01-19-2021, 10:20 PM
It was somewhere between urban-residential and rural. Off to itself, down a little country lane.
No prying eyes of nosy neighbors. How perfect. Where better to keep such a dangerous secret?
They coast up the long driveway and Kenny stops just short of the front walk.
"Wait just a sec." he requests.
Hopping out and running behind, he grabs Delia's things from the trunk and hurries to open her
door. Careful to take hold of her arm, he walks her to the front door. He unlocks it and pushes it
open. She stands looking a bit unsure of things.
"Home Sweet Home." he said, smiling at her.
She cracks a tiny grin, then walks inside. They get to the end of the front hall and he sets her bag down
on the couch. The living room was of medium size and sparsely decorated. Maybe this Julie had some
sense after all.
He walks over and guides her to the couch.
"Any of this coming back to you?" he asked.
Delia gazes around the room. It was nice, very pretty. But nothing. No memories. No fondness.
"No. Everything's still just..."
"That's OK. It'll take time. The important thing is you're here now!" he said leaning down to hug her.
He picks up the pharmacy bag and joins Delia on the sofa. He removes three bottles and holds them in his hand.
"These are for pain. Up to two every six hours, OK?" he said, placing the first bottle onto the dark wooden
coffee table.
Delia stares at the other two still in his hand. He looks at her with saddened eyes.
"And those?" she asked.
He put them down on the table as well, but set apart from the first bottle.
"How much do you remember from before the accident?" he asked.
Her gaze went from him to the table and then towards the kitchen. Once again, at a loss. She closed her
eyes and tried to find something. Anything. That's when technology kicked in.
"There was a sunroom. I was painting, my clothes were speckled with every color. An old white t-shirt."
Kenny smiled as her eyes opened.
"That was our old house. But it's good you remember that. You loved that room."
She felt a twinge of relief. Finally, something actually real. As perversely false as it was.
Her eyes back on those two bottles. She noticed his expression changed to one of a more sheepish nature.
"So?" she said, looking over at him.
He scooted a tiny bit closer and took her right hand between his.
"These are for your condition."
Delia's heart sank. What on Earth could this mean? Worry instantly set in, she inadvertently squeezed
his hand tightly and sighed.
"What's wrong with me?"
"A year after we were married, you were diagnosed with dissociative identity disorder." he said softly.
She stared at him blankly, having no idea what it meant.
"That triggered a deep and lasting depression. Your doctors put you on medication after a couple weeks
of therapy. It stopped the suicide attempts." he said now dripping crocodile tears.
"So, I'm crazy?" she asked, her breathing becoming deeper.
"NO! You are not crazy!" he hammered back as she shot up from the couch, walking across the room.
Delia was now crying into her hands. Kenny ran towards her, wrapping her with both arms.
"It didn't matter then and it doesn't matter now! I still love you!" he said, almost sobbing.
She returned the embrace and shed many tears onto his shoulder. They stood together for several seconds
while their emotions ran free. She pulled away, looking into his eyes.
"We won't let this thing beat us." he said, pulling her close once again.
Standing there in each other's arms, he rubbed her back in small circles. She was losing her mind much the
same way. This just kept getting worse. And this was only day one.
That silver lining turned black awfully quick.
No prying eyes of nosy neighbors. How perfect. Where better to keep such a dangerous secret?
They coast up the long driveway and Kenny stops just short of the front walk.
"Wait just a sec." he requests.
Hopping out and running behind, he grabs Delia's things from the trunk and hurries to open her
door. Careful to take hold of her arm, he walks her to the front door. He unlocks it and pushes it
open. She stands looking a bit unsure of things.
"Home Sweet Home." he said, smiling at her.
She cracks a tiny grin, then walks inside. They get to the end of the front hall and he sets her bag down
on the couch. The living room was of medium size and sparsely decorated. Maybe this Julie had some
sense after all.
He walks over and guides her to the couch.
"Any of this coming back to you?" he asked.
Delia gazes around the room. It was nice, very pretty. But nothing. No memories. No fondness.
"No. Everything's still just..."
"That's OK. It'll take time. The important thing is you're here now!" he said leaning down to hug her.
He picks up the pharmacy bag and joins Delia on the sofa. He removes three bottles and holds them in his hand.
"These are for pain. Up to two every six hours, OK?" he said, placing the first bottle onto the dark wooden
coffee table.
Delia stares at the other two still in his hand. He looks at her with saddened eyes.
"And those?" she asked.
He put them down on the table as well, but set apart from the first bottle.
"How much do you remember from before the accident?" he asked.
Her gaze went from him to the table and then towards the kitchen. Once again, at a loss. She closed her
eyes and tried to find something. Anything. That's when technology kicked in.
"There was a sunroom. I was painting, my clothes were speckled with every color. An old white t-shirt."
Kenny smiled as her eyes opened.
"That was our old house. But it's good you remember that. You loved that room."
She felt a twinge of relief. Finally, something actually real. As perversely false as it was.
Her eyes back on those two bottles. She noticed his expression changed to one of a more sheepish nature.
"So?" she said, looking over at him.
He scooted a tiny bit closer and took her right hand between his.
"These are for your condition."
Delia's heart sank. What on Earth could this mean? Worry instantly set in, she inadvertently squeezed
his hand tightly and sighed.
"What's wrong with me?"
"A year after we were married, you were diagnosed with dissociative identity disorder." he said softly.
She stared at him blankly, having no idea what it meant.
"That triggered a deep and lasting depression. Your doctors put you on medication after a couple weeks
of therapy. It stopped the suicide attempts." he said now dripping crocodile tears.
"So, I'm crazy?" she asked, her breathing becoming deeper.
"NO! You are not crazy!" he hammered back as she shot up from the couch, walking across the room.
Delia was now crying into her hands. Kenny ran towards her, wrapping her with both arms.
"It didn't matter then and it doesn't matter now! I still love you!" he said, almost sobbing.
She returned the embrace and shed many tears onto his shoulder. They stood together for several seconds
while their emotions ran free. She pulled away, looking into his eyes.
"We won't let this thing beat us." he said, pulling her close once again.
Standing there in each other's arms, he rubbed her back in small circles. She was losing her mind much the
same way. This just kept getting worse. And this was only day one.
That silver lining turned black awfully quick.
