Open Book {Mark Lee Series}

Chapter 6

Clara had decided to take Mark out for dinner to distract him from the fallout of his press conference, but he was still watching his phone for any indication of how the news was going over in his fandom.

"Stop looking at your phone," Clara warned. "You don't need to watch as the process plays out. Just give it a few days to get it out of its system. Then, the internet will forgive you and we can all move on. It's like watching the stock market. You can't get too caught up in the fluctuation. You have to play the long game."

"I suppose," Mark commented absently, still holding the phone and scrolling.

"Do I have to take it away from you?" Clara asked, only partially in jest. Mark handed her the phone. He, then, began to tap the table with his fingers. His right leg bounced up and down is if he had a baby on his knee.

"Why don't we take a walk?" Clara suggested. "It's getting dark. I think you'll be OK as long as you use your hat and mask," she reasoned. "I think you'll be able to get by incognito now that the sun is setting."

They walked out into the twilight. The air was just cool enough to shock the system slightly, but not so frigid as to be uncomfortable. Mark ducked his head every time they passed someone on the street. His black ball cap kept him shielded from the unwanted attention of fans and haters. Right now, he could hardly tell the difference between the two. People who had always been fans could be surprisingly vicious when they found out their idol had feet of clay. But Clara was right. Too much time on the phone reading comments would do him no good. He had to find a way to distance himself from all of this until it died down.

A sudden burst of light broke out in the sky, followed by a loud boom. Party goers on a nearby rooftop had ordered a fireworks display. Upon hearing the noise, Clara fell to the sidewalk. Her body shook in uncontrollable spasms. Mark knelt on the ground beside her, attempting to catch her attention. Her eyes had a far-off look about them that told him she was not present with him at all. He lifted her to her feet gently and used his jacket to cover her head, trying to give her some measure of privacy from the curious stares of onlookers.

Mark hailed a cab and guided Clara into it. As they sat in the back of the cab, Clara continued to shake. "Hey, what's going on?" he asked, but received no response.

The only words she said made no sense to him. She rocked herself and repeated, "I really thought it was. I really did." Mark stared at her, not knowing what to make of her odd behavior. He thought of taking her back to her apartment, but he knew that he was truly out of his depth. He tapped the cab driver on the shoulder and said, "Take me to the nearest hospital."

When they arrived at the glass ER door, it slid open. Mark guided Clara into the hospital. She was incoherent, but still able to walk. She just appeared to have no awareness of her surroundings. Wherever Mark led her, she went docilly, but he had a sense that she didn't even know who he was in that moment. Before arriving at the check-in desk, Mark snagged a passing nurse.

"Hey, my girlfriend is acting weird," he said. "I don't know what's wrong with her." The nurse shined a tiny flashlight into Clara's eyes, which seemed to produce no effect.

"Has your girlfriend consumed any alcohol or drugs in the past 12 hours?" the nurse asked dryly.

"No, of course not," Mark responded. "I've been with her all day."

"Well, sometimes people sneak drugs into the bathroom," she noted persistently.

"Look, ma'am, I know my girlfriend is not on drugs, OK? I need actual help here. Can we get a doctor over here or something?"

"Sir, you'll need to wait in the waiting room. I'll make a call to the psych ward," the nurse commented without emotion.

"Why the psych ward?" asked Mark. "She is clearly ill. She needs a doctor," he protested.

"Clearly," the nurse replied, making no attempt to hide her snark.

As Mark and Clara sat in the waiting room, he continued to try to communicate with her, but her green eyes looked right through him. "Come on, Clara. Stay with me," he implored to her blank face. Finally, a kindly elderly man in a white coat appeared and introduced himself as Dr. Choi.

He addressed Mark first. "What's her name?" he asked as he too shined a light in her eyes.

"Her name is Clara," Mark attempted to pronounce it in a way that would sound natural in Korean.

"Clara," Dr. Choi called out in a loud voice. "Clara, do you know where you are right now?" he continued. He observed no response to his voice but did notice her body shaking. Turning to Mark, he said, "I think the best course of action is to sedate her and hope that she wakes up able to be more present with her surroundings." He tapped lightly on her left shoulder and then on her right. "Sometimes going to sleep and waking back up again reboots us, like turning a computer off and back on again."

Mark nodded. "But do you know what's wrong with her?" he asked frantically.

"I'm not totally sure, but my guess is that she is in some type of PTSD episode. If that is the case, she is living in that moment and not able to interact with us in the here and now. Was there anything that happened directly before this incident?" the doctor asked.

"Well, some fireworks went off," Mark replied. "Could that be what started it?"

"Ah," said the doctor, nodding. "Yes, almost certainly, it was either the flash or the sound, or both, that triggered this episode." The doctor fished in his lab coat pocket for a pen. "Are you her guardian?" he asked. "Are you authorized to sign for her treatment?"

Mark looked about nervously. "Sure," he replied. The truth was, he had no contact information on any of her family members. He was struck with the realization that he, in fact, knew very little about her beside that fact that she was from Pennsylvania and had a younger sister. He presumed that the Mexican part of her heritage must be from her dad's side. That left him to assume that her mom was white, but he truly knew nothing more about her.

They moved her to a room and inserted an IV through which they administered a sedative. As she drifted off to sleep, Mark finally saw her stiff muscles relax and the shaking stopped. He watched her sleeping and noticed that her eyes were moving quickly under her eyelids. She must be dreaming, he supposed.

Suddenly, she cried out, "I really thought it was! I swear, I did! Oh, my God, how did this happen?!"

As Mark sat beside her bed, he realized that it had been hours since he had obsessed about his nude picture scandal. It was hard to imagine that the rock who had been leading him through that dark experience was now lying in a hospital bed with a broken mind and soul. He remembered her words about how she also was a hot mess. He could not even speculate about what had happened to her, but if it gave her PTSD, it must have been very traumatic.

Mark took her cold fingers and kissed each one, except for the one that had the oximeter. She stirred slightly and mumbled, "How do I stop the bleeding? The bleeding won't stop. It won't stop." Mark squeezed her hand and whispered, "It's going to be OK. It's all going to work out." His words were reassuring, but internally, he feared that things might not be OK after all.