CHAPTER 33: Complete Mess

"No one wants to face their fears. Grief and pain roll through the years. What will we do? When the sky it ain't so blue?" UNTIL OUR BITTER END - The Lathums 

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Caroline's POV 

Since the day that Sam woke up from her coma, I sensed that something was off about her. She was not the Sam I remembered. Back then, she was this ray of sunshine. She loved to be happy. She smiles even though she's tired. She just smiled through it all. But now, she's withdrawn, always lost in thought. She barely smiles, and when she does, it doesn't reach her eyes. It's like the light inside her just... flickered out. I try to talk to her about it and ask her what's wrong, but she shrugs and says she's fine. But I know she's not. 

I see how she avoids looking at old photos, flinches at certain songs, and seems haunted. It breaks my heart because I miss the old Sam. I miss her laugh, her energy, her unwavering optimism. I want her back, but I don't know how to bring her back from wherever she is. It's like she's here, but a part of her is still trapped somewhere else, still sleeping. And I'm afraid she'll never truly wake up. I've tried everything I can think of. 

Rachel contacted me a few days ago, right after Sam woke up. She wanted to visit Sam, but I told her about Sam's condition. I didn't want Sam to stress or think about anything but her recovery. Maybe I should have let Rachel visit. Maybe seeing a familiar face from before would have sparked something. But I was so afraid. Afraid of making things worse, fearful of triggering some memory that would shatter her completely. I was trying to protect her, but maybe I was hurting her more.

The doctors say it's normal. Coma patients often experience personality changes, memory loss, and emotional detachment. They say it takes time, therapy, and a lot of patience. But it's been months, and I'm starting to lose hope. I'm running out of patience, even though I know I shouldn't. They also let us go home and go back to the hospital for Sam's checkups and physical therapy. 

 I found her sitting on the porch swing in the dark, just staring at the stars. I sat beside her, not saying anything, just offering my presence. After a long silence, she finally spoke, her voice barely a whisper.

 "It's like... like I'm watching a movie of my life," she said. 

"But I don't recognise the main character."

That hit me hard. That's exactly how it feels like she's a stranger inhabiting Sam's body.

I wrapped my arm around her and held her close. "I'm here, Sam," I said.

 "I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. We'll figure this out. Together."

But even as I said the words, I felt helpless. What can I do to bring back someone lost inside their mind? How do I reignite a light that's been extinguished? I don't know anymore. I don't know. And that's the scariest part of all. 

The weight of her words, "I don't recognise the main character," still hangs in the air, thick and suffocating. It replays in my head on a loop, each repetition chipping away at my resolve. I lie awake at night, replaying old memories of Sam, trying to find some clue, some explanation for this... this absence. I scroll through old pictures on my phone, forcing myself to remember the sound of her laughter, the sparkle in her eyes, the way she used to throw her head back when she told a joke. But the images feel distant, like they belong to someone else's life, someone I used to know but barely recognise.

Today, I tried something new. I took her to our old favourite coffee shop, where we spent hours gossiping and dreaming about the future. I ordered her usual – a vanilla latte with extra foam – hoping the familiar taste might trigger something. 

She took a sip, her eyes distant, and said, "It's... sweet." Just sweet. No fondness, no recognition, no spark.

I steered the conversation towards old memories, mentioning inside jokes and shared experiences. Her responses were polite, detached, and almost clinical. She'd nod, offer a vague smile, and then fall silent again, lost in her world. It was like talking to a well-programmed robot reciting lines from a script.

Later, as we walked through the park, I noticed her staring at a group of kids playing soccer. There was a flicker of something in her eyes, a brief moment of longing. Or maybe just curiosity. I couldn't tell. But it was enough to give me a sliver of hope.

"Do you remember playing soccer?" I asked, trying to keep my voice casual.

She frowned, her brow furrowed. "I... I think so," she said slowly. 

"But it feels far away. Like a dream."

"We were terrible," I chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. 

"We always ended up tripping over each other."

She offered a small, almost imperceptible smile. "Did we?"

"Oh yeah. We were a disaster. But we had fun, right?"

She didn't answer. She just kept staring at the kids, her expression unreadable. The moment passed, and the flicker of something vanished, leaving her eyes empty again.

I'm starting to think the doctors are wrong. Maybe it's not just memory loss and emotional detachment. Perhaps it's something deeper, something spiritual. Like her soul got fractured in the coma, and a piece of it is still lost, wandering in the darkness.

I think about Rachel again. Maybe I was wrong to keep them apart. Maybe Rachel holds the key, some vital piece of the puzzle that could unlock Sam's lost memories. I pull out my phone, hesitate, and then dial Rachel's number.

"Hey, Rachel," I say, my voice trembling slightly. 

