Chapter 6

Lauren POV

I don't know how I walked out of that office or how I crossed that campus corridor-once familiar, now so strange it made my heart panic.

I only remember forcibly suppressing the rage and humiliation that threatened to explode in my chest, each step like walking on knife points. Until I crossed that solemn campus gate and cold air hit my face.

The world seemed to have its mute button pressed, followed by a massive, heart-pounding sense of emptiness that swept up from my feet like a tsunami, instantly swallowing me whole.

The anger disappeared. The humiliation evaporated. Even the nauseating scene from the office minutes ago became blurry.

I stood on the bustling street like an empty shell. Who am I? Why am I here? What just happened? Where am I going? Where is that place called "home"?

Panic crept up my spine in fine threads. With trembling hands, I reached for my phone in my pocket. My fingertips touched only darkness-it was dead.

I looked around in confusion. Traffic streamed past, voices buzzed, everything distorted and distant. A violent dizziness struck. I staggered.

Just then, a sharp engine roar approached from far away. A heavy motorcycle, like an out-of-control beast, shot past my side. The rearview mirror violently scraped my arm. The massive impact made me lose balance completely, throwing me heavily backward.

The back of my head struck the cold, hard curb with a dull sound.

Searing pain exploded. My vision began to spin and darken. The noisy world rapidly lost color and sound.

As consciousness sank completely into darkness, I used my last bit of strength to look toward that motorcycle.

On the back seat, a figure turned back.

It was Erica. She lifted the edge of her helmet, chin tilted slightly up, a triumphant curve on her lips.

That Erica-the pure and sensible student in Richard's mouth-had hit me and driven away.

I don't know how long passed before consciousness was dragged back by the pungent smell of disinfectant and vague pain.

I struggled to open my eyes. It took a while for my vision to focus on the pale ceiling. A warm, moist sensation came from the back of my hand. A bit itchy.

I turned my head slightly.

Richard was collapsed at the bedside, tightly gripping my hand. He looked terrible-hair disheveled, heavy dark circles under his eyes, stubble covering his chin, eyes bloodshot and red-rimmed, face still streaked with undried tears. Tears were dripping one by one onto the back of my hand.

Sensing my movement, Richard's head snapped up, his bloodshot eyes instantly blooming with joy.

"Lauren? You're awake? How do you feel? Does your head still hurt? Are you uncomfortable anywhere? You..." He spoke incoherently, his voice terribly hoarse. His last question was asked cautiously, tinged with enormous fear. "Do you still remember... who I am?"

Looking at his face, now written with exhaustion, I felt only hypocrisy. Somewhere in my chest came a delayed, dull pain.

I pulled at the corner of my mouth, letting out an extremely soft, cold sneer.

"What a shame," I heard my own dry voice say, "I still remember."

"Thank God! Lauren, you still remember..." Richard suddenly bent down and pulled me into his arms. His arms trembled as he crushed me against him, as if trying to press me into his own body. "I'm sorry. It's all my fault. Let's not fight anymore. Never again. The doctor said hitting your head might affect your condition. I was terrified, Lauren. I really can't lose you..."

His embrace was fierce. His voice broke. They say hugs are love's highest form. In that moment, my hatred for him seemed to crack, burned open by that embrace.

Grievance. Resentment. The last shreds of love. All of it surged toward the crack, desperate to spill out. I almost hugged him back. Almost believed in this warmth. Almost pretended the pain never happened.

My hand lifted, just slightly. Fingertips trembling. Almost touching him.

Then a sharp, piercing ringtone shattered the warmth of the hospital room.

Richard's body tensed almost imperceptibly. A reflex. He let go of me and pulled his phone from his pocket.

When he answered and the screen lit up, I saw the caller ID clearly.

Little Dummy.

That nickname cut right through me. Like ice.

I still remembered everything. How Erica threw herself at him. How they were together in the office. How on the back of that motorcycle, Erica turned back at me with that triumphant, venomous smile.

"I have something to deal with here. Erica will come by later..." Richard turned to tell me.

"It was Erica," I cut him off, my voice flat, no ripple at all. I watched his face as he turned back. The flicker of irritation at being interrupted. "She was the one who had someone hit me."