Chapter 15: My Dark Prince: Chapter 14

Jinx. Harbinger. Curse.

I brought misfortune to everyone I cared about.

Then. Now. Nothing had changed.

The legs of the cheap plastic waiting room seat clattered beneath me each time my heel bounced over the linoleum floor. I rapped my fingers on my knees to the rhythm of The Sleeping Beauty.

I should’ve seen it for what it was: a warning. I’d managed to go fifteen years without hearing it. Yet, the memory of dancing to it with Briar had resurfaced a few days ago at a party after a Monegasque heiress tried to lure me into a quickie in the bathroom of a well-known palace. The waltz came on, ruining the entire moment.

The clock above the reception area glared back at me.

Two in the morning.

A sigh sailed past my lips, fanning the scrubs top I’d nabbed from a passing RN. Even though I still wore my pitifully drenched jeans – the same ones I’d rescued Briar in – I didn’t feel cold. Thanks to the influx of adrenaline, I didn’t feel anything at all. Only the familiar whir of anxiety, excitement, and desperation that attacked my gut whenever Briar and I occupied the same zip code.

The paramedics had let me accompany her in the ambulance, probably because I, myself, hadn’t looked too hot. By the time we arrived, Briar had lost consciousness. The doctors had filed me into a separate treatment bay, checking my vitals and siccing two hostile nurses to fight me over ditching my shirt for something dry.

Since then, I’d occupied the corner of the waiting area on the seat nearest to Briar’s room. Here, they interrogated me, which went something like this:

Nurse: We can’t reach her emergency contacts.

Me: Her emergency contacts are two negligent flaming assholes.

Nurse: Nonetheless, we cannot reach them, but we’ll continue to try.

Me: Don’t bother. Her parents have been MIA since puberty. I’m practically her next of kin.

But was I? Better question: Should I be?

Two hours later, and I still sat in the same chair, waiting for an update.

Please don’t get into a vegetative coma. I fucking hate making big decisions. I can barely make up my mind about what I want for breakfast.

Tipping my head back, I banged it against the wall and shut my eyes. Hospitals depressed me. A potent mixture of bleach, antiseptic, and the indescribable scent of misery. A cocktail I’d grown quite familiar with over the years, sitting for hours outside operation rooms and intensive care units.

Through the pitter-patter of footsteps, phones ringing, and the staccato beeps of cardiac monitors, a door whined open.

“Mr. von Bismarck?”

I shot upright.

Doctor Cohen breezed past rows of seats, stopping just short of mine. For the most part, I took pride in not judging people by appearances, but if I had to choose a doctor to treat Briar, it’d be him. Bald. Wrinkled. Stern. For all I knew, he could be anywhere north of fifty-five and south of eight-three. Didn’t matter. So long as he wasn’t fresh out of residency and due for his first fuck up.

I used the armrests to push up to my feet, surprised by my own unsteadiness. “What’s up?”

“The nurses informed me you’re Ms. Auer’s next of kin.”

“Uh-huh.”

He thumbed through the many pages of his clipboard, eyes still trained on them. “Are you the boyfriend? Husband?”

I shook my head. “An old friend.”

“What about her parents?”

“Out of the picture.”

“Siblings? Partner?”

I rolled my tongue along my inner cheek, hopping from foot to foot. “It’s just me.”

For all I knew, she was in a loving, nurturing relationship with someone. But her phone had fizzled out in the water, and I had no way to reach him, so unfortunately (for him), that left me.

Doctor Cohen tutted, tapping the butt of his pen over the clipboard.

I used all my self-restraint to keep from gouging out his eyeballs. “Well?”

“I’m going to start with the good news.” He tucked the clipboard under his armpit and retrieved a handkerchief from his coat pocket, dabbing the sweat off his shiny scalp. “We ran a CT scan, MRI, and X-rays after checking Ms. Auer’s vitals. Everything seems to be in order. The scans came back clear of fractures to the skull, areas of bleeding, and bruised brain tissue. We’ve placed her on anti-seizure medication to be on the safe side, but there are no broken bones or any other areas of concern.”

I nodded like a schoolboy, waiting for the other shoe to drop. In my experience, bad news always accompanied good news. Somewhere along the lines of: Congrats, you survived, but you’ll regret it every fucking day of your life.

“Having said that …” He cleared his throat, glancing behind him at Briar’s shut door. “It appears that Ms. Auer is suffering from what we call, in medical terms, post-traumatic amnesia. PTA, for short. Are you familiar with the concept?”

“Only from Days of Our Lives.”

I’d never met someone who suffered from amnesia. The entire concept seemed difficult to grasp. Something that only happened in unprecedented frequency to soap opera characters and defendants on Judge Judy. And also – I’d spent a great deal of my twenties hoping it would happen to me, only to come up disappointed.

“Post traumatic amnesia is the transient state of altered brain function caused by a head injury. To put it in simpler terms, it appears that Ms. Auer does not remember much of the incident leading to her hospitalization and cannot recall basic things about her current life situation.”

Briar suffered from memory loss? Dating back how far?

I blinked, struggling to comprehend his words. “Does this mean she’s awake?”

“She is. I’ve tried to gently jog her memory in hopes that she’ll pass on some sort of contact. A family member or a spouse. Nothing. She doesn’t remember.” Dr. Cohen adjusted his glasses, which strapped tight to his cheeks with a band that looped around his scalp. He had the face of a hound dog and used it to stare me down. “She’s still in pain, despite the medication we’ve given her to keep her comfortable. Her speech is clear and coherent. She simply doesn’t seem to remember anything from the past decade or so.”

Exactly the timeframe I couldn’t help her catch up with. I’d spent our time apart purposely avoiding any news of Briar. I’d gone through great lengths to ignore my parents whenever they brought up their Lake Geneva neighbors, refused to invest in companies headquartered in the country, and strong-armed Dad into finding someone else to manage our properties in the region.

