You're going to hate me even more...I'm so sorry xxx Just a short one now; there will be another up this weekend...I promise you that...:) Have fun and review! xxx (p.S. Take Me Home is amazing. Just putting that out there.)


You could cut the silence with a knife.

I sit by her bed, my head in my hands, listening to the beep-beep of the heart monitor. I can hear Mrs Hoffman pacing up and down the room, occasionally pausing by the bed. My mother and father stand behind me – my siblings have gone off to get food.

She spent three hours in the operating theatre; the doctors say she's stable. Which is good thing, right? I guess it is…but I won't believe them until she's awake, and I can hold her and tell her that I love her.

The door swings open, and my brothers come back in, silent and scared – so unlike they are normally, it makes me want to laugh. But I don't – this is not the time and place for laughing.

We are like statues; frozen, still. Waiting.

A sharp intake of breath. She opens her eyes.

In an instant, I am standing up, hovering over her, a beam spreading across my face. She's awake, awake after two days of waiting. Her green eyes are unfocused – she blinks, croaks, "Where am I?"

"In a hospital, my darling," I say, taking her hand.

She narrows her eyes at me, her expression wary and confused at the same time. "Who are you?"

"Lorelai, it's me. Trace. Your boyfriend," pain twists in my heart.

"I don't have a boyfriend," she protests weakly. "I'm only fourteen – how could I?"

The door bangs open at this; I take a step back, feeling like someone has shot me as a doctor and his retinue of nurses sweeps in. He smiles at her, sits on the edge of her bed. "Good to see you are awake," he says.

"Thank you," she says as one of the nurses help her to drink a little bit of water.

"I need to ask you some questions."

"Why?" she shakes her head. "I don't have brain damage."

"Just bear with me, please," the doctor shines a light in her eyes; she blinks. I watch all of this, numb inside. How could she not recognise me? How is that possible? "What's your name?"

"Lorelai Madeline Wilson," she answers.

"Good," the doctor says. "Do you know where you are?"

"Yes," she says. "He told me," she waves a hand in my direction; my heart clenches painfully. "I'm in a hospital. In London, I presume, since I live there."

"Good," the doctor's calm façade has cracked a little.

"What year is it?"

"Oh, that's easy. 2002." She says confidently.

"Thank you very much Lorelai," I have to give the doctor some credit for staying collected. "Lara here is going to give you some pain medicine; it will make you feel drowsy."

"Okay," she says, closing her eyes. "I'm tired anyway."

The doctor turns to us, a worried glint in his eyes. "You heard the patient. I would like to speak with Mrs Hoffman and Mr Benedict outside – would the rest of you go back to the waiting room?"

He nods towards me and Mrs Hoffman; we follow him out of the room and down the corridor to the right, leaving the rest of family to go off. He leads us into an office, takes the chair behind the desk and gestures for us to sit down, taking in Mrs Hoffman's shocked expression, and my blank one. "I'm ever so sorry about this," he spreads his hands, pulling a file of notes towards him.

"How…how did it happen?" Mrs Hoffman asks. Her hands are visibly shaking, clenched around her handbag.

"When the car went down the embankment, Ms Wilson suffered a head injury. We had no way to tell if she had brain damage until she woke up."

"Will she recover?"

The doctor sighs. "I honestly have no idea, Mrs Hoffman. Amnesia is a tricky beast – sometimes the patient recovers their memories within a few weeks, sometimes they never get them back."

I can't believe what I'm hearing. "You mean she may not ever get better?" I ask, my voice as tight and controlled as I can make it.

"I have no idea. I am so sorry."

"Damn you," I stand up, shoving my chair in so hard that it falls over.

"Trace," Mrs Hoffman says, a warning note in her voice.

"I f***ing love her, and you're saying she may never remember me? I glare at the doctor.

"I don't know," the doctor says nervously.

"You have to know! It's your job to know! And don't hide anything from us for our own sake!" I snap.

He sighs again. "She suffered severe trauma…I doubt she'll recover her memories," he says after a long pause. I swear foully and stride out of the room, slamming the door behind me as hard as I can. I walk down the corridors, my anger cooling down into utter wretchedness and grief. We were so happy. Why? Why? Why did this have to happen?


A/N I'm so sorry guys xx