Made Perfect

11

(IK)


Things remain the same. Aren't you sick of it by now? Everyday has such small changes they blur together into being the same all over again. Food, conversation, talents, exercise, bathing, and the occasional medical tests or brain scans; I just can't take it anymore! How is this monotonous torture supposed to be any kind of recovery?

The only thing to look forward to is leaving. When? Who knows? Fuck it. At this rate, probably never. No one has an answer when I ask. Only that 'it'll take some time'. I understand recovery of something as serious as a car accident takes it's toll, but I can't get any reassurance or visitors? What's the point? I can only assume I can't have visitors seeing that no one has come by. I got over my parents not showing up, yet it's weird to me that someone as allegedly amazing as me didn't have any friends willing to visit after such an event. Strange, isn't it? Illogical unless my theory is spot on. Since I couldn't take that bit of optimism, I look forward to going on occasional walks. How pathetic, getting excited about them like some caged dog. That's the best description of my life; a caged dog searching for crumbs.

Still, I'm grateful. Knowing all the medical expenses are covered helps with things. However, having a friend here is the main thing I feel gratitude for. Even though, Matsuda has only snunk me out twice in the last month, those moments mean the world to me. They make me feel alive for a few hours. Can you believe it's only been a month since I woke up here? What a joke! It's like I've been here for years and years. Doing the same things repeatedly. Unlocking all these talents mean nothing to me. I just want to leave. I want to find out who I was. How many times can I repeatedly wish for the same thing before it comes true? Or maybe it falls on a deaf Gods' ears.

Today, I'm getting surgery. Something to do with the failed few talents is my prediction, but the Committee claims otherwise. Who are they kidding? Talent is all they talk about. What good is it being so great at all these different things when I'm still empty inside? A hollow shell being held back from finding any answers. Part of me hopes I can remember more of the past. Friends, family, school life, girls. Anything from before. Matsuda says it's impossible that I'll remember anything and to 'not get my hopes up'. I know I shouldn't. He wouldn't lie to me, especially not about his area of expertise. Even so, I desperately want to wake up remembering everything. Despite knowing deep down it won't work, I choose to hold onto this wish.

At least I won't be awake for a few hours. Sleep is the one getaway I have from here and, recently, it's been getting ruined. They replaced one of my medications and now I have insanely vivid dreams. Of course, they mostly take place in this brightly cramped room. Almost like it's mocking me. With anesthesia, it can be guaranteed that I won't dream at all. Finally, some peace from the disgusting green tiles. All of their imperfections memorized and replicated in my dreams. I'm reminded of this as my tired eyes review the cracked 2nd tile by the left corner.

Matsuda prepares all his little tools as I watch the floor. The lack of eating makes my body angry that I'm not following schedule. I notice the sense of anxiety in his silence. The fact there's a silence at all is enough to send alarm bells through my tired mind. "Don't tell me YOU'RE nervous about this. You already poked at my brain before, right?" I joke to lighten the mood. He looks back at me with that iciness. "Shut up! I'm obviously not nervous. You're just pushing your own insecurities onto me." Ooh. The defense is on high alert today. "I have nothing to be insecure about, doctor." I tease the last word, smirking as I say it.

"Hold onto that attitude until you need a neologist... Oh, like right now." His tone remains uptight. Seems like surgery puts him in a state like that. I couldn't say if he was nervous like this the last time he operated on me. Another memory lost. My prediction is that he worries about doing well since he's so young and all these adults are watching him. It would be nerve wracking for anyone, especially when it has to do with something this serious. Guess I shouldn't pester him and make it worse. "Alright, alright. Sorry. I know you'll do fine." I try to ease him without giving any kind of explanation of my prediction. Don't feel like debating the tough guy.

I lay onto the bed, preparing for everything. Praying to a God I don't believe in to miraculously bring back my lost memories. That I'll go home, wherever that is, as soon as humanly possible. That I can actually begin to live my life. I often try to piece together who I was before the accident through throw away statements and predictions. None of them are based off of anything solid, so it might be pointless to try and figure everything out from here. Still, I hope to return to it. "...Now you're praying? You're really that worried?" I didn't think he was paying attention to me.

"No, I'm praying for you to get that stick out of your ass and calm down." I don't miss a beat in covering my admittedly foolish hoping. I probably shouldn't have said that, although maybe some banter will do him good. Matsuda comes up to me, a scalpel in hand, and points it towards my face. "You're gonna be praying for more than that if you don't shut your mouth." The seriousness of his threat makes it that much funnier. I couldn't help from bursting out laughing. Matsuda very well could hurt someone, I'm sure of it, but I know we wouldn't give a warning if he meant it. "I'm just messing with you, man. Don't go crazy on me." With a scoff, he goes to his favorite uncomfortable chair. All his tools out and ready. Waiting for the signal to begin, I assume.

I shake my head after a moment. "Seriously, Matsuda, don't sweat it too much. I know you can do this, you did well the first time." After I say that, I wonder if my memory issues had to do with his incompetence. Hm. The Committee said it was a high possibility and they wouldn't cover for Matsuda. Half the time, it seems like they're unsure of him. The theory seems unlikely. My gut, alone, told me that long before the thought passed. Matsuda sighs before giving any reply. "...Glad you think so." He rests his cheek in his hand, pondering over something. The nervousness bouncing off him lands into my head, the worries of it all try to push at me. I just tell myself he's nervous because the Committee breathes down his neck at any given point.

As if they can hear my thoughts, one of them speaks over the intercom. "Good morning, boys. Are you ready to get started?" I turn to the window, smiling a bit, with a "I'm ready when you are." Matsuda gives his own sign of approval, a half assed thumbs up. Immediately after our signals were seen, a woman comes from the only door out of this place. Not talking to me, she automatically goes for my veins. I don't even care about her rudeness. I just hope my wishes come true. After she finally got the IV in, a breathing mask follows. I only smile as I breathe it in and take solace in a peaceful sleep.