Where was I?
Everything hurt. Everything.
I slowly lifted my hand and whimpered my frustration when it seemed to take all of my energy and concentration too.
Had it always been this hard?
I didn’t think so.
My eyes were still closed, and I didn’t want to open them. I couldn’t be sure of what I’d find. I was slowly becoming aware of all the telltale signs—the beeping machines, the antiseptic, the bed underneath me, the bandaging my stiff fingers found wrapped around my head, and the sensor clamped on my finger.
Hospital.
I was in a hospital.
And I couldn’t remember why.
I searched for my name. Another sound of distress, louder now, ripped from me when I couldn’t find it.
“Baby?” a voice croaked. It was masculine, cultured, and full of disbelief. Or was that hope? He sounded a little groggy, too, like he’d been sleeping. Had I woken him?
I know you.
But I didn’t know me.
I recognized his voice, but I couldn’t remember his name.
Or mine.
“Braxton?” This voice was different—melodious and strong. I recognized him too. He’d make a wonderful vocalist.
And now I knew my name.
Braxton.
I was Braxton.
How did I get here?
Why was I here?
I listened to the chairs scrape the floor when they hurriedly rose, and then their soft footfalls coming closer as I waited for the answer that never came. I fell asleep before they could reach me, and I welcomed the darkness.
Being awake was just too hard.
A baby was crying.
I frowned and flinched when the sound reached a high-pitch. It pierced my bruised skull and already aching brain. I couldn’t stop my groan.
“Why don’t you take Braxen out into the hall until he settles?” my mother suggested immediately after.
My heart started racing at the sound of her voice. I quickly grabbed for her name and rejoiced when it came. Amelia Fawn.
My mother’s name was Amelia, and she was here.
“Okay,” my sister said with a reluctant sigh. I heard her stand and quickly leave with her baby.
Rosalie.
My baby sister had come. She’d had her son a few months ago, and she named him after me.
I remembered.
Or at least…I was starting to.
I still didn’t know why or how long I’d been here.
My lips quivered at the possibilities. My muscles tensed, ice crept up my fingertips, goose bumps peppered my skin, and my heart pounded so hard it made my chest hurt.
I couldn’t be sure of what any of it meant, though.
Because the phantom smell of copper that always told me when I was afraid was missing. Nothing lingered in the air as my body tried to warn me of my rising panic.
Nothing at all.
So I passed out again.
“Braxton?” my mother called out to me. She was still here, and I was once again wondering how long it had been.
I didn’t answer right away.
I was too busy trying to recall basic motor functions like opening my eyes.
They’d never felt so heavy.
Eventually, I managed to force my lids to part, only to snap them shut again to shield them from the bright light.
“I’ll get the doctor,” my father announced before leaving the room.
He was here too? I thought he hated me. I didn’t know how I felt about his presence because there were no tastes or smells to tell me.
I whimpered.
I didn’t understand this new reality, but I also wasn’t sure if I wanted to go back. It was too soon to tell.
One step at a time.
I forced my eyes open again and kept them pried.
Who died?
It was my first thought when I looked around the room.
There were flowers.
Everywhere.
All different kinds.
No roses, though, thank God.
The hospital room looked like a florist shop. What the hell? My mother smiled down at me, unaware of where my attention was fixed and the confusion marring my brow.
“Welcome back, Braxton.”
“W—” I swallowed when I found speech difficult. Why was my mouth so dry? As soon as I lifted my head, the room began to spin, so I forced it back onto the pillow, closed my eyes, and waited for the dizziness to pass.
“It’s okay. Take your time,” my mother coaxed. “You’ve been out of it since yesterday morning.”
Hearing that I’d only lost a day helped a little, but it wasn’t enough. I still couldn’t remember what happened or why. All I had to go on was how much it hurt.
So much, I wondered how I was still alive.
“You were attacked,” Mom finally told me. I looked into her brown eyes and saw the tear that fell. “Someone found you and brought you here.”
Those words immediately sparked a memory.
A flash of white hair, a bat, the smiling face of a stranger, and a name I knew but couldn’t recall.
I tried to sit up.
Fuck. Too fast.
It felt like my brain was pushing against my broken skull. I cried out in pain before lying back down.
“Braxton, you have to take it easy,” my mother scolded. “You almost died.” When my eyes slowly opened once more, I took in my mother in her Sunday finest. “I almost lost you.”
It sounded like a plea to not scare her again, and I paused.
She actually cared?
It was a cruel thought, but a true one. I honestly didn’t believe she would.
“I’m…sorry.”
It was the best I could do so soon after gaining consciousness.
I also couldn’t think of a response that wouldn’t hurt her the way she’d hurt me or disappoint her, as I’d done countless times before.
Amelia and I weren’t just different.
We were opposing ends of an unbreakable spectrum.
Neither of us would budge.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she said as she rearranged the bouquet on my bedside table. It was an excuse not to meet my eyes. “But you are my daughter, Braxton.”
Just not the one you wanted.
I couldn’t even nod without hurting my head, so I gave no reaction at all.
“You were too young to remember, but these were your favorite,” she casually informed me. I watched her toy with the short, purple petals on the long stems. “We took you to so many doctors, heard so many opinions. No one could figure out what was wrong. Phantosmia was the best diagnosis they could give, but they couldn’t figure out what was causing the symptom. We tried therapy, and they swore it was just a phase you’d grow out of someday, but you never did. We spent most of your childhood afraid we’d lose you, and we wouldn’t know why.” She looked at me briefly before she started to rearrange the stems again. “We’re still afraid.”
