His Rose. Her Distraction

Isabella’s POV. It was midday. I was driving down a dusty road and had tears in my eyes, they streamed heavily down my face. My hands trembled against the stirring wheels as I drove at speed. I was definitely running from something. What is it? I was driving without looking back and could feel my heart thumping in my throat. Though it’s difficult pinpointing the exact thing I was fleeing from, I could tell it petrified me to my roots. What could cause such great fear in me? Whatever it was, it certainly left me shivering like a fish drawn out of water. I was gasping for air even though a gust of wind wafted across the open windows of my car, whipped my face and tousled my hair. Wait, is that blood in my hands? Gunshots! I heard them; three loud gunshots that murdered the peace of the afternoon, they were the last thing I heard before my car suddenly veered out of control, off the dusty road, and went summersaulting down a hill. One. Two. Three. Four. I lost count of the summersaults as my head jammed from one part of the car to the other. There was nothing I could do to stop the impact, nothing, and right before my eyes, my world crumbled. My car tumbled one more time and everything turned blank! ……. The beeping sound of an electrocardiographic machine, the smell of freshly cut flowers, and that inevitable, pungent smell of disinfectant. I knew the instant consciousness swirled into my body. My toes twitched first, and it’s followed closely by my fingers, and then my lashes fluttered. Slowly, my eyes opened, I blinked them, and welcomed nothing but blurry images and rays of a fluorescent light that burned through my head. Ah! I shut my eyes again. Upon reopening them, I heard someone gasp in the background. “She's awake!” the voice cried out in excitement. “Go. Get the doctor!” I force my eyes open and take in a room; white painted walls, a ceiling fan, and a pair of blue curtains hanging on either side of the room. And then I saw her, a woman in her late forties wearing a scarf which matched the designer blouse and skirt she wore. Her earrings, necklace and bracelets were of pure gold and stole my attention for a moment as she scurried to my side. And my gaze wandered back to her face. “Isabella? You’re awake!” she cried again between smiles and placed her hands over mine on the bed. And I realized I was lying, stretched on a bed. Just as the rest of the room, the face of this woman became clearer, her amber eyes, her brown hair and red-painted lips. Despite the concealer she was wearing, I could tell she was in her late forties. Who is this woman? I watched in confusion as she kissed my hand and placed it against her cheek, and then she kissed it again. She even reached forward and was about to touch my shoulder. “W-who are y-you?” I reeled back in devastation. She stopped. I watched as a wave of shock swept into her expression, followed by pain, and then sadness. “You do not remember me?” her voice trembled. This question, it was more of an accusation than a question, yet I continued to stare at this woman in perplexity. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled and swallowed. I watched her recollect herself and slowly straightened up, but she forced a smile. “I’m your mother,” she announced. My mother? I stared at the overtly rich woman standing before me, in shock. “You are m-my mother?” My voice was hoarse and so low I could barely hear myself. She gently nodded her head. “Yes,” she replied, but my gaze wandered past her as I studied the room we were in. Where is this place? Towards my left, sat three couches and a centre table, and there was an air-conditioner on the wall opposite me. “You can call me Camila,” she added, and my gaze traveled back to the woman. “Where am I?” I asked and watched as the smile on her face disappeared. “You’re in a hospital, my dear,” she said. “What happened?” “You’re in a VIP room of St. Peter’s hospital.” Why is she avoiding my question? She’s avoiding my question, isn’t she? “What happened?” I snapped. At my question, the door flung open and more new faces trooped into the room; a man in a lab coat and a stethoscope hung around his neck. And with him were two ladies, nurses, I presumed. One of the nurses carried a file and a pen in her hand as they walked in. “Oh, Doctor Charles, thank goodness you’re here!” That was Camila scurrying halfway across the room to meet with the man. If I heard correctly, she addressed him as Dr. Charles. “She does not remember me,” Camila whispered. “I told you, I told you this would happen,” he said. “Yes you did. But I didn’t expect her to forget everything, including her family too!” Camila stressed and they glanced at me. My gaze was fixed on them. I’m sure they know I can hear them. “Hello?” I waved my right hand. “You know I can hear you,” I said. Doctor Charles, as she called him, gave her a reassuring smile before continuing to my side of the bed. I don’t know why but I felt more tensed than I already was as I looked at the bulky man on medicated glasses standing before me. “Hello,” he greeted, the most hospitable of smiles radiated on his face. “Who are you?” I asked. “I’m Doctor Charles,” he introduced himself to me. “If you wouldn’t mind, I'd like to take your vitals,” he said, already going for the stethoscope on his neck. Seconds of silence followed his request as my gaze traveled from his face to the stethoscope in his hands, down to the ladies behind him, and then my supposed mother. Gulping, I took back my gaze at him. I nodded my head. “Yes.” I gave my consent, and quickly he reached for something above my head and for the first time I noticed the intravenous drip and then the cannula in my other hand. He stopped the