"We do not remember days, we remember moments."
‒ Cesare Pavese
Olivia Bennett
Over the next week, job applications and hospital bills piled up on the small table to the side of my bed. Coffee shops, music stores, libraries, I even applied to the fanciest restaurant in all of Seattle when it's rumored their employees are treated like complete garbage.
A physical therapist helped me learn how to use my legs again during these seven days. The routine we practiced the first two days was a chair exercise. Stand up, secure my balance, gently shift my body weight to one side and then switch. We did this for about an hour on both days but her exercises got increasingly harder as I progressed.
The next three days were spent working on mental exercises. You never realize how much your brain helps with walking until you're relearning it. She explained that by closing my eyes and focusing on each of my movements, my brain would take in that information and keep it stored somewhere.
On the last two days of my physical therapy, she helped me walk up and down the stairs. I had already gained all of the strength back in my legs by day two but it was still quite the challenge. She instructed me to take a step and breathe before taking another and that's what I did.
Step
Breathe
Step
Breathe
Step
Breathe
When she was confident with my walking ability, she alerted the doctor that I was cleared to walk around on my own. That felt like the longest week of my life. Relearning to walk has to be top ten on the list of the hardest things to do in the world.
Dr. Kavanaugh approached us with a big smile on his face and took my file from the physical therapist before sending her on her way. I'd never learned her name although I was incredibly grateful for her and all of the time she spent with me.
"Well?" Kavanaugh looked at me and his short question insinuated he wanted to know how the physical therapy went.
"It was okay," I stated dryly.
He shook his head before returning his attention back to the binder in his hands, "you know your parents aren't around, right? You can speak."
He must have observed the way I communicated when my parents were nearby, short and simple, but never sweet.
"I liked it," I began. "It was much harder than I expected it to be but she was nice." I raised an eyebrow at him, hoping he'd know what I was trying to get out of him.
"Anna." A low chuckle fell from his lips as his eyes returned to me, "she's our best physical technician I must say."
The way his eyes softened when he spoke about her was the sweetest thing I'd witnessed since waking up. Either he was just really passionate about his job or there was something happening between the two of them.
There was definitely something happening.
"That's why I put her on your chart," I cocked my head at his statement. "because she's the best."
I smiled at his confession. He chose to put the best physical technician they had on my case. It was a sweet gesture and I really appreciated it.
I decided to change the subject because watching his eyes light up as he spoke about Anna made me feel sick to my stomach. I'd never find that kind of love in this life and I didn't want to be reminded of that.
"Your name and face are very familiar, but I'm not sure where from." I glanced around the hallway we stood in. The long corridor was lined with many doors that were all the same, blue with a small black plate holding the number.
"I was there," He hesitated. "At the scene."
The flashbacks hit me like a wave crashing onto the shore. Blood, glass, and the ragged rocks that my hand scraped against. The pain I felt as I tried lifting myself from the ground.
"Her left wrist is fractured and she has a laceration on her right leg,"
His words made the gears in my head begin to shift.
"She has a lump on her lower back, Anna,"
My body shuttered as the memories began to flood in. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath trying to remember more.
"Stay still, Liv."
A guy accompanied Dr. Kavanaugh and Anna at the scene.
"Are you okay, Olivia?" His question startled me out of my thoughts.
"Yeah, I'm fine," I wasn't. "There was someone else there that night." I blurted.
He took a moment to study the expression on my face before responding, "Yeah, Anna was also there."
"No, someone else." I narrowed my eyes at him.
His throat cleared as he glanced around the corridor, "Well-"
Our attention turned toward the end of the hallway where my mother stood with her arms over her chest as she glared at the two of us.
"We should get you back to your room." He placed his hand on my elbow and nodded in her direction.
I wanted to know what he was going to say but discovering something that would change nothing wasn't worth the ridicule I'd receive from my mother later.
As we approached the end of the hallway, her eyes shifted between him and me. I could tell she had something to say but when she walked away with no words, I let out a sigh of relief and followed closely behind her leaving Kavanaugh standing alone.
❁
After a few hours, my parents decided to head home. They didn't see the reason for staying any longer considering I was being discharged tomorrow. Since waking up, I hadn't gotten much alone time so it was nice.
I packed away the few personal belongings I had here like my books and hair brush. I asked my parents to retrieve the books a little after I woke up so I had some form of entertainment while being stuck here, and the hairbrush was my mother's way of saying "you look like shit."
My physical appearance wasn't one of my top priorities. The doctors said I had to be able to walk, eat and drink on my own to be discharged, looking horrific wasn't a problem.
Although I was intrigued to finally see myself and how much had changed about my looks.
The mirror that was anchored to the wall over the sink wasn't very large but it was manageable. My hair was still full of brown, long curls and the only thing different about my face were my cheeks. The sunken-in and dead look that covered my entire body was a clear sign I hadn't been eating properly. But according to all of the articles, everyone probably knew that already.
A sudden knock sounded on the door and as I entered the room from the bathroom, the door began to open.
"Doctor, can I get another glass of orange-" The air caught in my throat when my eyes landed on someone who wasn't the usual 3 doctors that rotated to check on me.
A tall man with dark brown messy but perfect hair stood in the doorway, eyeing me. The lights in the room were dimly lit but just bright enough for me to recognize his brown eyes that were flecked with gold. Like lightning in a storm-black sky. The white dress shirt that covered his buff arms and defined torso was doing a poor job because I could see every inch of the black ink underneath.
He adjusted his body, shifting all of his weight onto one leg while leaning his shoulder against the door frame. My eyes traveled from his newly-polished shoes to his masculine features. His face looked as though it was chiseled by the Gods. Perfect proportions, no flaws to be found.
"It's not polite to stare." His deep voice resonated throughout the tension in the room. He was right, it wasn't polite to stare, but he was staring at me just as much as me at him.
"I could say the same to you." I cleared my throat and waited for him to break our eye contact but several moments passed and he never did, not even a blink. It was an understatement to say I was intimidated by this stranger standing in my hospital room.
He stepped further into the room, closing the door behind him. It was like he not only shut out all potential interruptions but all of the air in the room too. I suddenly felt like I couldn't breathe as he was only inches from me now.
"I'm Aaron Adair," He reached out his hand before continuing, "I have an offer for you."
My jaw practically dropped to the floor as I realized who was standing before me.
Aaron Adair.
The only man still making the articles my name seemed to be occupied with.