A Brush with Love(80)

“I have to get out of here” was all she managed to say through her closing throat and the tingling of her lips, her vision tunneling to the point that she felt blind. Lost.

She tried to take a step, then another. But the floor was on the ceiling, and the walls were closing in.

Then everything went black.





CHAPTER 32





HARPER

Harper didn’t know that pain could come in the form of noise. But a rhythmic beeping hammered a stake through the right side of her brain, dragging her out of the darkness and into a piercing light that pressed through her closed eyelids.

Slowly, she opened her eyes. She felt violently disoriented as she stared up at a white-tiled ceiling she didn’t recognize, the murmur of unknown voices starting to carry over that annoying beeping. She looked down, seeing her body wrapped in a paper gown and a thin, blue blanket, a pulse oximeter pinched on her forefinger.

Harper jolted to sitting, looking around wildly to try to figure out where she was.

“Hey, easy. You’re okay.” A warm hand curved around her shoulder, and she followed the arm to Dan sitting in a chair next to her, his face lined with worry. Her eyes locked with his for a moment, and their last interaction slammed into her chest.

She looked away, trying to get her bearings. A pale pink curtain circled around her bed, and an EKG machine sat on her left, wires snaking from it and diving below her hospital gown to attach to her chest.

“What the hell is happening?” she managed to ask, still not looking at Dan. A wave of mortification swept through her as she guessed the answer.

“You … well, you passed out. And when you fell, you hit your head. They brought you next door to the hospital to make sure you were okay.” Dan reached for her hand, closing his long, cool fingers around hers. “Are you? Are you okay?”

Harper was not okay. She was filled with such an acute sense of shame that she felt like her bones would crack from it. She pulled her hand away, looking down at the old, blue blanket across her lap.

“I think you should go,” she whispered. She needed to be alone, needed to drown in the embarrassment of her own instability in private. Silence pressed heavily around them, and Harper snuck a glance at Dan out of the corner of her eye. He stared at her like she’d just slapped him.

“What?” he finally asked. “I’m not going to leave you. Not when—” Dan’s words were cut off as the curtain surrounding them was flung open and a young doctor stepped inside.

“Ah, Harper. Glad you’re awake. I’m Dr. Ross. How are we feeling?”

“Fine,” Harper lied as her head pounded behind her eyes. “Totally fine.”

“Mmm,” Dr. Ross hummed, leaning toward her as he flashed a penlight in her eyes. “Follow my finger,” he dictated, tracing a letter H in the air in front of her. He started moving his finger rapidly from side to side. “Any headache with that?” he asked.

“No,” Harper lied again, blinking rapidly.

Dr. Ross gave her a skeptical glance as he reached out and palpated a tender spot near Harper’s right temple, causing her to hiss in a breath. “Some pain there?” he asked with disinterest, grabbing up a clipboard and making notes. Harper didn’t even bother answering.

“All right,” Dr. Ross said, clapping his palm against the back of the clipboard with a loud smack that made Harper wince. “It seems you have a concussion, nothing a few days’ rest can’t fix. No bright lights, no exercise, no mentally strenuous activities. Give that brain a rest.”

It took every ounce of her willpower not to roll her eyes. Right, no strenuous mental activities. Not like I’m trying to become a doctor or anything. But she just smiled and nodded. “Of course.”

Dan shot her a look that told her he knew exactly what she was thinking. She chose to ignore it.

“Will I be discharged soon?” she asked, trying to infuse calm into every word when her hands were itching with the anxiety to get back to her textbooks, disappear into the pages, work away the all-consuming shame that was drowning her. She needed to get away from this hospital bed. Away from Dan. Away from everything.

“Fairly soon,” Dr. Ross said with a casual nod. “We’re just waiting on the hospital psychiatrist to make a stop and ask you a few questions.”

Harper’s head jerked back, and she tried not to wince. “A psychiatrist? Why?”

“Your elevated blood pressure and the events preceding the fall indicate it wasn’t caused by syncope. And with your history of mental illness, it’s more indicative of a psychogenic blackout. The psychiatrist will want to make sure you’re getting the help you need.”

Harper was stunned. Her stomach turned itself inside out, a queasy, pulsing dread coursing through her. The words sounded so dirty and pathetic. “I don’t need help,” Harper spat out. “I’m not crazy. I’m not sick.”

“No one’s calling you crazy, Harper. We just want to make sure—”

“Where did you even get this ‘history,’” she said, cutting him off and giving him a piercing look.

Dr. Ross shot a nervous glance at Dan, who sat in the corner, his face ashen and drawn.

“From him?” Harper said, her voice rising. “He doesn’t know my medical history. He’s in no position to be reporting on me.”