Bad Blood (h.s.)

Part Ninety-Six

Part Ninety-Six

“What is the last thing you remember?” the doctor asks me, my head pounding and hurting as if someone smashed a pile of bricks on me. My eyes shut as I think, my fear coming back to my body.

“My birthday. H-He came and hurt me,” I stutter, fearing he’ll find me again. Greg always does.

“Do you remember what happened?”

I nod and he listens as I explain. “We were celebrating our graduation and my birthday. My ex-boyfriend, Greg, he came and hurt me.” My hands pull the neckline on the gown down, shielding my breasts from the doctor and showing him a…scar? I thought it was a cut I just got stitches on?

“Wha…” I mumble, tracing over the skin, but my eyes spot a tattoo on my arm. When did I get a tattoo on my arm? I never wanted a tattoo.

“Beth, do you know how old you are?” the doctor asks, his eyes looking at me with concern. I nod, telling him I just turned 18, but he sighs. My hope drops and he situates the gown on my body, covering me back up.

“Bethany, you’re 20. You seem to be experiencing memory loss for the past two years.”

My eyes widen and I ask if anyone’s here for me, his head nodding and telling me my friends are here.

“Can I see them? Emma at least?” I plead, wondering why my mother isn’t here. Shouldn’t she be the first one here?

“Of course. I’ll be right back,” he tells me, walking out of the room. A few minutes later, Emma walks in, her forehead cut and a slight limp on her leg.

“Hi Beth,” she says, sitting next to me.

“Do you know why I’m here?” I ask, her head nodding. She tells me I was in a car crash and that I hurt my head, the explanation useful to my understanding.

“Where’s my mom?” I ask, her eyes dropping and her face becoming pale.

“Beth, I’m sorry,” she says, my eyebrows crunching. What is she talking about?

“She- She passed away a few months ago.”

My eyes fill with tears immediately, Emma crying as well. She wraps her arms around me and holds me, but I know my mother’s fine. She’s with my father now.

“My mom’s probably happier with my father now,” I choke, holding Emma tightly. Emma nods and asks me what I last remember.

“My 18th birthday. I can’t remember the last two years,” I tell her, her head nodding.

“Well, you are signed to go to school in the fall, do you still want to go?” she asks, my head nodding.