The Good-For-Nothing Society | Completed

Chapter Tweny-Five

Elijah practically carries me towards a large room that looks like a mini hospital. He thrusts me into a nurses hands and then sharply tells her he won't be going anywhere when she asks him to leave.

"I'm going to do a MRI and full work up." The nurse says, "It could take hours."

"Then it will take hours." Elijah shrugs. "But I'm not
going anywhere."

It would be cute, a boy being so protective of me, under other circumstances, you know, where I knew him. But right now? I don't know, it's a little creepy and reassuring at the same time.

The nurses run a battery of tests. They do blood work, they x-ray every part of my body, shove me into a white metal tube that whirs and clicks so loudly it makes me wince. Then they have me sit at a table and recite weekdays, even numbers, prime colors - all in different languages. They shine a light into my eyes and make me count backwards. It's very invasive.

"The doctor is going to review our findings and come and speak to you," One of them tells me, patting my hand and leaving me lying in a bed after I've freshly showered. I've been placed into clothes I could have sworn wouldn't have fit me, until they slithered on like a glove.

Elijah sits by my bedside, waiting with me. We don't speak much. I don't have anything to say. He's so good looking it's intimidating. It occurs to me that this could all be an elaborate lie - to what end I don't know. But how do I really know my dad is dead? Do I trust he was a spy? What about mum? I've forgotten her death? Really? I'm the girl who remembers everything, how can I forget?

"Hello Amelia," A male voice rings out, yanking back my privacy curtain. "I'm Dr Grim."

I laugh, and both he and Elijah look at me, not laughing along. My laughter halts and my eyes go wide, "Oh, you're serious? That's your name and you went into the medical field?"

"I see you haven't lost your sense of humor," Dr Grim says, pulling up a chair to sit beside Elijah. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," I say, though I really wish people would stop asking me that.

"Do you have much nausea?"

"Yes," I admit. "Lots."

"Blurred vision?"

"Sometimes."

"Dizziness? Headaches?" He presses, I nod. "All normal. You've taken quiet the battering. In all my years, I've almost never seen something as severe as this and they survive." That's saying a lot, since he's supposedly a doctor of people who regularly get shot at.

The doctor looks from Elijah to me, a grim expression on his face. "Your injuries are extensive." Elijah sucks in a breath. "You've got a bullet wound in your leg and another in your back. Your x-ray indicates a healed broken arm, two broken ribs and the rest of your cuts and bruises, are, I believe, from blunt force trauma."

I stare at him, no wonder my body hearts so much. "And my head? My memory?"

"Yes," He says, "Head injuries that cause a concussion can lead to confusion. Mild head injuries typically do not cause lasting amnesia, but more severe head injuries may cause permanent amnesia."

"Permanent?" Elijah asks.

"Sometimes." The doctor shrugs, "Sometimes the memories come back too."

I nod along as if I understand. But all of this is a lot of information to take on.

"Of course," Dr Grim says, "Another rare type of amnesia is called dissociative psychogenic amnesia. It stems from emotional shock or trauma."

I chuckle, but it's without humor. "I suppose being beaten to an inch of my life, shot at and have broken bones is probably traumatic."