throat. He winced as if in pain himself but whether it was from imagining me bleeding to death or imagining the pain of my injury, was hard to tell.

“I survived. My throat doesn’t bother me nearly as much as the burns do. I can’t imagine how it must be to have them on your back and both sides… I’m sorry,” I repeated, somehow feeling as if it were all my fault.

He shrugged. “Don’t worry about it,” he dismissed. He sounded like he really meant it too. “How are you feeling?”

“Better each day, but still very confused.” I paused, trying to remember what we had been talking about. My short term memory seemed to have been affected from the explosion too and I often found myself struggling to focus and recall recent events. Each day got a little easier though. “Do you remember much of our trip in Europe?” I asked as I recalled where we had left off.

“Very little. We spent a few days in Ireland, and then I remember taking a train through South-Eastern Europe. My memories of Greece are patchy at best,” he admitted.

“That’s pretty much the same as me.”

Our eyes met again and once more I felt that same, strange, electric spark between us. We both quickly looked away, my heart was still beating a little too fast.

“Do you remember…” Sebastian paused, taking a deep breath. I looked up curiously, aware that he suddenly appeared quite nervous. He met my gaze, smiling almost shyly as he slowly reached forward and took my left hand. His touch was soft and gentle, his fingertips smooth and warm as he gently stroked around the bruise from where my IV had been inserted. The familiarity of his touch and the new excitement he was causing me was both disorienting and thrilling. My lips parted slightly as he gently stroked my hand, his fingers lightly twisting at the small, silver ring wrapped around my finger. “Do you remember when I gave this to you?” he asked quietly, raising his eyes to mine as he spoke.