Missing Hours

@CentaursOttawa We’re relieved to share that our captain, Ilya Rozanov, has been moved out of the ICU! Long road ahead, but he’s fighting. Our thoughts are with him and Shane #staystrongRozanov #staystrongHollander @hollyandrozy FUCK YEAH I KNEW HE’D PULL THOUGH!!! #staystrongRozanov #staystrongHollander @allexes69 thank god!!! heal up, roz #staystrongRozanov #staystrongHollander @peteyball Any word on a timeline for Hollander’s return to the ice? @sexylime saw the video of the hit — that was career-ending. glad he’s awake, but let’s be real here: this isn’t a “when” he returns, it’s an “if” @gossippageCND EXCLUSIVE: NHL star Shane Hollander seen leaving Ottawa General. The man is going through it [pic 1], [pic 2], [pic 3]

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They remove the straps, and Ilya can finally toss and turn, failing to find a painless position. He talks to the cops but can’t tell them anything useful. He simply doesn’t remember anything — though they do share the one piece of good news: they’ve caught the driver. So, apparently, he’s been hit by a car. The man he punched doesn’t return, but Yuna, who says she is family, stays, and now that he’s feeling a bit better, he reasons she wouldn’t have been allowed into the ICU if she weren’t close to him — on paper, officially. And that man — he was there too, wasn’t he? So both of them must be legally connected to him. Mustering some courage, Ilya asks about his prognosis, which prompts a long, overly complicated explanation about his concussion, seizures, prosopagnosia and a whole host of other words he doesn’t understand. The doctors assure him he’s making reasonable progress but add that they can’t risk exposing him to anything that might provoke distress — seizures are still the primary concern. With that, they leave him in limbo, Yuna’s soothing presence the only thing keeping him from desperately fighting for scraps of information — anything at all. They tell him his bruises are healing well. He notices a tattoo of a duck on his arm, but they won’t give him a mirror. There isn’t one in the bathroom, either, leaving only the warped reflection in the tap. His body tells a story he doesn’t understand, and he feels like shit. He can’t go to the bathroom alone, but at least his English is steadily improving — fragments of student textbooks, vocabulary exercises, and the memory of double-checking words in a dictionary float back to him. He remembers flashes of hockey, too — enough to confirm he’s a player. That must be how he ended up in Canada. It’s frustrating to rebuild himself from pieces — he’s left to guess at everything else, and what if he’s wrong? What if he makes up some fuck-ass version of Eeliya Rozanov, who lives in Canada, only to take it apart and start over when he learns the truth? With little to do but sleep, think, and coax clues from Yuna, the days blur together. He asks for his phone again. “I’m sorry, Mr Rozanov, but we’ve been informed your phone was broken in the accident.” No phone, no money, no memory, not even a dictionary. Nothing. “Do you know where I live?” he asks Yuna. “But of course!” “Do I have money?” “Eeliya, don’t you worry — every expense is covered, and you do have enough to live very comfortably.” “So I’m rich.” “You could say that. Don’t ask me for the exact sum — I don’t know.” Somehow, he doubts she doesn’t know, but he won’t press. Right now, he can only take things one minute at a time, one day at a time — no matter how much it hurts him. “Where’s my clothes? Cash? Keys?” “Your money and keys are with… well, they are at home, and I’ll get you new clothes because there was just too much… Eh, well, I’ll get you something clean. Your SIM-card is at home, too. I’ll bring you a new phone as soon as you’re allowed.” “I’m bored.” “I know, honey. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to wait a little bit longer.” “Tell me something.” “What would you like to hear?” He wishes he could read her mood, but her face tells him nothing. It must be torture for her to be stuck here with him while he’s being so difficult — and he’s being difficult because this feels unbearable, as if he’s dying — one damn minute at a time, one fucking day at a time. “What are you reading?” he finally asks. “Me? Well, it’s a book about hockey called…” “Good. Tell me about the book.”

* * *

“He’s restless — I can see that. No, we still can’t tell him anything — after the seizures we’re afraid of anything that might agitate him. … I think he does! If he remembers his father, he must remember you. I’m going to talk to the doctor and find out. … Gosh, I hope so. I really do. … As well as you can imagine. You should stay with us when you come. Absolutely! Shane would love to pick you up from the airport — he’s been on edge, and he needs something to do. Yes, I’ll call you. Bye-bye!”

