Page 110 of The Broken Keys

He shows me a screen with today’s date listed at the top. There’s a calendar with appointments he has every hour of the day. He must be showing me his schedule.

I sink back with my eyebrows pinched together. Twenty-three.

The number echoes through my thoughts, but refuses to land. Twenty-three means I’ve lost birthdays, holidays, and years of my life I can’t remember. Years that apparently happened without me being there to experience them.

“That can’t be.” The blood in my veins starts to pump harder. “How does this happen?”

“Ms. Hemings, I know this is overwhelming.” Dr. Knight exchanges a glance with Callum, then steps closer to my bed. “Your memories may return gradually over time or?—”

“Or what?” My words come out hostile and desperate. “Or they won’t come back at all?”

“It’s possible.” He remains in his clinical persona. “Every case is different. Some patients recover fully, others regain fragments, and some?—”

“Stop.” I grip the hospital sheets. “Just stop talking.”

Five years. I should know what happened during that time. But there’s nothing. Just a blank void where my life is supposed to be.

My pulse swooshes in my ears. The room tilts slightly, and I fist the sheets tighter to anchor myself.

“Lily, breathe.” Callum moves closer, his hand reaching for mine again. “You need to calm down.”

“Calm down?” A bitter laugh scrapes out of my mouth. “You want me to calm down? I just lost five years of my life, and you’re telling me to calm down?”

“I know, love. I know it’s?—”

“No, you don’t.” I yank my arm away. “You have your memories. You know what happened during those five years. I don’t. I have nothing.”

Dr. Knight raises his hands in a placating gesture. “Ms. Hemings, getting upset will only make things worse. You need time to heal.”

“Heal?” I see spots and want to run the fuck right out of here. “My brain stole five years from me. How am I supposed to trust it to heal anything?”

The walls press in from all sides. My heart rate kicks into overdrive, and breathing becomes harder with each second. Sweat beads on my forehead despite the cool air circulating through the room.

Something underneath my skin starts to twinge. Not on the surface but deeper, in that place where anxiety lives and festers. My wrists tingle with a sensation, one I’m very familiar with.

My fingers inch toward my left wrist. The urge rises, swift and brutal, demanding release. I need to scratch.

I need to dig my nails in and drag them across the skin until the itch stops. Until the panic has somewhere to go that isn’t trapped inside my heart.

That’s all it takes. I lift my hands so I can claw at my…

What the fuck?

Tattoos?

I have little fucking rose tattoos all around both my wrists. I stare at them as I rotate my arms back and forth. They look like little bracelets, cute yet sexy somehow.

“Lily.” Callum leans forward, placing his palm around the ink I’m trying to remember getting etched into my skin. “Don’t.”

“When? Why did I do this?”

“Hey.” Callum tries to catch my gaze. “Look at me.”

My head whips in his direction. Those blue eyes hold mine with a protective force that causes me to focus.

“You’re okay.” His thumb brushes across my knuckles. “I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but you’re safe. I’m here and I’ve got you.”

“But I can’t…” I kick to get out of the sheets. “Callum, I can’t stay here.”