drip, and gently placed his stethoscope on my chest. He listened to it. In that split second, my searching gaze wandered back to the woman, Camila, as she paced the room. She had one hand akimbo and the other under her chin. As I stared now at her, images flashed in my head, evoking a ‘déjà vu’ feeling. Breath lodged in my throat. Two images of her talking in an expensively furnished living room, another of her sprawled on a lawn, it was a sunny day, opening her arms to someone, perhaps me? … She was much younger in this one. I closed my eyes. I wanted to remember more memories of her but instead, a sudden sharp pain hit my head and I flinched. “Ouch!” I clutched my head. “Is everything okay?” questioned Dr. Charles and I reopened my eyes. I was wearing a bandage around my head and didn’t even know! With my hands, I felt the material neatly wrapped around my head. “Are you alright?” Doctor Charles asked again. A worried Camila scurried to the foot of my bed. “What is the problem?” She probed, her gaze moving from me to Dr. Charles. I wasn’t sure who she was directing the question to, but I decided to answer. I guess the earlier this session is over, the earlier I’ll be left alone, as I crave. “I’m fine,” I answered and gulped. “It’s just a slight headache and that’s all.” “You can tell us anything, darling,” that was Camila again. “You know we are here for you so you don’t have to hide anything, not one single thing from us,” she added. I think it’s the way she said it that made it sound creepy; like I wasn’t allowed some privacy or the choice of keeping things to myself. I felt uncomfortable. “I’m fine,” I lied. “But..” Dr. Charles signaled to her and she stopped. “Okay, if you insist,” Camila said, and with a warm smile stepped back, allowing us a moment. My gaze wandered back to Dr. Charles. He smiled too. “Your vitals are good,” he said. “What happened to me?” I asked. “You were – ” he started, but the door suddenly swung open. Footsteps followed closely, and more men breezed into the room. Good grief! Who are they now? Three men in black suits, but only the one in the middle looked older. He also looked strict, likely in his fifties. He caught my attention as he turned around and signaled to the other two men with him. We watched as they left and shut the door after them. Who is this man? Of course, everything about him screamed wealth, just like Camila; especially the Rolex watch he was wearing. There’s no denying the déjà vu feeling as he cast a casual glance my way, he walked to Camila and planted a kiss on her cheek. “How are you?” “I’m fine,” she whispered back. “She’s awake, and does not remember anything,” she added. He looked up at us; at me again, at Dr. Charles, as if hating the attention he’d stolen. “Oh, please continue!” he instructed. Dr. Charles cleared his throat. “Like I was saying,” he continued, “You were involved in an accident a month ago.” “What kind of accident?” I asked. “A car accident,” he replied. “According to a series of investigations conducted, you were driving down an old and abandoned road when suddenly your car veered out of control and summersaulted a couple of times. Do you remember any of that?” “I don’t.” I shook my head. “Why did my car suddenly veer out of control?” I asked and hated how Dr. Charles, for whatever reason, glanced at Camila and the man. Why was he looking at them as though searching for permission to speak? He brought back his gaze on me and the warmest of smiles spread on his lips. “Well,” he quickly turned serious. “The brakes,” he said. “-your brakes failed, and then your car veered out of control and summersaulted down the hill,” he finished and dragged a breath. I became speechless. Blinking, I fought to remember what happened; this accident, but I only ended up with another sharp pain in my head. I stopped right there. “Are you alright?” Dr. Charles inquired. “Tell me more, please!” I helplessly asked and reopened my eyes. “Did I mention your car summersaulted a couple of times?” “Yes,” I nodded. “Well, aside from one or two sprains and then dislocations on your shoulder, it’s a miracle you didn’t suffer any broken bones!” Dr Charles was exhilarated and I gasped. “What? How is th-that even possible?” I stuttered. “However,” he turned serious. “You suffered from an injury in your hippocampus in your brain.” “My brain?” “Yes, this injury is the reason you can’t remember anything.” Bile glided over my tongue, the bitterness at knowing I was just like a newborn, vulnerable, with no memories of my past life. Where does this leave me? My gaze wandered around the room and back to the doctor. “Am I ever going to get them back? My memories?” I asked. The sadness itched my throat, pooled tears in my eyes. “Am I ever, ever going to get my memories back?” I had the feeling even Doctor Charles did not know the answer to my question, no one seemed to know! “Isabella,” that was Camila stepping forward, “please, we need you to calm down. This anxiety will do you more harm than good.” She brought herself standing before me and Dr. Charles stepped away. “But I want to- I want to remember the accident, about my past. No!” I gasped, shaking my head. “I-I want to remember everything,” I stammered. “Darling, don’t force it. You will only make matters worse for yourself,” that was Camila, but I paid no attention to her. I grabbed my ears and closed my eyes as if shutting the rest of the world away, I just needed to remember something, just one thing. And then, in a snap, three loud pictures materialized but disappeared almost immediately. I forced them back, and they played in my head. Yes, I was driving. I was driving down a road, and then I was looking at my hands. Wait, is that blood in my hand?