Chapter Five: Coming To

Her head throbbed. There was a small pain in her shoulder and she felt incredibly drowsy. Opening her eyes, Daine was blinded by bright lights and pale blue walls. Quickly she shut them again. The air smelled faintly of microwave dinners, but still had a sterile and crisp scent; funny, she thought, it smells just like a hospital in here – Daine opened her eyes again. This time the light wasn't overwhelmingly intense. The first thing she noticed was an assortment of balloons and flowers on a nearby table. Get Well Soon! Read one balloon. Daine felt confused: why would she need to get well soon? She was perfectly fine, and why were all these things were in her bedroom? Daine gasped. It didn't seem probable that she was in the hospital, lying in a hard bed with starchy sheets. Why was she here? Was it even her that was here? Was it only a dream?

Holding up her arms, she observed them. One white and one yellow strip of paper decorated her left wrist. Peering at it, she read the following:

Veralidaine Sarrasri

DOB: 05/09/88

115 lbs.

5'5"

ER, sports accident. Admitted 06/03/06, 07:13 pm.

Blood Type: O Neg.

Well, it was indeed her wrist. Sports accident? What had happened? Daine felt that she had forgotten something, but didn't know what. Sitting up, she found that it was daylight out. A small ray of sunshine streaked through a tiny gap in the curtains. Daine looked around until she found a door in the wall to her right. She knew she shouldn't, but curiosity got the better of her and she swung her legs over the side of the bed. Despite the throbbing in her head, she felt incredibly well. Her exposed toes contacted the cold floor. She took small steps toward the door; before she could open it, though, something occurred to her: did her gown have a back? Shivering at the thought of stumbling through the hospital corridors showing a full moon, she cautiously felt for material. Releasing a breath when her fingers met cloth Daine tried the knob. It was locked. Dang, Daine thought. Stupid door.

As there was nothing else she could do, Daine returned to her bed. She racked her brains to see if she could remember anything; she figured the last place she remembered was the soccer fields. She remembered starting the tournament game, but that was the extent of her memory. She was still attempting to discover the cause of her condition when a turning doorknob interrupted her thoughts.

She turned her head to see the visitor. A plump nurse in a blue scrub (was nothing in this hospital not blue, Daine wondered) examining a notebook. The lady looked up, seeing that Daine was conscious, and closed the notebook. Then the lady turned and walked out again, returning moments later with a doctor.

"Hello," a tall man also in a blue scrub, but wearing a white overcoat, greeted. Dr. Neal was embroidered on the breast pocket. "May I get you to follow this light with your eyes, please?" He clicked on a flashlight and moved it from side to side. "Good. Now, can you tell me your name, age, and what you were doing before coming here?"

Daine answered, stating her full name and that she was eighteen, but couldn't sufficiently state what happened at the fields. "I know that we were playing the championship game, and that – well, I don't know. I think we were winning." Dr. Neal nodded and made a note in the book that had been placed at the foot of Daine's bed.

Once finished writing, he said, "Your memory should gradually return. You had quite the bump on the head, and needed nine stitches in your right cheek. If you have a headache, it is result of the anesthesia administered to you last night. Would you like me to send in your visitor?" When Daine looked puzzled, he explained. "I believe your coach is here. At least, that is what he claims." Dr. Neal smiled. "He thought you would be more comfortable hearing your story from him rather than me." Daine nodded and Dr. Neal left.

Numair walked in as Daine sat up. He closed the door softly behind him and crossed the room in two large strides. Standing by her bed, he grabbed her hands.

"Daine, I was so worried! We thought for sure you would have a concussion or internal bleeding or, or –" he sighed and smiled. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," Daine replied. She felt so, but had a suspicion that she could be bleeding to death and his touch would make it all right. She caught his eyes, losing herself in their brown depths. Numair stared back at her and there was a moment where neither of them could breathe. Then, their visual connection was broken when Numair put his lips to hers. Startled, but enjoying the feeling, Daine accepted it. His lips were warm and seemed to meet perfectly with hers, as if they had been carved of the same stone. The sensation was pure oblivion; Daine's stomach seemed to flutter with overflowing joy. Suddenly, Numair pulled away.

His eyes were wide with alarm. "Daine, I'm sorry, I didn't mean - " This time Daine pulled his lips to hers, the lack of his kiss unbearable. Numair received the message.

Chapter Six: Reuniting, Explanations, and Charges

Daine was glad to finally be rid of the monochrome building the next day. In three weeks she was to return in order for them to remove her stitches. There was a large "contusion" (by Dr. Neal's words) on the left side of her head, but miraculously, no severe cranial damage. Jon and Thayet were filing battery and assault charges against Yolane Dunlath, Daine's attacker. They weren't filing a lawsuit but were demanding Yolane be, at the least, put on probation and community service. Daine wasn't worried about court. She really didn't care what happened to Yolane, either. As far as she could tell, not only had they won the soccer game, but Daine had turned out to be the better person, the sun was shining, and she wasn't wearing a bright orange jail suit.

"Are you positive you want to see it?" Jon asked Daine later when they were at home. Daine assured Jon that her answer was yes, and Jon pushed the tape into the VCR. With the push of a button, the tape that was the court's evidence began to play.

A scene came to the screen: girls dressed in red jerseys dribbled up a green field. The red scored and the yellow took the ball to center field. Yellow was now dribbling down the field. Yellow shot, but red blocked it. Daine recognized herself in the goalie's outfit. The screen panned in and showed Yolane Dunlath stomping forward and hitting her. Daine's head hit a goalie post and crimson blood began to flow from her nose. Stock-still, Daine watched her body fall to the ground and Yolane kicking at her face. Then, a red blur tackled (there was no other word) the yellow Yolane to the ground. Then red-clad people began to crowd around the scene. Daine saw tall Numair furiously break into the cluster, then disappear. Then, the tape cut off.

"Chelsea's mother filmed it," came Jon's quiet voice.

"Oh," was all Daine could manage. Why would someone get so angry over a soccer game? She and Yolane had always been competitive, but never to the extent of injury. It wasn't the attack that bothered Daine, only the feelings behind it. Politely excusing herself, she retreated to her room to ponder.

Finally, Diane decided that such instances were not worthy to occupy brain cells, and put the matter out of her mind. Jon would handle it. Besides, she reminded herself, she wasn't the one in the orange jumper suit.

"The truth?" the man sighed. "Well, if you are so keen on unraveling the secrets of me, then I must concede. My name is Numair Salmalìn, but you already knew that. Let's see… I graduated from a private academy in New York, and then proceeded to Duke. I graduated from Duke at the age of twenty-two – I was an early bloomer – and moved down here four years ago. I am now twenty-six and teaching Mammalian Anatomy with great passion." Numair took another lick of his ice cream.

He motioned towards Daine, perched on the bench beside him and enjoying a cone as well, and asked her for her story.

"Veralidaine Sarrasri is my birth name. I lost my mother when I was thirteen in a fire and never knew my father. I was adopted by Jonathan and Thayet Conté a few years back. I am attending UGA and pursuing my passion of mammalian anatomy," she added, enjoying her twist on Numair's words. "So," she continued, "name three hobbies of you particularly enjoy."

Between bites, Numair informed, "I favor studying and expanding my knowledge, coaching the UGA's women's soccer team, and, ultimately, spending hours on end with a particularly special person."

"Hmm," Diane hummed, prepared to coax him. "Might I inquire who, exactly?"

Numair drew close so that she could feel his breath on her lips. Slowly, tenderly, he replied, "Three," and kissed her softly. "Guesses," and kissed her again, "Who."