“I’d like us to start afresh,” I say after a pause. “Call a truce. Maybe we’ll never be friends, but this relationship right now isn’t a healthy dynamic. I’ll support you as project Lead.”
She smiles. “I’d like that a lot too. And hopefully, we can work out how to get you promoted if you do want to be Lead. And I’d like to be able to support you more with your memory loss. I think I’ve been on guard because I’ve always felt like when I try to be nice, it’ll just get thrown back in my face.”
“I probably would have,” I admit.
We smile at each other awkwardly. Not quite friends, but not quite enemies.
Enough of this soppy shit with Taylor. I clear my throat awkwardly as we head out together.
As we approach our desks, I’m dismayed to find Dwayne lurking by my workspace.
He nudges his glasses higher. “Lucy, I understand amnesia must be difficult, but could you restrain the physical outbursts in the office?”
My jaw clenches. “What are you talking about?”
From his desk, Matty smirks and suppresses a laugh.
Dwayne shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “Violently throwing an object at Matty. Though given your recent penchant for heated disputes, I can’t say it’s entirely unexpected.”
I stare daggers at him. “What disputes?”
“I don’t want to have to write up another incident, but chucking things around the office is a health and safety violation.”
“Dwayne.” I give him another withering look. “What did you mean by heated disputes? What the hell are you talking about?”
“Let’s see, first there was your altercation with Mr. Wolfe. Then you threatened to strangle me. And now this outburst.”
I freeze. “Altercation with Mr. Wolfe? The one where I supposedly challenged his deadlines?”
“Not the deadline dispute. The nasty confrontation at the Plaza.” His eyes glint behind the lenses. “Right before your accident.”
My stomach drops. “What are you talking about?” I ask slowly.
“The rather heated disagreement that took place at the top of the staircase.”
“You saw me?”
“Yes. Arguing quite inappropriately at that.”
JP and I were arguing at the top of the stairs at the Plaza? The same stairs that I fell down?
There’s a bizarre sensation taking root in my stomach. My mind strains like an old TV set struggling to tune in to a forgotten station, static mingling with flickers of images.
A memory striving to claw its way to the surface.
My pulse thunders in my ears. JP never mentioned an argument. Only that I fell.
Dwayne goes on, relentless, “You stormed away, and that’s when it happened. I heard rather than saw the fall.”
Bile scorches my throat. That lying bastard. JP and I had a fight moments before I fell.
And he conveniently forgot to mention it.
Lucy
I sink into the plush sofa, its cushions embracing me. The clinic room is all soothing sage and dusty rose clearly meant to calm. But I’m immune to such psychological tricks, the pit of unease in my gut growing by the second.
I told Taylor I had to leave work early and called for an emergency session with Dr. Ramirez.
I clutch one of the velvet pillows like a security blanket. “Okay, Doc. I’m ready to revisit that night at the Plaza. I suspect some of my much-needed answers start there.”
Her lips curl into a smile, a silent applause of support. “Okay. I agree, you’re ready. You can do this. Remember, you’re in control and I’m right here with you. And no matter what, you have the strength within you to face it and come out the other side stronger. Are you ready for that, Lucy?”
Am I?
I nod, sucking in a shuddering breath. The walls feel like they’re closing in, tight as a corset two sizes too small.
A part of me wants to say to hell with it and stay in the safety of the present, keep the past locked away in the forgotten recesses of my mind, like a cringe-worthy drunken memory. If it’s locked away, I don’t have to deal with the fact that JP fucking lied to me.
But the stubborn, masochistic part of me knows this is the necessary next step toward healing. Even if it’s agonizing.
Dr. Ramirez lounges in an armchair opposite me. It feels somewhat odd that she’s upright while I lie sprawled out, in what feels like a pretty vulnerable position. I’d rather she lie down too so we’re on an equal footing.
Not right beside me though. That’d be weird.
“Relax, close your eyes, breathe slow and deep.” She drags out her words like HR Helen does. “Feel the tension leave your body with each exhale. Focus on the sound of my voice. Let your mind become void.”
“That’s the problem though, isn’t it? It’s already a void.” I suck in a lungful of air and let it out. “Sorry, doc.” Another breath fills my lungs. “Working on the whole relaxing thing.”
“Breathe from your core. Put your hands on your stomach, feel it rise and fall.”
I obey, squeezing my eyes shut. I focus on my breathing, trying to fool my jittery mind into believing we’re sprawled on a sandy beach, not holed up in a therapist’s office.
“Good,” she soothes, her voice mingling with the new age music she insists aids relaxation. Her carefully posed questions about everyday trivialities lead me gently into a drowsy, dream-like state.
“Now, Lucy, we’re back at the Plaza Hotel. Tell me what you can see.”
My mind morphs into a private cinema, splashing vibrant visuals of the Plaza Hotel, a Quinn & Wolfe flagship hotel in SoHo. I see the opulent ballroom lit up by grand chandeliers. I hear tuxedos rustle, high heels clicking, champagne glasses tinkling. Coworkers laughing, taking advantage of the free drinks. I relay it all to the doctor.
“And how do you feel?” she asks.
I take in my surroundings.
Everyone is wearing expensive suits or formal workwear. I’m wearing a tight shift dress and stilettos I can hardly walk in. A chicken wing remains untouched in my hand. I’m too sick with nerves to eat it.
“I feel… anxious,” I admit. The knot pulls tighter, filled with a nameless dread. I hate these work events. But this feels different. More sinister.
My throat clenches as the memory sharpens, and I want to move on the couch, but I feel like I’m trapped under a weighted blanket.
“I’m scared,” I whisper to Dr. Ramirez, dimly aware of her hovering at the edge of my consciousness.
“It’s okay.” Her voice filters through, far-off yet somehow grounding. “You’re safe.”
And then, without warning, I’m there, in the thick of it.
I’m right there.
The ballroom explodes to life around me. I smell the heady mix of perfumes, taste the rich flavors of the catered food, and the laughter and light chatter are almost deafening. I see Matty, Taylor, the rest of the IT crowd, our whole marketing team, the annoying sales guys.