3. Leyland

Leyland

I studied Clementine, noting the mix of curiosity and apprehension in her eyes. A part of me wanted to hold back, to protect her from the intensity of what I’d experienced. But a larger part yearned to share it all, to make her understand.

“I remember everything,” I whispered. “The way you make a full cup of coffee but only take three sips from it. Or how you love the color green because it was your sister’s favorite.”

I watched as her eyes widened slightly at the mention of her sister. Her lips parted as if to speak, but no words came out. I pressed on, the memories flooding back.

“You have a scar on your left knee from falling off your bike when you were ten. You’re terrified of thunderstorms but pretend not to be. And when you’re really happy, you scrunch up your nose and your eyes crinkle at the corners.”

She took a step back, her clipboard clutched tightly to her chest like a shield.

“How... how could you possibly know those things?” she whispered.

I shook my head, feeling as lost as she looked.

“I don’t know. But I do know them. Just like I know that right now, you’re fighting the urge to run from this room, because what I’m saying scares you. But you’re also intrigued, aren’t you? Because deep down, some part of you feels it too.”

She took another step back, her eyes wide and conflicted.

“Mr. Graham, I... this is highly inappropriate. I’m your doctor, and—”

“And you’re engaged,” I finished for her, nodding towards her ring finger. “To Dr. Roker, right?”

She glanced down at her hand even though nothing was there, then back at me, her expression a mix of shock and something else—something that looked almost like longing.

“How did you know that?”

I sighed, feeling drained suddenly.

“I heard the nurses talking. And then he came to see me a little after you did. I probably wasn’t that nice.”

In fact, I hadn’t said a word to him. A grunt here or there when absolutely necessary, but nothing else. And I felt a little fucked up about it afterward because he was polite and never showed irritation with my lack of response.

Clementine took a deep breath, visibly trying to compose herself.

“Mr. Graham—Leyland—I think perhaps we should discuss this with Dr. Roker. He might have some insights into—”

“No,” I said quickly, maybe too forcefully, which made me soften my tone. “Please, I’d rather not involve anyone else right now. I know how crazy this all sounds.”

Did she really think I’d want to tell him I dreamt about being married to his fiancée? That I wanted to share how much… how I loved her.

Love her.

Because I do, I feel it when I look into her eyes.

She hesitated, then nodded slowly.

“Alright. But I need you to understand that whatever you experienced while you were in the coma, it wasn’t real. I’m not your wife. We’ve never met before your accident.”

Her words stung, even though I knew they were true. I closed my eyes briefly, trying to reconcile the vivid memories in my mind with the reality before me.

“I understand,” I said softly, opening my eyes to meet her gaze. “I’m glad I woke up, and you were there. Everything else… I’ll try to forget.”

It hurt to say, but that’s what she needed from me, what I needed to move on.

Clementine’s expression softened, a flicker of empathy crossing her face. She took a tentative step closer to my bed.

“I can’t imagine how disorienting this must be for you,” she said gently. “To have such vivid memories of a life that never happened. I’m sorry you’re going through this.”

Her kindness, even in the face of my impossible claims, touched something deep within me. I felt a lump form in my throat.

“Thank you. I know it’s not fair to put any of this on you. You’re just trying to do your job.”

She nodded, but there was a hesitancy in her movements now, as if she was unsure how to proceed.

“Leyland, I...” she began, then paused, seeming to choose her words carefully. “I think it might be helpful for you to speak with someone about these experiences. A therapist, perhaps. Someone who can help you process what you went through during your coma.”

I leaned back and looked up at the ceiling, feeling a mix of disappointment and resignation. Of course she would suggest that. It was the rational, professional thing to do.

“You’re probably right,” I said, managing a small smile as I cut my eyes at her for another look. “I’m sure they’ll have a field day with all this.”

Her expression softened again, and for a moment, I saw a flicker of the woman I remembered from my dreams--compassionate, understanding, and impossibly kind.

“It’s not about analyzing you or labeling your experience,” she said gently. “It’s about giving you the support you need to move forward. To resolve what you experienced with your current reality.”

