[Edited July 15]
I woke up to the sound of more beeping and that asshole doctor glaring at me.
He frowned while scribbling something on a clipboard that I knew was probably chicken scratch and illegible. "You need to stop feeling so agitated."
"I'm not agitated." I snapped.
The doctor was murmuring to himself, "I will fucking sedate you."
I twisted my lips at that, not bothering to reply.
He checked my charts again, speaking quickly, "You just had an anxiety attack. You need to calm down. "
"I don't-" I said, "have anxiety."
He rolled his eyes. "Well, maybe you do now. What's your name?"
I screwed my eyes in concentration, "...Darren."
He pulled up a chair, elegantly crossing one ankle over the other and pulling off his glasses. The lines around his face lessened and he looked almost sad for me. His fucking bedside manner was good, I'll give him that.
"We'll be doing some more tests to confirm but chances are you have some form of retrograde amnesia, Derrick."
That name felt more right somehow. Wait, what had he said?
"Do you remember anything before the accident?" He continued speaking but it took me a moment to process it all.
I looked around the room, looking for something to jog my memory, just seeing empty walls and the doctor's face staring back at me. Maybe my magic could help me, but when I tried to reach for it I just got a splitting pain at the back of my head.
The doctor frowned. "Your magic can't help you with this, Derrick." He started scribbling more things down while talking. "Physically speaking you'll be fine. But, if your amnesia persists we'll try cognitive therapy, and maybe hypnosis. Alex will give you the diet you're supposed to adhere to. It might pass." he paused, "But if it doesn't..." he looked away from me, "I guess we'll address that problem then. Your...Friend has my contact information. He said you'd be staying with him for the next few days."
I zoned back in, taking in his last few sentences. "No fucking way."
The doctor settled the glasses back on his face. "It's either staying at the hospital for the foreseeable future or staying with your friend."
I swore. "I don't even know that guy."
"You're only projecting your frustrations and anxieties onto us and your friend because you're scared about the fact everything is different now. It'll be okay, eventually. Whether or not you recover your memory, just go about your day to day life."
I wrung my hands in frustration, feeling like the doctor and I were speaking different languages. "What even is my day to day life?"
#
I frowned. "I'm not going in that."
Mike frowned even more. "Yes, you are."
I looked at the offending wheelchair, sturdy and dark, with wheels. It looked like it had seen some use but the implication that I wasn't capable of using my own two feet was what made it so repulsive to me in the moment.
"I have legs, man. I don't need that." The cast on my arm and leg were enough. I could hobble with my crutch just fine. The practice I'd been doing in my room had to be worth something.
"Derrick..." Mike trailed off, looking tired suddenly, golden lashes lowered. It occurred to me that this was the first time he seemed annoyed with me.
I almost felt bad as I dropped myself into the chair. "Onward." I said dryly, raising my not broken arm. Alright, so maybe he won this battle, but, I wasn't about to just do whatever he wanted when he felt like it.
Mike began wheeling me out of the room and then progressively out of the hospital. I saw actual sick people on the way out; emaciated bodies and bald heads, stumps and oxygen masks. I felt foolish suddenly, wondering about a lot of things.
Fresh, cool air struck my face when we got outside. The discharge exit to the hospital was surprisingly empty. There was a car waiting and my heart started racing in my chest.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Mike stopped pushing the wheel chair and came around to help me out. I looked at him and he hesitated, noticing the fear on my face.
"I can't-" I whispered, the rest of the words getting lost in my throat. My head began aching as my heart did zig zags in my chest reminding me that I got hit by a fucking car. I looked at the grey eyes looking back at mine. "I don't- I don't even remember. But, part of me clearly does." I laughed weakly. "Fucking hell."
Mike knelt in front of me, touching my knees with his hands. I looked at them, veiny and large and lumberjack-reminiscent. He squeezed my knee. "It'll be fine. You'll be okay." The way he said it, all sweet and comforting just made it worse.
I looked at this guy I didn't know, not understanding why I felt comforted by a stranger.
Mike helped me into the car, saying an address I didn't know to the driver. My seatbelt felt too tight and my rib cage felt like it was constricting my chest. It wasn't being in the car, but the fact I was surrounded by other ones, all around me; box cars of death. I closed my eyes, breathing harshly. My arm was hanging limply by my side before I felt strong fingers interlace with mine. I thought of letting go but it felt too good. Too nice.
