Love Me Then Destroy Me

(Lana-POV)

The lights in the hospital were too bright. They hurt my eyes like knives. I blinked and held my head because it felt like it was cloudy and thundering. I could taste iron in my mouth. My tongue felt weird, and I felt like it belonged to someone else.

A voice softly called my name. I looked away. A man stood very still outside the glass door. He didn't act like a guest. He stood like someone who had been waiting his whole life.

When I looked at him, he said, "Lana." He spoke in a low, warm voice. It put something in my chest that I couldn't put a name to.

"Who are you?" I asked. My voice sounded hurting and deep.

He opened the door without knocking and came very close to me. He seemed too tall for the small room. His hair was dark and well-kept. His suit had a faint smell of rain. He smiled, but it wasn't a happy smile. It was a careful smile that was on the verge of panic.

He said, "My name is Adrian." "Adrian Kingsley." I am your darling husband.

The words hit me like a cold stone. My husband. For a moment, the room spun. I touched my chest where the stone hit. There was nothing there, just the sound of my heart beating like a slow drum.

I tried to imagine what life would be like with a man named Adrian. I tried to bring things like faces, places, and love to life within me. My mind was full of thoughts, and the sound of a car breaking. The silence scared me more than the pain.

"Are you married?" I asked, and the word tasted like the name of a stranger.

Adrian's hands went to the back of his head. He laughed softly, like someone who was hiding something painful. He said, "You don't remember." "You were in a bad accident. You wasted time. The doctors say you will get better, but it will take time.

Not fast. A word that made fear move into the room.

Then a nurse came in to look over the charts and papers. She told him softly that visitors shouldn't be involved in patient care, but he didn't move. He kept looking at me like someone who is scared of losing a small flame.

"You are not alone," he said softly. "You weren't by yourself that night."

The room got quiet again. I tried to understand that new sound. Not by yourself. The words felt like a string.

The nurse shook her head and left. Adrian came to the bed and sat down next to me when the door clicked shut. He reached out and took my hand. It stayed close to my skin, like a bird that doesn't want to scare its mate.

I didn't mean to, but my fingers closed around his. The touch felt strangely familiar, like a memory my body kept even when my mind couldn't. His hand made my skin feel warm. For a moment, something soft, like a smile, moved inside me, but then fear pushed it down.

"Why are you staring at me like that?" I asked. My voice shook. Not just the crash. It was something older, deeper, and more real.

He took a drink. The light made his eyes shine. "I thought I lost you," he said. "I thought you were gone for good."

There was pain in Adrian's voice. The kind that makes you want to do something to make the pain go away. I didn't know what to do. My head hurts. The memory of bright glass, tires screaming, and someone yelling my name came and went like someone turning a small light on and off.

A doctor said, "You were in a car," when he came back with more people. "You were hurt badly. But you made it through. You are lucky.

Good luck. The word didn't feel right. At the same time, I'm lucky and empty. I looked back at Adrian. I needed something real that I could hold on to.

"Where am I going next?" I asked.

He put his hand over mine again, this time with more force, as if he wanted to keep me from drifting away. He said, "Home." "Come on, let's go home."

His voice had a soft quality that made me believe him. There was also something else: a flash behind his eyes that felt like a knife. I couldn't tell what it cut.

The doctor talked about tests, getting better, and how stress can be bad for you. The nurse wrote things down. I heard the words, but I only felt them as shapes. Adrian stayed close by. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw sharp pieces that didn't fit together. Rain on the street. My hand in someone else's. My breath was ripped from me. A flash of light. A car that looks like a toy that's been bent.

When they moved me out of bed, I let him help me stand. My legs felt weak and shaky. He put his arm around my waist to help me stay steady. His touch made something hurt and feel safe at the same time, and I hated that they could be the same.

We drove away from the hospital in a black car that was quiet. The bright lines made the city look like it was moving. Adrian's reflection in the car window showed a man who wasn't moving and was looking at a woman whose life had been put back together wrong. He wasn't just watching me; he was watching something I couldn't see: a past that we both shared.

When the building of his house came up in the window, I felt a little scared. It seemed like a place that was meant to keep things, not let them go. Big glass and walls, with lights that didn't show any cracks. Inside, everything was alive in a way that I had forgotten.

He opened the door for me without any fuss, like he had done it a thousand times before. A quiet woman with a soft smile took my bag. A picture on the wall showed Adrian and me at a party at night, with our arms around each other. I looked strange in that picture. My face was lit up with happiness that I couldn't feel.

