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Allie doesn't believe the car crash that caused her amnesia was an accident. She knows the truth...
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MY BREATHING IS shallow as I get ushered into a room, barely registering the sound of the nurse telling me to take a seat on the bed. I do as I'm told, hopping up onto the uncomfortable sheet of plastic, and tucking my hands beneath my thighs, my legs swinging impatiently as I wait for Dr. Meyer to materialize.
I hear approaching footsteps, before the man of the hour enters, clothed in a crisp white lab coat, his dark hair neat and slicked back. He closes the door behind him, and I watch his body language, trying to determine whether or not he looks uneasy.
He turns in my direction, giving me a bright smile, his eyes crinkling behind round frames, and my gaze is unflinching, my teeth clenched. "Good afternoon, Alina," he says, and the friendly tone of his voice only serves to anger me even more.
"Hello," I say, my voice cool as I fold my hands neatly in my lap.
Taking a seat on the swivel chair across from me, he peruses his clipboard, reading up my condition, as if he doesn't already know. My eyes are riveted to his movements, waiting for him to break, to crack just enough that I can gather some proof of what he did to me. While he attempts to make small talk, I discreetly lift my phone out of my pocket enough to start recording, before sliding it back inside.
"It's been a while since we've spoken." he says finally. "Are you adjusting to everything okay?"
"As well as I can."
"That's great to hear," he says warmly. He pauses, frowning at his clipboard. "Your mother was telling me you had some sort of... episode the other night. She mentioned her boyfriend was involved."
Pursing my lips together, I ward off images of the incident with Clark, trying not to think about it, not wanting to relive the memory of his grimy hands anywhere on my body. Repressing the truth makes it easier to lie anyway. "Um, yeah," I mumble, looking down at my hands, quickly trying to think up an alternate story. "I'm not sure what happened. I think I may have been hallucinating."
Dr. Meyer's dark eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and I scrutinize his expression, looking for any traces of fear or apprehension. "Is that so?"
"Clark came into the kitchen, I didn't hear him enter so it startled me," I say, staring distantly at a point on the wall in an attempt to look haunted, and the words fall from my lips increasingly easily. "One second, I was looking at him, and the next, I was staring at a dark figure. I could tell they wanted to hurt me."
"How could you tell?" he asks, and I can practically see his brain working in overdrive.
Shaking my head sadly, I force tears into my eyes. "I just knew," I tell him seriously, my voice still quiet. "And then in the next moment, I was back in my kitchen and the glass I had been holding was shattering to the floor."
He's silent for a few moments. "That's very interesting, Alina," he murmurs, and when he scribbles something on his clipboard, his hand shakes slightly. "Be sure to tell me if you have another one of these episodes."
