Free Cover Up (Cover #2) by Kim Black

go – at least for the time being. I needed to focus on Emily today. Yesterday, Suzie called and told me about Emily’s meeting with a therapist. She knew the truth now, at least some of the truth. Dr. Avery had informed Suzie that Emily would be going home today, and that she thought it was best that she was in a familiar setting. Dr. Avery hoped that being home would help her remember the last year. She would still be meeting with the therapist three times a week as an outpatient, but she was going to need the support of all of us.
    Walking into Emily’s room , she looked at me nervously. Was she scared about going home?
    I pushed the thought out of my head, and strutted towards her. “How are you feeling today baby girl? Ready to blow this joint?”

    EMILY
    I was still in shock. A whole year had somehow vanished and I couldn’t make sense of it. I'd awoken from this coma to find a black hole in my life. Dr. Avery brought in the hospital’s therapist to help break the news to me. They tried their best to explain everything, but it was as if I was living someone else’s life. This can’t be happening to me.
    I tried not to cry , but the flood began; and once it started, I couldn’t stop. Questions bombarded my mind as the women tried to keep me calm. Was I married? Was it to Adam? Did we live together? Was I still an interning chef? No answers came to mind, which only brought on more tears.
    The doctors reassured me , and Suzie, that my memory loss was a common side effect of serious head injuries, and that it likely would return - in time. By the time they left, I was numb. I couldn’t cry anymore and I just wanted to be alone.
    “You sure you don’t want me to stay the night with you?” Suzie asked as she sat beside me and stroked my hair.
    I was sure. I needed time to process. I needed to di gest everything I’d been told, and I couldn’t do that with her worrying about me, trying to console me.
    “Yeah, I just need some time,” I whispered back at her.
    After she left, I cried myself to sleep. I felt like I had lost a piece of who I was. What had I been up to this past year? Had I changed in anyway? The questions came nonstop, until finally, I couldn’t cry anymore and blessed sleep pulled me away from my overwhelming thoughts.
    When morning came , I had, for a split second, forgotten about the amnesia. But just as I sat up on the hospital bed, it all came rushing back and filled me with complete despair. I was mentally and physically exhausted. I tried to will my brain to remember all that it had forgotten, but had no luck.
    I hadn’t been sleeping well since my dream man, whom I now called The Frenchman, consumed my dreams. I didn’t know where the nickname came from , but the other night it just came to me and felt right. It suited him. It was weird really. Each dream I had of the Frenchman seem so real, so familiar. It was as if we were lovers in another life.
    I tossed and turned most of last night, drifting from one erotic scene to the next. Me on his bed. Him on my bed. And me in an office? Everything seemed too familiar. I still could make out his face in the dreams, the edges around him blurred, but I knew he was gorgeous. There was something about him that just exuded sex, and it drove me crazy. Did I know this man? Was he a part of my life? And, if he had been, where was he now?
    When Adam walked into the hospital , I was flushed with embarrassment. It wasn’t right to fantasize about another man. In fact, I couldn’t recall a time I had dreamt of Adam, not even in an innocent way. Shit, I’m a horrible girlfriend.
    “How are you feeling today , baby girl? Ready to blow this joint?” he asked as he strutted over to my bed, leaning in to give me a hug and a kiss on the cheek. His sandalwood cologne, which normally turned me on, filled my nose; but, oddly, I felt nothing. I chalked that up to the guilt I felt for my secret rendezvous with a certain Frenchman every night. I pushed the