Chapter 6 Retrograde Amnesia

The room smelled of disinfectant. When I opened my eyes again, a white ceiling filled my vision. A man sat by the bed, his expression suggesting he'd known this was coming all along. I twitched my fingers, and my whole body hurt like a truck had run me over. My head was the worst of it, heavy and foggy, like my brain had been turned into mush. "You're awake?" When he saw my eyes open, he didn't call for a doctor. He only let out a cold laugh. He wore a perfectly tailored suit and had the kind of looks that made young women scream. Still, the way he looked at me made my skin crawl. There was mockery in his eyes, a cold edge beneath it, and an indifference he didn't even bother to hide. "Elodie," he said flatly. "Was it really worth hurting yourself just to win me back?" He lounged in his chair with one leg crossed over the other, peeling an apple in his hand. His tone dripped with sarcasm. "So, you were really that desperate to make me give in that you didn't even care about your life? You ran straight into traffic just to get hit? Was all that sweetness and obedience fake? This is who you really are, right? You're extreme, crazy, and unreasonable!" I frowned. What was he even talking about? Elodie? Was he talking to me? Hurting myself? Getting hit? My memory crept back in fragments. I remembered that my name was Elodie Leavitt. I was a second-year finance student at Ashford University. I couldn't afford tuition, so I'd been scrambling for part-time work. Last night, I worked the late shift at a convenience store until almost dawn. I was so exhausted on the walk back to campus that when I stepped into the street, I was hit by a vehicle. So, this was a hospital? I jolted upright, ignoring the pain ripping through my body, and stared at the man in panic. "Sir, did you hit me?" His hand paused, the knife hovering over the apple. He lifted his head, and his eyes narrowed as if he were judging a terrible actor who'd forgotten a line. "Elodie, are you pretending to have amnesia? Have you been watching too many dramas? This trick is pathetic. Try something else." I was even more confused. "Sir, I'm not pretending." I gripped the blanket tightly, already doing mental math on hospital bills. Judging by how expensive his outfit looked, he had to be wealthy. If he really had been the one who hit me, the compensation probably wouldn't be small. "I really don't know you. If you weren't the driver, could you call a doctor for me?" I hesitated, then pushed on. "And could I borrow your phone for a minute? I need to call my roommate. If I don't check in, the RA is going to fine me again." I probably looked painfully sincere and a bit dumb. I was obviously worried about the money. Grant, the man in front of me, finally seemed to realize something wasn't right. He set the apple and fruit knife down and stepped closer until he was looming over the bed, staring straight into my eyes. "You don't know me?" he asked. "I don't," I said honestly, shaking my head. "Then, do you remember who you are?" "Of course." I nodded. "Elodie Leavitt. Second-year finance student at Ashford University. Student ID 2018…" His pupils tightened sharply. He reached over and slammed the call button at the head of the bed. The doctor and nurses arrived quickly. Then came a string of tests, and even a neurology consult. In the end, there was only one conclusion. "Retrograde amnesia," the doctor said, pointing to a shadow on the CT scan. He explained to Grant, whose expression had darkened, "She took a severe blow to the head, and her memory was damaged. It's rare. "She seems to have lost only a specific stretch of time. Based on what she told us, her memory is stuck five years back. "So that means…" The doctor adjusted his glasses, then looked at Grant with a hint of sympathy. "Mr. Walton, she's forgotten everything about you."