Hold On (Ianthony)

Part 2

Pre-Note: I had a half day today yey but omg guys this week has honestly been the worst ever I'm fighting with almost all my friends and drivers training sucks and I've had so much homework and blah but yeah since I had a half day I had a little time to write something ya :D

"I'm sorry, but who are you?"

For a second, the world seemed to stop. Freeze around me. I didn't realize what was happening, what my life was about to become. 

I just stared down at my best friend, who didn't even recognize me, furrowing my eyebrows and taking in all his features: his weary eyes, and rosy cheeks, and scruff on his chin. But it wasn't Ian. Well, it was his body, but it wasn't really him. 

For a moment, I thought he was fooling me. Because that seems like something he would do. But at the same time, it didn't. God, was he being serious?

"Ian, it's me," I said, clearing my throat.

He just stared at me blankly, slowly turning around to look behind him, as if there would be someone else there, someone he thought I was speaking to. But, when he found nothing but the cream-painted walls, he turned back to me, his mouth slightly parted, his face slightly contorted in a mix of fear, confusion, and helplessness. 

"I'm sorry," he said, shaking his head a little. "But I don't know who you are."

And then I knew he was being serious. This was really happening.

"Oh God," I breathed to myself, looking down at the blue bedsheets, shaking my head a little.

I got up slowly, feeling my heart pick up the pace, slowly exiting the room and scanning up and down the hallway, looking for a nurse, a doctor, anything.

An older-looking lady with sandy blonde hair caught my eye and I walked over to her, beginning to breathe heavily.

"I need a doctor," I blurted out, my hands shaking. "Right now."

I stood next to Ian's hospital bed, doing basically everything I could to keep my hands from trembling. So far, I had stuffed them in my pockets, clenched them into fists, laced my fingers together, and drummed them repeadetly on my jeans, but nothing worked. 

Everything was quiet. Far too quiet. Ian just laid in the bed, obviously terrified and hopelessly confused. His eyes kept darting from the doctor to me to the black TV screen in front of him, where I'm pretty sure he could see his reflection. 

The doctor, a fairly young guy with shiny black hair and small square glasses, stood on the other side of the bed. He was looking at this clipboard where he must have flipped through like, twenty different pages of what I was assuming were Ian's medical records. He had this certain routine where he would scratch his head, and then exactly eleven seconds later, he would fix his glasses, and then while lowering his hand, he would chew on his thumbnail a little.

I counted that routine seven times before he finally set the clipboard down on the counter behind him, avoiding eye contact with me.

"So?" I asked nervously, impatiently.

The doctor completely ignored me, instead just looked at Ian, and Ian timidly looked back, his face showing that he had no idea in the slightest what was happening, and I really wondered what it felt like. To just wake up and have no idea who you are and where you are.

"So, can you tell me what your name is?" the doctor asked him, fixing his stereotypical long white doctor coat.

"Uh," Ian quietly said, glancing over at me. "Well, he called me Ian, I think... so, Ian?" 

The doctor nodded a little. "Do you remember your last name?"

"Uh." He shook his head, then winced a little, and I realized then how bad his head must have been hurting. "No."

I looked away, towards the back wall, where a picture of downtown Sacramento hung. I stared at it, focused on the colors of the lights illuminating from the buildings. It was an attempt to keep my eyes busy, so I didn't cry.

"And you have no idea where you live, or where you work, or anything previous to when you just woke up?"

I didn't look back at Ian, because I knew if I did, and saw his helpless face that didn't even really look like him, I would really lose it.

"No," I heard him respond. "I don't remember... anything."

And after a moment of silence, I took a deep breath and looked back, and Ian looked up at me, and his expression read something along the lines of "I'm sorry." And that really hurt, really hurt. Because I could just imagine him saying it. "I don't know who you are, but I'm sorry."

And then the doctor asked to talk to me out in the hallway.

So I followed him out there, gently closing the door behind us.

"We... we had a feeling this would happen," he said almost immediately, sighing. "He really hit his head hard. Amnesia isn't uncommon for people in his condition."

I just stared at him, nodding slightly.

"However, there is still hope. Sometimes, if you take the patient home, and get back into the normal routine, pretend like nothing even happened, one day, he might wake up with his memory completely restored. Or, maybe, it will never come bak. Only time will tell."

I just nodded again, only half-listening.

"I'm sorry, sir. I wish you the best of luck."

A/N: This is completely off topic but can I just say the new panic at the disco and day to remember albums are perfect like I have an addiction guys. But yeah how is this? I know it's still kinda like depressing but I promise it'll get better :D and p.s. I made a new instagram so follow me @swaggingrace and while you're at it follow my twitter @gracetheninja ye thanks yall ily