The Song

Part Two

It wasn’t until the next afternoon that I managed to get some words out.

“Where am I?” I whispered as the nurse tended to my IV.

“We’re in Northwest London. You’re in a private ward.”

“Why?”

“You were in an accident.”

“What happened?”

“You don’t remember?” she asked lightly.

“No.”

“You hit your head pretty hard,” she said, “I’d be surprised if you did.”

The guy was still in the room. He hadn’t moved an inch since I’d first woken up but I could hear him slide forward in his seat as I started to speak.

“How long have I been here?” I continued.

“Pushing a week now.”

“That long?”

“It was a pretty nasty accident,” the nurse said, “Now why don’t I go get the doctor and he’ll speak with you about it.”

“Ok,” I said. I avoided eye contact with the guy. I still had no idea who he was and his presence was starting to put me on edge.

“Babe,” the guy whispered, finally reaching out to touch my un-casted hand, “It’s going to be ok.” I flinched at his touch. I had no idea who he was or why he insisted on staying in my room.

I didn’t respond, I just shook my hand from his, putting it under the covers of my thin blanket. The guy seemed put off, his brow furrowed in concern.

“Alright let’s try this again,” the doctor said, coming into my room. “How are you feeling?”

“My head kills.”

“You hit it pretty hard. At least you were wearing a bike helmet, without it you probably would have died.”

I sucked in a quick breath, frightened by the statement.

“Do you mind answering some questions for me?”

“Ok.”

“What’s your name?”

“Jessica,” I said.

“Surname?”

“Rego.”

The doctor looked over at the guy sitting next to me, the pair of them sharing some wordless thought.

“What’s your birthday.”

“January 12,” I recited.

“Good, now how old are you?”

“You’re kidding right?” I asked, “I’m 23. Nearly 24.”

The doctor looked up at the guy again. He was shaking his head from side to side as if I’d answered the question wrong. But I hadn’t, I knew I was right.

“What year is it?”

“2011. The holidays are soon.”

“And can you tell me who this is?” the doctor asked, nodding towards the guy that had been at my side this whole time.

I turned my head to inspect him for a minute. He certainly looked familiar… but where was he from? The light bulb went off after a minute and I hazarded a guess. “That’s Aston Merrygold,” I said, a bit shocked to have a popstar in my hospital room, “What is he doing here?”

“You don’t know?” the doctor asked.

“I have no clue why he would bother with some normal girl like me. He’s famous!”

“Right, Mr. Merrygold, do you mind stepping out for a moment?”

“Can’t I stay?” he asked, “She needs me.”
“Right now I think it best I speak to her alone.”

Aston stared down at me for a second and then nodded his head in agreement. “Ok, I’ll be right outside.”

I waited patiently for the doctor to write a few things down and then he turned to speak to me again.

“Jessica, it appears you are suffering from some memory loss.”

“What?” I asked, totally shocked.

“You said it was 2011.”

“Yeah…”

“It’s 2015.”

“It’s not,” I muttered, my heart falling as the doctor spoke. He showed me a print out of my medical chart, and then a newspaper that was on a side table. Both had dates to prove his point.

“You said your last name is Rego,” he said, looking at his notes.

“It is.”

“That’s your maiden name, yes.”

“Maiden name?” I asked, confused.

“Did you know you’re married?”

“Married?!” I laughed. That sounded ridiculous.

“Yes,” the doctor said solemnly, “To Aston.”

I let out a bark of laughter at this, a slice of pain going through my head. Wincing I closed my eyes to regain my composure, opening them up again and staring at the doctor. “I’m not married to him.”

“You are,” the doctor said, “That’s why he’s here.”

I blinked a few times in shock, not sure how to react.

Like hell I was married to Aston Merrygold.