Dread flared inside me. The only thing I knew about her current life was that she was still smoking hot. To be fair, she didn’t need me to discover this. All she needed was a mirror.

“I see.” I grabbed my jaw, moving it from side to side. “How long is this amnesia thing going to last for?”

“Hard to tell. Could take anywhere from five minutes to five months. Every case is unique.” Doctor Cohen pulled up his clipboard again, sliding out the pen tucked between its teeth. “There are many scales of PTA that depend on the nature of the original injury, treatments the individual chooses to undergo, and recovery time.”

“Could this last forever?”

“It’s extremely unlikely.”

“But you can’t give me an answer with 100% certainty.”

“With head injuries, and PTA specifically, there’s just no way to know. All we can do is give her a supportive, stable environment to recover in and encourage her to regain her memories through cognitive rehabilitation. Pictures, places she’s fond of, daily routines. The memories return largely on their own as the brain heals, but there are tips and tricks to jog it without risk of harm.”

I raked my fingers through my hair. The strands had clustered into crunchy ringlets, thanks to the grimy pond I’d fished Briar out of. “I’ll foot the bill for all of it. The best facility you have to offer, the most prestigious staff—”

“Facility?” Doctor Cohen’s gaze swung up from his clipboard. “The majority of the rehabilitation process is going to take place at home. I imagine you would want the physical therapist to come to your house, seeing as you’ll need to keep Ms. Auer in a peaceful environment at all times.”

“I’m sorry.” I poked my chest with my finger. “Did you just say my house?”

Doctor Cohen furrowed his brows. “Mr. von Bismarck, you’re her next of kin, are you not?”

“Yes, but—”

“As you’ve made clear, she has no one else in this world. We can’t release her to fend for herself if there’s a suitable option.”

“Is there a suitable option?”

He eyed me with suspicion, a symphony of judgment clear as day behind his pupils. “Is there a reason you wouldn’t be?”

Only that she hates me, I broke my promise, and she would rather fall into a water hazard than be within ten feet of me.

Doctor Cohen planted a firm hand on my shoulder. “According to Ms. Auer, the last time she spoke with her parents, they changed their phone numbers to get rid of her. That was over a decade ago.”

Bile hit the back of my throat. The pain, once dull and persistent, like the whispers of a scar, rippled through my body. Everything I’d worked so hard to suppress slammed back into me.

Her circumstances. Her desperation. My betrayal.

I rolled my shoulders back, shaking off Doctor Cohen’s hand with surprising calmness. “I need to be her ward.”

It was absurd. Unlikely. Downright unsustainable, considering my peculiar living arrangement. But it was also poetic justice. I’d promised to be there for her and failed. The least I could do was nurse her back to health. In all likelihood, we were looking at weeks, not months.

Besides – what other option did I have? Leave her here?

Now that he’d received my cooperation, Doctor Cohen moved on, flipping to the next page in his clipboard. “A social worker will bring a nurse and health advocate by to discuss Ms. Auer’s needs, but I’ll give you the CliffsNotes version.” He leveled me with a stare, stretching out his words like I was the village idiot he’d just entrusted with nuclear codes. “You’ll need to be her caregiver, take her to medical appointments for observation, ensure she’s taking medication on time, and keep her company.”

“Keep her company?”

I had a feeling that the moment Briar regained her memories, she’d be even angrier to discover that I’d cozied up with her at her most vulnerable – and she already had enough anger to fuel a power plant.

“Yes. Keep her busy. Surrounded by you, her friends, people who care about her. It won’t do her any good to sink into depression and panic. This is often the case with amnesiacs, especially those who don’t have strong support systems.” He directed another pointed stare at me.

I couldn’t blame him. My reputation had made its way to every crook and corner of the East Coast. “I understand.”

“It’s best if she isn’t left alone, even for short periods of time.”

“Good thing I don’t have an actual job.”

“This isn’t a joke, Mr. von Bismarck.” He tucked his pen into the hem of his coat pocket, a blanket of wrinkles covering half his eyes as he scowled. “She’s fragile and vulnerable right now, and the only person she remembers positively is you. You’re her support system. You’re the difference between a smooth healing process and a bumpy one. And make no mistake – you will give her a smooth healing process.”

“What does that entail?”

“Go easy on her. Don’t rile her up. If she believes something to be true, do not burst her bubble. Go along with it. Even if she thinks she’s an Olympic runner. That her childhood dog is still alive. Or her boyfriend she had a brutal break up with still loves her. Do you understand?”

I raised an eyebrow. “You’re asking me to lie?”

“I am asking you to protect her psyche at all costs, Mr. von Bismarck. If you cannot do it, let me know right now and we will assign her carers. It won’t be the same as someone close to her, but it’s better than throwing her to the wolves.”

Me. I was the wolf. How did he know?

And yet …

“No.” I nodded, locking my jaw, surprised by how annoyed his lack of faith in me made me. It marked the first time someone other than Sebastian had confronted me over the way I treated Briar. “I can do it. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

“Treading back into reality needs to be gradual. She’ll feel disoriented and helpless, and we need to ensure any bad news is broken to her in digestible morsels. She will likely experience frustration, anger, and helplessness as she weeds her way back to the present.”

I was on the verge of running for the hills. I didn’t know how I’d bring her into my house with my current living arrangement.

The doctor gave me a onceover. “Are we all clear?”

“Yes.”

“Good. She’s awake. Do you want to see her?”

Is death by a thousand papercuts my other option? Because I’ll take it.

Doctor Cohen sighed. “The answer to my question is yes.”

“Sorry. Yes.”

“Very well. If you must insist.”