Blackout

I woke up this morning to my head throbbing and a pool of sweat around me. With eyes still closed, I reached over to the other side of the bed for my boyfriend, Liam, but he wasn’t there. I opened my eyes and sat up on the bed. I looked around for a few seconds before realizing that I had not woken up in my own home. The room I was in had no carpeting like mine, no dresser, and had a large landscape painting. I looked beneath me and noticed that I was in a bed smaller than mine. The bed had maroon silk sheets and a large black blanket at the foot of the bed. I got to my feet and that’s when I realized that I was not in my clothes from the night before. Instead, I was in a sweatshirt and flannel pajama pants. How did I get into these clothes? How did I get here? My headache was starting to get worse and I was stuck in a spiral of my own thoughts.

What is the last thing I remember? I thought to myself. The last thing I remember was waiting outside of work for Liam to pick me up. Someone had approached me and asked for something, directions maybe. I can’t seem to remember their face, or whether they were a woman or man. Could I be in their home? How would I have gotten here? Was I drugged and kidnapped? I began to rummage through the nightstands on either side of the bed, looking for any clues of whose home I might be in. I looked through each drawer over and over before giving up. I searched around the room for last night’s clothes but they were nowhere to be found. I decided to search the rest of the house for clues. When I stepped out of the bedroom, I was greeted by the smell of fresh fruit and pancakes. I walked slowly towards it, cautious of every sound I made.

I peaked around the corner into the kitchen where, strangely, there was nobody. Only an abandoned sink of dishes and a lonely plate in the center of island. Beside the plate, there was a piece of paper, folded and propped up like a tent. I walked over to the paper and on it was a note. It was written in scratchy, hurried, handwriting that I could just barely work out.

Dear Sweetheart,

Sorry I had to rush out so quickly. I enjoyed our night together.

I’m sure you have a massive headache after last night, there is Advil and Tylenol in the cupboard above the sink.

Please enjoy this lovely breakfast I made for you, so sorry again that I am not here to eat it with you.

I will be home around noon.

I checked the clock on the stove, it was 10:57. I decided to forget trying to find my clothes and search for my purse instead. I hurried around the home, which was actually just a high-end loft, looking in every room, drawer, and closet I could find. Through a door, parallel to the kitchen, was a huge walk-in closet. In the middle of it was an over sized plush ottoman with my purse sitting neatly on top and my clothes folded next to it. I quickly checked my purse for my phone, wallet, and keys. When they were all located, I shoved my clothes into my bag and ran towards the front door.

Before I left, something caught my eye. On a shelf next to the door, was a picture frame. A man with his arm over a woman’s shoulder, smiling widely at the camera. The man looked like he was in his 20s and the woman in her late 30s. He must own this loft. I checked the time of the clock on the wall, 11:21. I have to get out of here. I made a run for the stairs, but not before looking at the number on the loft door: 302. I rushed down the stairs so fast that I may as well had been flying. When I reached the lobby, I tried not to attract the attention of the other residents, but it was difficult as I was a sweaty, disheveled, crazed looking, woman trying to catch her breath in some frumpy pajamas. I composed myself to the best of my ability and walked over to the building directory. I scrolled through the apartment numbers and owner names until I found the one I was looking for. Across the screen from 302 was the name Burke. Do I know anyone with the last name Burke? The thought was taunting me but I knew I was running out of time. I pulled out my phone and punched in Liam’s phone number. He answered on the first ring.

“Moira?”

“Liam, thank God, you answered.”

“Where are you? I’ve been worried sick, I went into your office asking for you but the secretary told me you were waiting outside.”

“I don’t know, I’m sorry, I don’t know where I am.”

“What are you talking about? What do you mean you don’t know?” I could hear the frustration and worry rising in his voice.

“I mean, I don’t know. I woke up this morning in a random bed in this loft I’ve never been to in someone else’s pajamas.”

“What?! Moira, listen to me. Walk out of that building and into the nearest coffee shop you can find and I will come get you. Text me the intersection, I’m getting in the car now.”

I stepped out of the building and onto the sidewalk. Something about this street was familiar to me but I couldn’t quite remember what. As if my legs had a mind of their own, I started walking down the right side of the road. I rounded the corner and walked for another five minutes before stopping in front of a Starbucks. I texted Liam the intersection and went inside. The patrons were too busy with their coffee, conversations, and work to even notice me, which eased my anxiety slightly. I was greeted by a barista, faking a sweet smile at me from the other side of the counter. I ordered a coffee and a croissant and sat in the farthest corner of the shop to wait for Liam.

After twenty minutes, the door burst open and there was Liam. His entrance was so abrupt that everyone stopped and went silent to stare at him. He had a wild look in his eye and was darting his head around the store looking for me. When he found me, he ran over, scooped me up from my seat and held me tightly in his arms. People were still watching him, more confused and curious than afraid like they were before.

“Let’s get you home and cleaned up, huh?” He was looking me straight into my eyes and I could see all of his emotions. The worry, the concern, the relief, the anger, and the joy. I nodded weakly and he walked me out of the store.

