More or Less

Chapter 14 • Cosa Nostra

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Stephon's POV

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Tomorrow's Independence Day. It's been three days since Bootyhead's seizure, but it feels like it's been a thousand. Time passes like hardening cement, slowly but suffocating, and sets that day into stone-hard reality. My best friend has amnesia. The girl that's carrying my child doesn't even know who I am.

It was a strange thing to look at her and have her look back at me as if I was a stranger. She doesn't remember anything or anyone besides Keisha's father, Theodore. Dr. Helen doesn't have a single clue what it is about him that triggers her memories, but they're all from her childhood.

"Any significant memory beyond the age of nine years seem to have vanished and any memory before that, unless they involve Theodore, are very unclear to her," Dr. Helen informed us in the waiting room, after she questioned Bootyhead in private. "Whether her case of amnesia is temporary or permanent, I can not say. Only time will tell."

Then she explained what happened. During her sleep, Bootyhead must have moved, causing her needle to slip out. I guess Dr. Helen hooked her to a powerful IV meant to feed two, which makes perfect sense to Keisha and I, but not to anyone else.

They don't know about Bootyhead's pregnancy and, by the way Dr. Helen was speaking, she wasn't going to tell them either. She simply said that Bootyhead was sicker than what she initially thought and therefore needed more iron.

The powerful IV is meant to be served in designated proportions, no more or no less. If not given properly, it becomes lethal for the person since they lack the proper amount of red blood cells to fight it off

After balancing Bootyhead's iron level, Dr. Helen said that it'll be fine for her to return home. She advised to keep Theodore around since he's a memory trigger, not allow Bootyhead to drive untill she permits it, make sure she takes her vitamins, not to grab her too hard because she could easily bruise for the next week, and to check her while she sleeps to make sure anything odd doesn't go unnoticed.

I haven't seen Bootyhead since her seizure. Dr. Helen told me to keep away from her until she's comfortable with her 'surroundings," so I've been alone at the Marriot just watching the hours tick by.

I open the mini refrigerator, which I found hidden in a small closet in the corner of my hotel room, and withdraw a beer. It's ridiculous how much the snacks in that thing costs. Four dollars for a candy bar? Five for a bottle of water? It's no wonder why they sell these rooms cheap for traveling families. Children love snacks. Sneaky is what they are.

I saunter around the room, mindlessly looking at whatever I found interesting, which wasn't much.

Beige walls. Mahogany carpet. Perfect, rectangular windows with lacey, white curtains. A queen-sized bed that's surprisingly comfortable with white, fluffy comforters and a dozen pillows. Abstract paintings I don't understand. Basic bathroom with a shower head, no tub.

Compared to the cluttered rooms and the scent of Spanish spices in Bootyhead's apartment, this place is boring.

I slump into bed and flip on the television. I flick through the channels and stop on Local News where an attractive reporter is going live about a murder. I catch a few details here and there, my eyes glued to her impressive cleavage.

There's a knock on the door, so faint that I think I've imagined it. Putting the television on mute, I glance over and strain my ears to hear.

Knock. Knock. Knock.