Restore Me Read Online Free Page B

trying like hell, for days, to get him to
look at me; to say something to me; to say anything at all.
    He won’t talk. He doesn’t react to anything. He
just lies there, motionless and expressionless. When I was first
allowed to see him, after he was stable, I ran to his side and
cradled his face in my hands. I cried so hard and with such relief
that cramps shot through my aching lungs. I held his hand in mine
and squeezed. He didn’t squeeze back. Tears slipped from the
corners of his stoic eyes, but since then, nothing. I know he knows
I’m here. I know he can hear and see everyone. Dr. Versan explained
it all to me. When I realized he was so…gone, I flipped out and
insisted that the doctors order more tests. I was certain that he’d
suffered some type of brain damage or something that was
causing his silence. Of course, after they threatened me with
calling security for the second time, I shut the hell up and
listened. It wasn’t that I didn’t believe them, it was more that
taking their word for it hurt. Dr. Versan, all of the doctors that
had been in and out, and the nurses, told me that this happens
often; a person can be so shocked and traumatized that they simply
shut down, turn off the world and retreat into their head.
    I heard what they said. It wasn’t that I didn’t
trust the medical staff; I didn’t want to believe that the love of
my life refused to talk to me.
    Damon shifts in the bed and I instinctually
hurry to him. I know he knows I’m here and I think, or at least, I
want to believe that his shifting around is his way of calling me
to him. Maybe I’m out of my fucking mind. I really have no clue
anymore. I drop my bag to the floor beside the bed.
    “Hey. Hey, are you okay?” I sit on the edge of
his bed and pick up one of his big hands. I stroke the back of it
with my fingers and pray to… whoever…that he’ll finally snap out of
this; that he’ll say something to me. His silence is unbearable.
I’d rather him open his mouth and say “fuck you” than see him
sitting here like a vegetable.
    The good Dr. Versan calls it an acute stress
disorder. The way he explained it was like something out of a
movie. When something horrible happens to a person and they start
acting like a fucking zombie and people slap them across the face
to make them come to. It seems ridiculous on TV, but it’s an actual
disorder. I can’t imagine being so traumatized that I’d disappear
into my own head. It seems impossible, but clearly it isn’t.
    Damon looks very much…gone. I have no idea where
the hell he is or how to get him back, but I won’t give up on him.
They said he should come out of this and he may even suffer memory
loss from the event itself. If he doesn’t remember anything, how
the hell do I handle that? Do I remind him that I walked out
without giving him a chance to explain and he ended up on the side
of that road without a pulse? The thought of it makes my stomach
turn and my heart speed. I guess I’ll cross that bridge when I come
to it.
    He still lays here, not giving me one ounce of
proof that I am talking to my Damon. I don’t care what is on the
outside. I know in my heart that wherever he’s gone to in that head
of his, he wants out. He wants to come back to me. He has to.
    I shift on the bed to face him more directly. I
place my hands on his face and turn his head to look at him
squarely. “I know you can hear me. Baby, say something. Please.
Just nod your head.”
    His amber eyes, that usually burn so warm and
intense, are empty. Seeing his eyes so lifeless shreds me to pieces
on the inside. I’m not talking to the Damon I know, I’m talking to
his shell. I don’t care what is on the outside. I know in my heart
that wherever he’s gone in that head of his, he wants out. He wants
to come back to me. He has to.
    “Listen to me, Damon. I’m not giving up on you.
I know you’re in there somewhere and I swear I’ll bring you back. I
promise.”
    His indifferent eyes