“Were you calling me Luca?”
Another look passes between them.
“You don’t remember your name?” the other woman asks, worried. She’s a little younger than the one named Emery, I think, with hair that’s gold in some light, then more strawberry when she turns the other way. Her eyes are blue, her skin so pale she looks like she might burn just thinking too hard about the sun.
“Of course I know my name, it’s—” The answer is right there on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t seem to grasp anything afterLuca. “My name…”
“Do you know what day it is?” Emery asks.
Again, the answer is there but it’s like my brain is a sieve, and the word keeps draining out the bottom. “No.”
“Do you remember anything that happened today?” she asks.
I try to think back but can’t find anything. Everything behind me is blankness. My head is a black hole. The spark of panic swells, and the sound of beeping intensifies. Emery leans in and touches my arm. Her skin is as warm as it looks, and the contact calms me.
She takes my hand and squeezes and the sensation turns painful—overwhelming, too much stimulation. It must show on my face, because she immediately releases it. “Sorry. Sorry.” She glances at the other woman, who nods at her. “You were hurt,” Emery tells me. “But you’re okay now. You’re safe here. Just breathe, slow—good. Yes.”
“I’m freaking out,” I whisper.
“A normal reaction considering the circumstances.”
“I’m Luca?”
“Yes. Luca Tómas Martín.”
“And you’re Emery?”
She nods.
“Nice to meet you, I think.”
She laughs, a watery sound, and her eyes fill with tears again.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
She presses a hand to her chest. “Me?”
“You’ve been crying.”
“We were worried about you.”
“What’s her name?” I ask, nodding to the other woman.
“That’s Annabella. We call her Annie.”
“And I know you both?”
Emery glances at Annie, who steps forward. “Yes, you know us both,” she says. “You had an accident. You just came back.”
“Came back—?” She nods. “Where was I?”
They exchange another look, and my surroundings penetrate the fog of confusion. I’m in a machine. I’m in a sterile, clinical space. There’s still a sharp, medicinal scent to the air, but there’s something else now, too. Roses and coffee, maybe.
“I don’t want to overwhelm you,” Annie says, and I try to focus on the conversation. How can my head be loud and so quiet at the same time?
I try to sit up. “Overwhelm me? Just tell me everything. I don’t know anything. I can’t remember—”
“Breathe,” Emery reminds me, sending her fingers through my hair. It feels good but unsettling. It’s a familiarity I don’t feel; I’m restless in this body.