Adrian put his hand on my back and led me deeper into the house. There were little things in the rooms that reminded me of a life I had never had: a half-empty glass of wine, a scarf folded on a chair, and a book with a corner bent from being opened. There was a smell of citrus, smoke, and flowers in the house. My throat got tight. I reached for my ring finger without thinking, and my hand brushed against metal. A ring hugged my finger.

He had said a husband. The house said the same thing. Everything inside me screamed, "lost."

They put me to bed that night in a bed that wasn't mine and left the curtains open to the city. I looked up at the ceiling and thought about glass and brakes and someone yelling my name. I tried to remember what my face looked like before. I tried to name things that I should have known. Names slipped off my tongue like leaves.

Adrian was sitting in a chair next to the bed. He looked at me as I breathed. He put a small bottle of water on the nightstand at one point. His hand brushed mine, and the room shook with something both dangerous and soft.

"Will I remember?" I asked into the dark, and the question itself sounded like a challenge.

He didn't answer right away. The city buzzed below us. At that moment, he looked older than the pictures on the wall.

"You will," he finally said. "Or I'll make you remember." His voice was calm. It had both a promise and a warning that I couldn't read.

I shut my eyes and tried to get some sleep. The lights in Paris kept moving like a river of gold outside. My life was waiting inside, between his hands and the city, like a story with pages ripped out.

There was a sound in the hall: soft steps. For a moment, the door opened, and a shadow stood there. I turned to look, but all I could see was the dark shape of the door.

I felt a hand on my wrist before I could yell. It wasn't Adrian's.

It was chilly. It happened quickly. Someone whispered my name very close to my ear, but I couldn't place the voice.

"Lana," the whisper said, and the sound was both good and bad.

I opened my eyes wide.

The whisper came from the door, and when the light hit the face standing there, I knew with the horrible, sudden certainty that only memory can bring that the night had not ended the way I had been told.

Lana's Point of View

When I woke up, the first thing I saw was white.

It's not the soft kind of white. It is bright and sharp and all over the place. White all around me. All around me is white. White pressing in from all sides until it feels like it might get inside my head. I blinked hard, hoping the colour would go away, but it didn't. It just keeps spreading, like fog that won't go away.

A noise cuts through it.

Beep.

Then another.

Slow. Steady. Wait.

I listened for a moment to figure out what the sound was. It feels like my head is too big for the rest of my body. There is a dull, heavy weight behind my eyes that makes it hard to think clearly. I tried to move my hand a little bit to show myself that I can.

My fingers barely moved.

Something is pulling on my skin, making it feel tight and uncomfortable. I turned my head and looked down at my arm. A clear tube goes into my hand and is taped there. The skin there looks thin and pale. My hand looked tiny. Not big enough. As if it belongs to someone else.

I swallowed, and the pain in my throat hurts and burns.

"Hey?" When I tried to talk, my voice sounded thin and weak, like paper rubbing against paper.

A face leans into my line of sight from above. A woman in blue clothes. Not a single strand of her hair is loose; it's all pulled back tightly. She was watching me closely with calm eyes, as if she didn't want to scare me.

"Hi," she says in a soft voice. "You're awake."

Her mouth moves slowly, and each word is soft and spaced out, as if she is carefully picking them.

"Where am I?" I tried to ask, but the sentence falls apart before it gets to the end.

She said, "You're in the hospital." "You were in an accident."

The word "accident" hits me hard in the chest, like a stone falling into still water. It makes my heart race.

"Car?" I ask. The picture comes back in parts. A lot of light. The sound is loud. Falling.

She gives a nod. "Yes." A car hit you.

My breath speeds up without me asking it to. Too quickly. Not deep enough. My chest goes up and down like it's trying to get out of my body. My hands curled under the blanket and held on to the fabric tightly.

"Hey," the woman says quickly. She raises her hand but stops short of touching me, leaving space between us. "It's fine. "You're safe."

Safe.

When she said it, it sounded nice. Smooth. Warm.

It doesn't seem real.

My eyes move slowly and uncertainly around the room. White walls. The ceiling is white. The white sheets were pulled tightly around me. There are machines close by that are quiet but watching, and there are wires going from them to my body. It smells like everything has been cleaned too many times.

"Is there anyone here for you?" the woman asks in a soft voice. "Family?" "Are you a friend?"

I opened my mouth to speak.

Nothing happens.

I try to think of something to say, like a name or a face, but I can't find anything. It feels like being in a room with no chairs, where you can't sit or rest. I looked harder, and my head started to hurt from the effort.

"I... I don't know," I say softly.

Her eyes changed a little bit. They got softer. A quick but real shadow of sadness passes through them.

