Writing Prompt #13

As the number suggests, my poor character did not have the best of luck during this writing prompt. Actually, I wonder if Josie to put this as the 13th prompt on purpose. Well, anyway, it is quite apt, and without further ado...

Write a scene where you're explaining to a character that they have amnesia.
She was sitting up in her bed when I came into the hospital room. Soon enough the room would be flooded with flowers and get well cards, but it was much too early for that. It had only been an hour since I wrote the fateful words to break my poor character's arm.
"Oh Libby! I'm so glad you're-" I stopped short. The look of alarm and confusion on her face disturbed me. "Are you okay?"
There was a tentative tap on my shoulder and I turned to see the doctor's apologetic face. She beckoned, and I followed her into the hallway.
"Abby-"
"What's the matter?" I whispered, fear creeping into my voice.
"The crash was a little bigger than you expected, I'm afraid. She has received a concussion and is experiencing slight loss of memory. If you could go in and explain who she is..."
I slid down the wall and landed heavily on the floor. How could I have put her through this?
"Is it permanent?"
"Oh dear no! No, nothing like that. She should be better within a month."
"Oh." I tried to be happy for my character. I mean, she'd survived the car crash that I'd put her through, with more injuries than even I had bargained for. Even so, her story would suffer the consequences. It would put a damper of my writing if she couldn't even remember her own name, much less live her ordinary life.
"Would you like to see her?"
I sighed and nodded.

Libby put her book down when I reentered.
"Why did you call me Libby?" she paused. "And why can't I remember my real name?"
"Libby is your real name. Liberty Victoria Alvon." I flinched. Why had I forced such a horrible name on her? "There was an accident and...about you not remembering your name...you're experiencing temporary amnesia and..."
Could I have seen her perk up at those last words? I tried to continue, but she interrupted.
"Seriously?!" she shrieked. "That is SO COOL. Why didn't I think of that?" She fumbled around on the bedside table and emerged again brandishing a pen. "Give...her...amnesia," she mumbled as she wrote on her arm. When she finished she blinked. "Give who amnesia?"
I smiled. I guess there was always a bit of writer in her.
"You'll figure it out. First think why she gets amnesia and write on from-"
Write.
It felt as though four different gears clicked together in my brain, allowing this brilliant, obvious idea to escape. I raced out of the hospital, down the street, and up the long flight of stairs that opened up into our spacious library. A few girls looked up, but returned to their notebooks. I jumped onto the computer and within fifteen minutes was back in the hospital with a stack of 20 papers under my arm.
Now all I had to do was convince my charrie to read them.
"Before you lost your memory you and your friends were writing a book."
I handed her the stack. Hopefully she wouldn't ask any questions. My statement was technically true. In fact, it was absolutely true. The one itsy-bitsy controversial part was implication that the story she held was written by her.
Libby's eyes danced across the pages and her ever present smile tugged at her lips.
I slipped from the room into unexpected chaos.
"Abby!" The poor doctor looked frazzled. "This boy insists on seeing my patient."
Owen gave me a plaintive look.
"She really isn't well..." He did a legitimate face palm and my heart melted. "Oh no! It wasn't your fault. I-" I just got carried away when I broke her arm so you could meet her. Nothing personal. "The doctor says she has some sort of concussion that'll keep her in here for a month, but I'm sure you'll be able to visit her soon enough. And you know what would cheer her up?"

Rain tapped and pattered on the roof and the crackling fire added to the wintry atmosphere. Someone came up behind my armchair. I could tell that she was reading over my shoulder but I didn't care. We're all friends here.
"Oh my gosh, I love Owen," she sighed. "I wouldn't mind getting hit by a car if I could get my hands on those Eoin Colfer book signing tickets!"
I smiled again. Neither would Libby.
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Hope you enjoyed another cryptic story!