I appreciated her kindness even as my heart ached with the loss of something that had never truly existed.

“I understand. Thank you, Dr. Warren.”

She smiled softly and opened her mouth to speak, but whatever she was about to say was cut off by a sharp knock at the door. We both turned to see Dr. Roker standing in the doorway, his expression curious as he glanced between us.

“Everything alright in here?” he asked, his tone casual but his piercing gaze gave way to something else.

Clementine straightened immediately, that professional mask she perfected sliding back into place.

“Of course. I was just going over Mr. Graham’s discharge instructions.”

Dr. Roker nodded, his gaze lingering on me for a moment before turning back to Clementine.

“Good. I can take it from here if you’d like.”

I watched as she hesitated, her eyes flicking briefly to mine, before she nodded.

“I’ll leave you to it.”

As she turned to leave, I felt a sudden panic rising in my chest. I couldn’t let her go, not like this, not when there was still so much unsaid between us.

“Dr. Warren,” I called out, my voice sounding strained even to my own ears. She paused at the door, looking back at me. “Thank you. For everything.”

“Take care, Leyland,” she said softly before slipping out the door, a sad smile brandishing her pretty face.

I watched her go, feeling as though a vital part of me was walking away with her.

Dr. Roker cleared his throat, drawing my attention back to him.

“Mr. Graham,” he began, his tone professional but with an undercurrent of something I couldn’t quite place. “How were you feeling today?”

I forced myself to focus on him, pushing thoughts of Clementine to the back of my mind.

“Better, thank you. Still a bit disoriented, but I’m managing.”

He nodded, making a note on his clipboard. “That’s to be expected. The disorientation should pass with time.” He paused, his eyes meeting mine. “I understand you’ve been experiencing some... vivid memories from your time in the coma.”

I tensed, unsure how much he knew about my “memories” of Clementine and opted for a vague response.

“Yes, some vivid dreams,” I said carefully. “Dr. Warren suggested I might benefit from speaking to a therapist about them.”

“That’s good advice. The mind can create quite elaborate scenarios during periods of unconsciousness. It’s important to process those experiences.”

I decided now was the time to change the subject.

“When do you think my discharge papers will be done?” I asked.

“A few hours,” he replied. “But remember, you’ll need to take it easy for a while. No driving for at least two weeks, and you’ll need to follow up with your primary care physician as soon as possible.”

I nodded, already feeling restless at the thought of being confined.

“I understand. Thank you.”

“Good. I’ll have the nurse bring in your discharge paperwork shortly.” He turned to leave, then paused at the door. “Oh, and Mr. Graham? Try not to dwell too much on those dreams. They’re just that—dreams.”

With that, he was gone, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I fell back against the pillows, my mind reeling. The brief interaction with Dr. Roker had left me feeling uneasy, though I couldn’t quite put my finger on why. There was something in his tone, in the way he looked at me, that suggested he knew more than he was letting on.

I closed my eyes, trying to make sense of it all. The vivid memories of my life with Clementine still felt so real, so tangible. How could I just dismiss them as mere dreams? And yet, the reality of my situation was undeniable. I was here, in this hospital bed, and Clementine was Dr. Warren—engaged to Dr. Roker and living a life entirely separate from mine.

The weight of loss pressed heavily on my chest. I mourned for a life I had never actually lived, for a love that had never truly existed outside of my own mind. And yet, the connection I felt with Clementine was undeniable. The way she had looked at me, the slight recognition in her eyes - it had to mean something, didn’t it?

I reached for my sketchpad, flipping it open to the drawing I had been working on when Clementine entered earlier. It was a half-finished drawing of her at the piano, her fingers poised over the keys, her face serene in concentration. Even in this form, her beauty took my breath away.

As I stared at the drawing, a thought struck me. If these memories were just dreams, how could I have known about Clementine’s piano playing? How could I have known about the tiny details of her life—her coffee habits, her sister’s favorite color? There had to be more to this than just an elaborate fantasy conjured by my coma-addled brain, right?