The car ride was silent. I don’t think either knew where to begin. I’m sure a million thoughts were running through his head as they were mine. Like how did I end up there? Whose apartment was I in? What did I do? Had I slept with them? My head began to throb again, but this time it was much more violent. I felt like my head was about to explode. I let out a soft sob and pushed my hands against both sides of my head.

“Hey, hey, are you okay?” Liam put his hand on my leg and squeezed. I let out another sob, the pain was more intense than any hangover or migraine I had ever experienced.

Liam pulled the car to the side of the road and shut off the engine. By this point, I had tears streaming down my face with no signs of them stopping or slowing down.

“Moira, what’s wrong? I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s going on.”

“I don’t know! My head feels like someone is hitting it over and over again with a hammer.”

“Oh, Moira,” he rubbed his hand over my hair, stopping just below the crown of my skull.

“What is it?” I asked, throwing my hand where his was. A bump the size of a golf ball sat heavily. The hair around it was hard and felt brittle from what I assumed was dried up blood. This was only leading to more and more questions.

We drove straight to the hospital instead of home. We waited in the emergency room for two hours before getting help. Liam’s leg was shaking nervously the whole time but each time I noticed, he would look at me and smile, trying to pretend like everything is okay. But it wasn’t okay. I spent the whole time wondering what had happened to me. I almost didn’t hear the nurse call my name when the doctor was ready to see me. Thank God Liam was there and listening because I couldn’t focus on a word the doctor was saying. I was staring blankly at him, hearing the words but not retaining any of the information. He could have been speaking a different language for all I knew and it would not have made any difference. After a while, he lightly shook my shoulder to knock me out of the trance I was in. He told me we were going for an MRI, just as a precaution because he didn’t think there was any brain damage except maybe a minor concussion.

As I was being slid into the machine, I heard the doctor’s voice over the speaker telling me to relax. I closed my eyes and let my body fall flat on the metal table. The machine was loud, and bright, and the whirring noise made me feel sick. I tried to ignore it, think of something else to distract me. I opened my eyes and watched the lights flicker around me. When I blinked, I saw something. Someone on top of me, holding both of my arms down above my head, and I could hear myself screaming. Suddenly, I could feel their hands on my wrists, their weight above me, lighter than I would have expected, and I could feel myself squirming below them trying to be free. I must have been screaming out loud because before I knew it, I was being pulled out of the machine. My face was wet with tears and my hands were shaking. I sat up on the table and both Liam and the doctor came running into the room. The doctor had a clipboard in his hand and was taking notes while Liam wiped the sweat from my forehead and smoothed my hair.

After the MRI, we were brought back into a small hospital room. When the doctor returned, he had a nurse and a woman dressed in a pinstripe pantsuit with him. The nurse stood in the back corner of the room, documenting everything that happened. The doctor stood in front of me while the woman sat in a chair across the examination table, facing me. He told us that I had suffered from blunt trauma to my head that led to a minor concussion. He wrote me up a prescription and gave me and Liam a list of things to do in order for me to recover as best I could. Before leaving, he introduced the lady sitting behind him. Her name was Dr. Jill Atkins and she was the hospitals on call psychologist. He told us that she was here because he believed that I may also be suffering from PTSD related to the concussion. He left us alone with Dr. Atkins and she began to ask me questions about the night.

“So, what happened?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” She furrowed her brows and cocked her head slightly to the right.

“I don’t remember anything since I left work up until this morning.”

“Hm,” she pulled her pad of paper from beside her, clicked her pen, and leaned in closer. Liam and I exchanged looks while she marked something down on her page.

“What’s going on?” he grabbed my hand and held it in his own.

Dr. Atkins ignored Liam and looked at me, “I would like to see you and talk more in depth about this situation.”

She handed me the page she had written her name, number, and office address on. “I have an opening tomorrow afternoon at 5 o’clock, I think it would benefit you greatly.”

I stared at the page for a minute before nodding and smiling. She shook my hand, then Liam’s, then left us alone in the room.

At home, Liam was quiet and visibly frustrated. He didn’t speak to me on the ride back, instead he was tense and had both hands tight around the wheel. He walked to our bedroom and slammed the door shut. Why is he being like this? I didn’t do anything wrong here. As I approached the door, I heard it click and lock just before I could turn the handle. I mumbled under my breath, “what the fuck,” before letting out an exasperated sigh and walking away. I sat on the couch and pulled out my phone to look for anymore clues on who Burke might be. I ran through every scenario I could think of in my head. Maybe I got drunk, met a guy, and went back to his apartment. Cheating seems better than being kidnapped. If this is the case, then his number may be in my phone. I scroll through my contacts to B, but nothing new has been added. I keep scrolling, maybe I put in his first name, but nothing. My head is pounding again so I get an Advil from the kitchen and relax on the couch. I can feel my eyes getting heavier and I’m struggling to keep them open. Slowly, my blinks become longer, then all at once, everything goes black.