* * *

“So you’re just sleeping all day, huh?” says a familiar voice. He’s not dreaming, is he? “Sveta?” “Hi, asshole.” “Sveta! You’re here!” He remembers her voice, the shape of her hair, her lean figure — it’s really her. “Hug me,” he demands. “Oh my god, you’re actually here.” He’s so happy to see her he could cry — and he is crying. In the corner of his eye, he sees Yuna slip out of the ward. “Ilyusha, everything will be alright. You’ll be okay,” Sveta says, her warm hands wrapping around his back — and suddenly, he doesn’t feel so alone anymore. He remembers her. He loves her. And she’s still with him, even god knows how many years are missing from his memory. “I don’t remember shit,” he says, and speaking Russian is a relief. Words flow without hesitation. “I hardly recognise anyone, and I don’t even understand what I’ve lost! Nobody tells me anything!” “Last time someone told you about your life, you had seizures. We are afraid, Ilyusha. We love you too much to hurt you,” Sveta says, and he knew that, but she says it in a way that makes him feel a little less terrible. “Now we wait. You’ll get better — you know it — and everything will be fine. We believe in you, and you need to start believing in yourself, too.” He doesn’t say that he’s afraid something important is gone forever. Sveta, Yuna, that man — they’ll tell him something eventually, but they might not know everything. He has always kept so much to himself — which of those secrets are lost for good? Even his phone is gone — he was hoping to see the photos and the messages. “Do you like the food here?” Sveta’s question pulls him out of his misery. “Uh, no.” “Do you want me to find you something better?” “Fuck yes. And just… tell me something. Anything.” Sveta pulls back and looks at him. She sighs. “Okay… There’s this weird flu in China.” “There’s always a weird flu.” “I mean, yeah, but this one feels… big. Serious. There have already been a few cases in Canada.” “It’s exactly what I need — amnesia and the weird Chinese flu. What else is happening?” She rubs his shoulder. The gesture grounds him, and he really does loves her. Has he ever loved anyone more? Should he marry her? Is she already married? Oh, what if he is? Yuna doesn’t seem like she’s into him, so he’s definitely not married to her — and there is no ring on his hand — or Sveta’s. Would it be weird to propose in a hospital? “Your teammates asked about you,” Sveta continues. “I still play hockey — I knew that.” “You, doubting yourself?” “Never. What team? Am I any good?” “Not telling. But your teammates send their love. They say they’ll try to do their best without their captain.” “I’m the captain. Good.” “Happy now?” “Happier. How do I look?” “Like shit.” “Good. I feel like shit, too.” “Very fitting.” “Lie down and hug me. Normal food later.” Maybe it’s not that bad — he still has Sveta. Yuna is definitely here to bulldoze people into giving him the best care — he’s heard her grilling the medical staff. Life might be okay again — someday.

* * *

SOURCES FEAR ROZANOV MAY BE PERMANENTLY PARALYZED

* * *

This isn’t a headache, it’s a full-blown migraine, and the sudden light feels like a nail through his skull. Ilya groans. “Hi, Eeliya, how are you doing?” asks an unfamiliar voice. Doctors usually address him by his last name. Ilya squints one eye open, taking in the intruder: a man in white. Is he really a doctor? They usually come in groups. There’s a strange, metallic glint in the man’s hand, and an awareness downs on him — it’s a phone, the camera pointed right at him. Moving is agony, but he forces his arm toward the red button before the man can stop him. “No! Shit, come on, man! Just tell me how you’re doing — everyone is worried!” The door swings open. “Who are you and what are you doing here?” a woman’s voice demands sharply. “Security!” Ilya closes his eyes. He hears someone running, the sound of a struggle, and the woman shouting at someone. Then her voice softens near his ear. “Headache,” he mumbles. “Light.” The room mercifully goes dark again, and after several minutes he’s given painkillers — he falls asleep.

* * *

“What do you mean somebody entered the ward?! Where was security? Oh, god. Oh my god. … Okay, how safe would it be to move him home? … We understand, and we’ll pay for it. … Excuse me! Eeliya’s safety is my priority, and it should be yours too. … Yes, okay, I’ll be there in an hour.” Fuck.

* * *

“Why do I not recognise faces?” demands Ilya. “It’s the nature of your injury. Your temporal lobe-” “I can speak English again, I keep remembering stuff every day, but not faces — faces are not getting better! Why?” “Head injuries need time to heal — please, try to stay calm. Stress will only slow your recovery. You need to allow more time for recuperation…” “I don’t know what it means! Give me a dictionary if you can’t give me my phone!” “Your interpreter can…” “I do it myself! A dictionary! Something! Damn!” That night, when no one is looking, he slips out of his ward and gets fucking lost in the hallways — a nurse eventually finds him curled in a visitor’s chair, panting into his hands. He can’t remember the way back. The doctors shake their heads and sedate him.

* * *

“I should have been with him. Fuck, I should have been outside his ward all this time!” Shane hasn’t been eating — he exhausted, radiating a desperate energy that leaves Yuna feeling helpless. Her suggestion to see a therapist did not go over well, to put it mildly. “No, Shane, that wouldn’t have been allowed. We’re moving him.” “But is it safe?” “We’re going to make it as safe as we can. We just need a little time — maybe a week. Let Svetlana be with him, and you and I… We should stay with David and Anya.” “If it happened to me,” murmurs Shane, “Ilya would know what to do.” She’s grasping at straws. “You can’t know that.”

* * *

Yuna explains he’s not going to his own home because it’s far from the hospital. Instead, there’s an apartment that’s only seven minutes away. He trusts her, somehow he’s always trusted this woman, and he agrees. He can do it — but he hopes the place is small because the thought of getting lost again terrifies him. “Is it mine?” “No, it’s my son’s. You’ll be able to go home soon, I promise, but for now…” she sighs. “Gosh, what a mess.” “Nothing happened.” “Nothing, he says! I’ll handle it, Eeliya. Don’t worry.” “Will I get a phone?” he has to try. “Absolutely not.” “Has Sveta come back to New York?” “No, she’s in Ottawa. She’s helping my son get the apartment ready.” The uncomfortable knot in his chest can’t be jealousy. “Is she dating him?” Yuna stares at him with a strange expression — what’s wrong? “No.” “Svetlana is too good for him. For anyone.” “I’ll have you know that my son is a perfectly good man.” “You’re such a mom.” “I’ll be reminding you of this conversation when you remember everything.”

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ILYA ROZANOV RELEASED FROM HOSPITAL

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@hollyandrozy ALL I DO IS WIN WIN WIN NO MATTER WHAT!!! MY BOY IS COMING HOME #staystrongRozanov #staystrongHollander @tetatreta PSA from hell: mom has that new flu virus — this shit is horrible, wear masks