"That's fine," she said. "We can go slowly. You don't have to remember anything right now.

She stepped back and gave me room, and all of a sudden, the room seemed bigger. Too big. The quiet is getting thin.

I looked to the side because I needed something else to look at. There is a window there. Outside, the night is dark and heavy against the glass. Rain falls in thin lines, racing to the bottom.

There is a chair next to the bed.

There is someone in it.

A guy.

He is asleep and bent over, with his elbows on his knees. His knuckles are white because his hands are so tightly locked together. It looks like he is holding himself together. With each breath, his shoulders slowly go up and down.

Something is pulling in my chest.

I know him.

No.

No, I don't.

My body reacts before my mind can catch up. My breath stops suddenly and sharply. A warm feeling spreads through my chest, low and soft. My fingers curled again, but this time it's not because I'm scared; it's for some other reason I don't know.

My brain senses danger.

My body longs for home.

I can't stop looking at him.

The woman looked at where I was looking. "That's Adrian," she says in a low voice. "He came with you." He's been here all night.

Adrian.

The name rings in my head once, then again, like it is looking for a place to land. It doesn't stay. It goes away, leaving only an empty feeling.

I slowly shake my head. "I don't.." The sentence stops, not finished.

At that point, the man moves.

He lifts his head and blinks, as if he knows I'm watching him. His face looks tired and worn out. There are dark lines under his eyes. His hair is messy and falling in front of his face. He looks like he hasn't slept in a long time.

He stops moving when he sees me awake.

Then he gets up too quickly. The chair makes a loud noise as it scrapes against the floor, which is very quiet.

"You're awake," he says.

His voice gets under my skin in a way that is warm and familiar, but doesn't make sense.

I flinch before I can stop myself.

He sees it. He stops right away, as if he has run into an invisible wall.

"I'm sorry," he says quickly. "I didn't mean to frighten you."

He stays where he is, neither moving closer nor farther away. His hands are shaking a little and hanging at his sides, as if they don't know what to do.

I pull the blanket up higher to cover more of myself. I hold the edge tightly with my fingers.

"Do you know me?" I ask.

The room is quiet.

The steady beeping gets louder in my ears, or maybe my ears are just louder now. My heart is racing and beating hard.

He swallows. His jaw gets tight. He nods once.

"Yes," he says. "I do."

I shake my head slowly and firmly. "I don't."

The words are sharp and heavy between us.

Something shines in his eyes. Pain. Surprise. He turns his head away for a second, then makes himself look back at me.

He says, "That's fine." The same words again. Just like everyone else. "You don't have to right now."

Right now.

That means later.

Fear creeps up my back, cold and slow.

"What happened?" I ask. "Why were you there?"

He opens his mouth and then closes it. He takes a breath and picks his words carefully, like someone walking on thin glass.

"You ran," he says in a quiet voice. "Into the road."

I frown. "Why?"

His shoulders drop, as if the question is weighing him down. "You were scared."

The answer makes my stomach turn.

What are you scared of?

Are you afraid of him?

My heart starts to race again, quickly and unevenly.

"I want to be alone," I say, and the words come out sharper than I thought they would.

The woman moves closer right away. She tells him gently but firmly, "She needs rest."

Adrian shakes his head too quickly. "Of course."

He steps back once, then again. He keeps looking at me the whole time.

He stops before he gets to the door. His fingers are spread out on the frame.

He says, "I'll be right outside." "If you need anything. Anything at all.

I don't answer.

The door closes with a soft sound.

The sound seems final.

I can't explain why my chest hurts. I put my face on the pillow. It smells like nothing I've ever smelled before-clean and sharp. Tears come without asking, hot and quiet, soaking into the cloth.

I cry for the road.

For the light.

For the name that sounds like mine but won't stay.

I hear a low, broken sound outside the door.

A man's voice.

Breaking.

Lana's Point of View

Morning comes without warning.

The light that comes through the thin space between the curtains is pale and unusual, as if it doesn't want to wake me up. This time, I wake up slowly, floating up instead of crashing awake, and for a moment, I forget where I am. Then I smell antiseptic, which is sharp and clean, and the steady sound of machines brings me completely into the present. The white room again.

My head still hurts, but not as much as it did before. The pain is deep now, a dull ache that gets worse when I move too quickly or think too hard. I lift my hand and look at it. The tube is still taped in place, and the skin around it is a little bruised. At least it feels like my hand today.

A nurse comes in not long after I wake up. She moves quietly as she checks the machines and asks me simple questions. My name. The date. Where I am. I answer what I can and shake my head at what I can't. She doesn't push. She just nods and writes things down on her clipboard, looking calm and practiced. Before she leaves, she says, "You're doing well." Your memory may come back in bits and pieces. That's normal. "Don't be in a hurry to make it happen."