"It's... It's me. I was wondering if you still want to visit Sam?" There's a pause on the other end of the line. 

"Of course," Rachel says, her voice warm and concerned. 

"I've been worried sick about her. Are you sure it's okay?"

"I don't know," I admit honestly.

"But I'm desperate, I'm willing to try anything. Maybe you can reach her in a way that I can't."

The fear is still there, gnawing at my insides. Still, now, there's also a glimmer of hope, a fragile, flickering flame in the darkness  Maybe, just maybe, Rachel can help me bring Sam back  Maybe, together, we can find the missing piece, the key to unlocking her heart and reigniting the light inside her  I have to try  I have to  Because if I don't, I'm afraid I'll lose her completely.

Sam's POV 

Aside from being confused about myself, I have also lost my memories lately. Well, not all of them. Still, just some details. The doctor said that it was a short-term coma that I had. It's frustrating as hell. I feel like I'm missing pieces of myself, like a jigsaw puzzle with crucial parts missing. The worst part is, I don't even know what I'm missing half the time. Or maybe it's just what colour socks I wore on my first date. Either way, it's driving me bonkers. 

The doctor says it might get better with time, but honestly, I'm not holding my breath. I'm just. It's not just me who's suffering, mind you. My sister is going through it too. She kept looking at me with these pitying eyes like I'm some fragile ornament about to shatter. I hate it. I want them to treat me as usual. Ask me about my day, tell me some gossip, anything but that damn look.

My sister, bless her, tries to help. She brings old photo albums and tells me stories about when we were kids. It's nice, I guess. Still, it also highlights what I've lost  She'll say, "Remember that time we got stuck in the tree?" and I'll stare blankly, forcing a laugh and saying, "Oh yeah, hilarious!" when inside I'm screaming because I don't remember  Not even a flicker  It's like she's talking about someone else's life, not mine.

Lando, on the other hand, I felt like I was pulling away from him. He's my boyfriend, but I think I'm not connecting to him. Maybe I am just paranoid that I might not know small details like I used to, but I know he supports me. I don't want to push him away, yet I am doing it so. 

He tries, Lando does. He'll take my hand, look me dead in the eye and say things like, "Remember that time we went to that awful pizza place  You hated it, but you ate the whole damn thing 'cause you were starving." And I'll manage a smile, squeeze his hand back, but inside, nothing—just a blank screen. I feel like I'm faking my way through our entire relationship now. He deserves better, someone who remembers the small things, the inside jokes, the shared experiences. I'm not that person anymore.  Or at least, I don't feel like I am.

 He was so hopeful, so eager for me to 'come back', but all I felt was tired and guilty, Guilty for not remembering, for making him go through this, for not being the girl he fell in love with.

Last night, he tried again. He set up our living room just like it was on our first date. The same movie was playing on the TV, and we drank the exact same cheap wine. He even wore the same ridiculous shirt. I almost laughed, but then the wave of guilt washed over me again. He was trying so hard, too hard. It felt suffocating.

"Do you remember this?" he asked, his voice soft, hopeful.

I looked at him, the familiar lines around his eyes, the way his hair fell across his forehead. He was beautiful. And I felt nothing. Or rather, I felt affection, yes, but not the burning, electric connection I used to. It was like looking at a beloved photograph, not experiencing the moment itself.

"Lando," I started, my voice trembling.

"I-I don't, and I don't know if I ever will."

His face fell. The hope drained from his eyes, leaving them dull and tired. He looked older, somehow.

"So, what does that mean?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

I didn't answer. I couldn't. What could I say? That I was sorry  I loved him, but I was scared of losing him completely, of becoming a stranger in his life? That I felt like a fraud, pretending to be someone I no longer recognised?

And the worst part. The fear. The constant, gnawing fear that something important is gone.  Something that defines me. What if I've forgotten I'm supposed to be an astrophysicist? Or that I hate coriander? What if I've forgotten the name of my first pet? Those are jokes, but what if I've forgotten something big.  Something that will drastically alter the course of my life?

I just looked away, the silence stretching between us, thick and heavy with unspoken fears. The movie played on, unnoticed. The wine sat untouched. The memories remained lost, somewhere in the dark corners of my mind, forever out of reach, and I knew, with a certainty that chilled me to the bone, that I was breaking his heart, one forgotten moment at a time and probably mine too.

Honestly, some days I want to crawl back into that coma. At least then I wouldn't be conscious enough to be this messed up. But then I think about my sister and know I can't. I owe it to them to try and piece myself back together, even if it's a right bloody mess. Even if I never find all the pieces. Maybe one of these days, I will wake up and see the good in everything, but I don't feel like myself. Still, I will try my best to be myself again, not just for myself but also for Lando and Caroline.