second longer I was going to die, or something bad was going to happen to me. And you were so nice to me and made me feel so safe, and I didn’t feel safe at the hospital, even though they were nice. And that’s why I’m here! Don’t send me back. Please!”
He looked at me for a moment or two and I wished I knew what he was thinking. And then, slowly, he opened his door wider and gestured for me to come inside.
CHAPTER 10
“We’d better stop that bleeding on your hand, at least,” he said, and I wanted to cry happy tears. I wanted to throw my arms around him and hug him, but didn’t.
I walked into a small lounge and glanced around. The floor was almost completely taken up by a huge flat-screen-TV box that had been ripped open. Bubble wrap and bits of cardboard lay scattered across it. I looked up at the wall, where the massive TV had just been mounted. It was enormous, completely disproportionate to the size of the room. A drill lay next to little cement piles on the floor.
“It’s . . . it’s new,” Noah said, sounding self-conscious about it. “I never have time to watch TV. And I’m taking some leave and thought now would be a good time to catch up. I haven’t even watched Game of Thrones yet.”
“Game of Thrones . . .” I repeated, and then something hit me. “Dragons. Daenerys Targaryen.” I clicked my fingers a few times as images from the show flashed in front of me.
“I much preferred The Handmaid’s Tale. Wait . . .” I paused. “You see, and how do I know that and not my own name? It makes no sense.”
“That’s pretty common with amnesia, actually. Fragments of memories come back, and not necessarily in the order you want them to.”
“That’s what Dr. Cohen said.” I looked around the room some more, and that’s when I noticed the piece of paper stuck up on the wall. I ran my eyes over the words. All of them familiar.
“My list.” Noah came up behind me. “Of TV shows I have to watch while on my break. The Handmaid’s Tale is down there.” I knew all these TV shows, I could see bits and pieces of each of them playing in my head in short bursts.
“I think I’ve watched these,” I said, wishing I could see more than that. Who had I watched them with? Where had I watched them?
A cool breeze blew in from the open door and Noah rushed to close it.
“Autumn. Definitely getting colder in Jozi now.”
I nodded, even though I had zero idea of how to quantify that. The Johannesburg weather. How did I know what was a cold day, or a warm day? I had no memories of Joburg weather.
“Let me get something for your hand.” He disappeared down the passage and I watched him go. I hadn’t noticed until now how big he was. Muscular. As if he worked out a lot. He had been a blur of shapes and sounds when I’d last seen him, but now he was high def. He came back moments later with a cloth, some cotton wool, cream and a plaster.
“May I?” he asked, looking down at my hand.
I wanted to scream, yes! Please take my hand again, because you holding my hand is the only thing that has felt vaguely normal in days. But that made me sound like a stalker, which at this stage I wasn’t altogether sure I wasn’t. But I kept that thought to myself and raised my hand slowly.
He took it tentatively at first, and the warmth that came radiating off it was instant. It tingled up my arm, familiar and comforting. I closed my eyes to record this feeling, so I could keep it mentally and conjure it up when I needed to feel better. God, maybe I was a stalker? I opened my eyes again and watched as he gently wiped the blood away, put a layer of strong-smelling cream on the grazes, and added a few plasters. When he was done, his hand began to move off but just as his fingertips were about to completely leave, they lingered for a second. I looked up at him. His eyes were locked to my hand. He blinked a few times rapidly, as if something was confusing him, and then he pulled his hand away quickly.
“That should stop any infection.” He moved away and we fell silent.