Parts.

The word stays with me even after she's gone.

I look at the chair by the window. Now it's empty. Without the man, the area where he sat last night seems bigger, like an object that has been taken away but still leaves its outline behind. I should be happy. Instead, I feel a quiet pull in my chest that I don't know what to do with.

A little while later, the door opens slowly and carefully.

Adrian goes inside.

He stops just past the door, as if he doesn't know if he's welcome. He looks different during the day. Not as much like a shadow. More real. His face is clean now, but he still looks tired, with heavy eyes and shoulders.

He says, Good morning.

I remember his voice being softer.

I nod. "Good morning."

There is silence between us that isn't awkward, but it is careful. He looks at the chair and then back at me.

Can I sit? He asks.

I'm surprised by the question. I nod again, and he moves slowly, bringing the chair closer but not too close. He sits with his hands on his knees, fingers loosely linked, and not clenched.

He asks, How do you feel?

I honestly answered, tired and lost.

He gives a little nod, as if he knew that would happen. "That makes sense."

I look at his face as he talks. Something about him makes my stomach feel tight because it seems familiar. Not remembering, but recognising. My body reacts before my mind can catch up.

They said my memory might come back in pieces, I say.

Yes, he says. "The doctor told me the same thing."

The words come out before I can stop them. "Why are you still here?"

This time, he doesn't flinch. He takes a deep breath and answers carefully. Because I care about you.

His voice is so honest that it makes me feel worse than any lie would have. I turn my head away and look at the window. The sky is clear and pale now that the rain has stopped.

I don't remember you, I say softly. He says, "I know." "And I'm not going to act like that doesn't hurt. But I also know that it's not your fault.

I turned back to him. Then why does it seem like it is? He did not answer right away. He looks at his hands again after studying them. "Because you're trying to figure out something that doesn't make sense yet."

I don't like that it feels true.

What were we before the accident? I ask, choosing my words carefully.

His jaw gets tight. He breathes out slowly. "We were married."

The room suddenly seems smaller.

Married.

The word hits my chest and spreads, heavy and impossible. I look in my mind for any reaction, picture, or feeling that fits what he said. There is nothing. Just the same empty space and the same locked door.

I say, "That's not possible," but my voice doesn't sound sure.

I know it feels that way, he says. "But it's true."

I laugh once, and it's short and empty. "I can't even read my own writing. I don't remember how I could be married to someone.

He was calm. You were married to someone you could trust.

The statement makes me feel uneasy. Right now, the word "trust" seems dangerous.

Why did I run?" I ask. "You said I ran into the street. Why would I do that?

His eyes get a little darker, and I can tell he's not sure. "You were angry. We had a fight.

About what? The question is heavy on my tongue, but fear keeps it from coming out. I don't know if I want the answer.

He asks quietly, "Do you want me to go?"

I think about the question. The smart answer is yes. Distance makes me feel safer. Less complicated. But the thought of him leaving again makes me feel something inside me hurt.

No, I finally say. "Don't push."

I won't, he says.

We sit in silence for a few moments, and the machines' hum fills the space between us. Then, out of nowhere, something flashes in my mind.

A set of stairs.

Wood that is dark under my feet. My hand is holding onto a railing. A voice that was raised and sharp with anger. Not his voice. Mine. I gasp softly.

Adrian says "Lana" right away, leaning forward. "What is it?"

I don't know, I say softly. "I saw something. Steps. And I was mad.

He nods, but his face gets tight. "It's fine." You don't have to explain it.

But it seemed real, I say. "Like it already happened."

It did, he says softly. "But you don't have to go there right now."

The kindness in his restraint hurts my chest more than pressure ever could.

A doctor comes in later, and then a woman with kind eyes and a notebook comes in. They ask more questions and talk about time, rest, and observation. Adrian steps back to give them room, but he stays in the room.

The light in the afternoon has changed and is now warmer when they leave.

I admit I'm scared.

He nods his head. "I know."

Of you, I add, hating myself for it.

He took in the words without saying anything. "I know that too."

I really look at him and wonder how someone can be so close and so far away at the same time.

I don't know who I am, I say.

He says, "You're still you." "Even if you can't see it yet."

I can't sleep that night because I'm staring at the ceiling. The pieces come back in little flashes. A bright kitchen. A laugh that sounds like me. A hand in mine that feels strong and steady.

I don't know if those memories are mine or the woman's from before.

But they don't seem like lies.

That thought is both scary and hopeful.