Forget Me Not

24

Time melded into a series of ticks of an analogue clock. The stubby hour-hand tracked its way around in never-ending circles, never fast enough to chase the slender minute-hand that raced around the centre. The second-hand puffed and panted as it ran laps around the other two, suspended between the tiny black marks and the crystal-clear glass. Hanging in the air, supported by the invisible strings of imagination, the white casing forever counted the hours down, watching as the small red "x's" were drawn through each numbered box of the calendar opposite. But as the "x's" became more numerous, the numbers began to blur, meshing into each other as they forgot their true identity. Each tick brought the minute-hand closer to the hour-hand, and each revolution brought the red pen closer to the paper of the calendar. That was until time itself gave up counting. 

I didn't know what hour it was, what day it was, or even what week it was. I had no foundation on which to ground myself, and no way to find one, either. My captors gave no information and no intel on the outside world, instead leaving me to swim through the bottomless pool of pain, exhaustion, and hunger. My only sustenance was provided through an IV line, offering enough nutrients and fluids to keep me alive, but that didn't stop my stomach from politely, persistently requesting some solid food.

The hope of seeing Obi-Wan again had spurred me on for a while, but eventually even that lay down and slumbered, probably forever. I figured either he had given up on me and found something better on which to spend his time, or the Council had shut him down and likely revoked his Council membership. Whatever had happened, he hadn't come.

I was desperate to the point of making up answers, but I knew that would only give credence to their claims that I was a liar. And, contrary to popular belief, I tried to tell the truth as much I knew how. I had learned a few things from my family, especially my mother.

My only consolation became the increasingly more frequent bouts of sweet unconsciousness, where the pain faded and the exhaustion dulled. The issue with these bouts was the nightmares, and as time continued to spin around, they became more constant and more intense.

It was out of a particularly nasty one, in which my brother had just died in my arms, that I woke up screaming for him to stay. My chest was heaving and heart pounding, and all I could do was squeeze my eyes shut and yell at the empty room over the unfairness of it all.

All I wanted to do was get away from here. I wanted to get out of this chair, get out of this room, and get off this planet. I wanted to escape from the past, I wanted to get away from the present, and I wanted to create the future. But it seemed I had no choice in the matter. It seemed I had no choice in a great many things.

The door hissed open, the familiar sound sending a shudder down my spine, and I clenched my fists tightly. I liked better the darkness that my eyelids provided, resting my head against the chair underneath me as I listened for the footsteps. 

As usual, I waited for him to speak, to break the tangible silence. But he didn't, and I immediately guessed that Mace was alone today. Quinlan couldn't bear the silence for long. 

But the silence was dragged out, its weight growing heavier as awkwardness morphed into curiosity. It became a battle of wills. Either he would speak first, or I would get too curious and peek my eyes open, wondering why he hadn't uttered a word. I was determined not to lose, biting my lip and keeping my eyes shut as I offered him plenty of time to speak.

I smiled inwardly when I heard him open his mouth and draw a breath, but then he shut it again, and his slow pacing resumed, his steps shattering the deafening quiet. I had a worthy opponent; he didn't want to lose, either. But I already knew he had more patience than Senator Bail Organa at a six-hour dinner discussion. If he didn't, he would have long ago given up on attempting to draw out his imaginary answers from me.