I looked away from Mike as we held hands, pretending that if I wasn't looking it wasn't happening. Mike was running the pad of his thumb over mine and it suddenly felt entirely too intimate. I looked to him and it seemed like he hadn't even noticed he was doing it. He was swiping distractedly on his cell phone, squinting at something.
My heart was still beating too fast but maybe for an entirely different reason.
We rolled up to a questionable looking apartment complex. There was graffiti on the walls and the roads were narrow and poorly maintained.
"Don't tell me you live here?" He seemed to be above living in a shit stain like this.
Mike laughed deeply, inadvertently squeezing my hand. "You live here! I keep telling you to move, too. " But then he sighed dramatically. "Cheap rent isn't everything, Dee. You should buy a home, lay down some roots." He gave me a long look then.
I let go of his hand, ignoring the way his lips curved downwards at the loss of contact. I struggled out of the car, hobbling briskly towards the entrance of the dilapidated building.
The elevator was rickety as fuck and tiny. I wouldn't know how anyone could move furniture in this thing.
The medical staff had removed my leg cast before I left the hospital but it still felt odd when I stepped with it. There were stitches halfway down that leg. The doctor said something about having to replace some of my bones with a titanium rod.
Mike went in front of me to open the door to the apartment -302. The beats passed as he unlocked the door and gestured for me to go in.
It was...depressing.
I walked around, touching things I didn't recognize and sitting at the dining table. The first thing I realized was that the place was tiny. Just a small living room with a tiny tv, an old desktop and a narrow hallway.
I looked at Mike, but he didn't seem as disturbed as me. "You didn't tell me I was poor. That I am poor...Next thing you know I'll step on some dusty food stamps, fuck."
I looked through the cabinets, finding dated looking plates, cutlery and complete sets of dining ware that didn't match at all. I kept walking through the apartment, touching books I didn't remember reading. I picked up the remote- it was cracked on one side held together with tape.
Mike watched me silently as I walked around, staying a few paces behind me.
"Do you want to see your bedroom?" Mike's voice felt loud in the silence.
He started walking down a narrow hallway, opening a door.
My supposed bedroom was sparse, a double bed, desk and a dresser. The walls were empty and nothing screamed any kind of personality to me. It seemed like I had none.
I turned to Mike. "So this is who I am? Some unseasoned guy who lives alone in a shitty apartment?"
Mike swept a hand through his hair, looking for a way to respond. He left the room and opened the door to another room.
I walked inside expecting the worst. Except—
"Holy shit!" I said, walking around the room. There was a massive window on the side with an incredible amount of natural light shining through. There were a series of tables on the side and at least three easels. And the wall...I touched the mural full of long expressive strokes, abstract, but stunning; a series of red, greens, yellows and happy.
Whoever painted this was happy.
But it wasn't done, the centre was decidedly empty and I thought a flower would fit well there. Maybe a rose.
The entire room was an artist's wet dream. There were an incredible amount of sketches, drawings, paintings and even a small wooden sculpture on the side. The room was well ventilated and spacious. It was clearly a room for art. So different from the rest of the apartment. Vivacious. Artistic. And then deep down I knew it was mine.
I sat in a stool by a drafting table, looking at different sketches. One caught my eye, a man half nude. The drawing only showed muscles bunched across a broad back. In the next drawing there were hands that I recognized, reminding me of a lumberjack.
"Is that me?" Mike said, appearing suddenly behind my shoulder, smelling warm. Mike reached his arm over mine, sliding my fingers away from the drawings. I looked at him beside me; close. Too close.
I shifted away, forgetting I was sitting on a stool and falling onto my ass. "Ow." I groaned, pain ricocheting up and down my legs.
"Are you okay, Derrick?!" Mike crowded over me, helping me up and looking afraid. I dusted myself off with one arm, but he was still touching me. "Do you really-" he squeezed my arm. "You really don't remember anything?"
I looked at him, frowning. "No. I don't."
"Not even-" I watched as his face slowly bloomed red, and he gnawed on his lower lip. "-Not even the hospital room? Before the surgery?"
I looked at his face, turning more and more red. I touched his cheek. It was warm. "Wow, you're really burning up." He looked startled but didn't remove my hand, the blush going down into his neckline. He looked at me expectantly, like he was hoping for something. I moved my hand away and he sighed in what looked like disappointment.
"No. Was I supposed to remember something?" I said softly, considering him.
He swallowed, determination looking away from me. "No. Nothing. Nothing important"
But because of the way he chewed his lip, and his nerves and the way he was looking at me...I figured something important must have happened.
Overall thoughts?