It was on my lips to tell her that she had no reason to be, but she kept talking, and I…I wanted to listen. Call me needy or vain, but I wanted to hear more of my mother as she admitted that she cared for me and always had despite our differences.
“It wore on you too,” she told me. “You were always so frustrated, so confused. You stopped eating and couldn’t bear to smell anything, real or imagined, pleasant or bad. Sometimes you’d cry, and sometimes you’d get angry. There were even times your blood pressure would skyrocket until you passed out.” She took a deep breath before shaking her head and started rearranging those stems again. There were at least thirty more bouquets in the room, but she was focused on this one. “And then, one day, you vanished. We searched for hours, but you were simply gone. After a while, you gave us no choice but to think you ran away, harmed yourself, or worse…someone had taken you.” Bringing one of the stems up, she sniffed the petals and smiled. “It was another day before we found you.” She turned to me with an admonishing look. “You were sleeping in a field not far away as if nothing were amiss.” She looked at the bouquet again. “A field full of these.”
My eyebrows rose because I didn’t remember that.
At all.
“You looked so still after so many restless nights that for a moment, I thought…” She loudly sighed when she struggled to find the words. “I thought you were dead, Braxton.”
I winced at the weariness in her voice even now.
“We took you home,” she continued. “But the next day, it started all over again—the crying and the fits. Whenever you were overwhelmed, afraid, confused, or hurting, you ran to that field. Even during the rare times that you were happy, you still went back. You always found a reason because you were never truly at peace unless surrounded by these. Sometimes we’d find you sleeping again. Other times you’d be singing, crying, dancing, or laughing for no reason at all. Your father didn’t understand. He got so fed up that he threatened to send it up in flames. The last time he dragged you out of there, you begged and promised not to go back, but his mind was made up.” She hesitated to tell me what I already knew. “He destroyed it.”
I frowned, wishing I could manage more than that. I wanted to stand up. I wanted to scream. I wanted to rage. “If you knew,” I struggled to get out, “what it meant to me… why didn’t you…stop him?”
“It was his decision to make, Braxton, and you were so young. Anything could have happened to you.”
I didn’t react to my mother justifying her being too subservient to stop her husband from taking away my only solace because it inconvenienced him. I didn’t react because I didn’t have the energy for anger.
And because it wasn’t new information.
“You told me why…after,” she offered. I didn’t care anymore, but I didn’t have the heart to tell her, so I let her keep going. “You told me why you kept going back.”
I didn’t ask for the reason.
I didn’t say anything at all.
I quietly waited for her to tell me on her own.
“Long before this all started, you fell in love with that field. Sometimes, you’d beg us to drive by just so you could see it.” She paused. “I suppose it makes sense that it was the only thing you could tolerate during such a terrible time.”
She plucked one of the stems from the clear vase, but instead of putting it in a different spot to start her rearranging all over again, my mother came to stand by the bed with it clutched between her fingers.
“I’m guessing you don’t remember how they smell?” she asked me.
I shook my head and immediately cursed the blinding pain that followed. My head started to pound, and I wanted to cry. Noticing my agony, my mother calmly waited, flower in hand, for it to pass.
Thanks to the garden in my room, I knew that I hadn’t lost my sense of smell. Only the ability to feel my emotions through it. The scents from the different flowers blended together, however, making it impossible to separate and identify each one.
I wondered who had sent them.
I didn’t think to ask a moment later when my mother stuck a stem from this particular flower under my nose, and I drew in its scent.
Earthy.
With a strong aroma like it had been plucked fresh from the meadow I had once loved but couldn’t remember. I inhaled the breath of fresh air it inspired, but instead of drawing forth the forgotten memory of that field, I saw a face.
Regal lines, opaque eyes, perfect blond hair…and an arrogant tilt of his lips.
It faded too soon.
Before I could even remember his name.
Desperate, I used what little strength I had to snatch the stem from my mother who, honest to God, clutched the cross at her neck. I greedily inhaled the flower yet again, only this time, it summoned a different smell and another image.
Vanilla.
Rustic, mouthwatering, and warm when it wanted to be.
The face it conjured had a strong jaw, rigid mouth, brown hair, and intense green stare.
Just like before, I inhaled again.
Just like before, it gave me something different.
Berries.
Sweet, nourishing, and addicting.
I couldn’t get enough once I had a taste.
It came with sad silver eyes, shaggy black hair, and the pinkest lips pierced.
Jericho.
My heart sighed his name, and the others immediately followed.
Houston.
Loren.
How could I have forgotten them? It may have only been a day, but even a moment was too long. I’d never forgive myself. I was even more desperate to see them now that I knew.
Lilac.
Love smells like lilac.
Love is lilac.
My head may have forgotten that field, but my heart hadn’t. It had been trying to tell me all along. I’d found my haven all over again in three broken rock gods. When the world wrote off my pain, I could run to them and forget. They’d be my shelter, my peace, and my solace. I could sing, I could sleep, I could laugh, I could cry. In their arms, I could just be.
All I needed to know was why they weren’t here now.
“Mom—”
The door opened, interrupting me before I could ask her about them. I felt my belly tighten and warm. Was it them?
“Ms. Fawn, you had quite the ordeal,” the doctor greeted when he walked in with my father.
Sighing, I deflated against the mound of pillows before staring at the lilac stem in my hand.
Yeah.
No kidding.
