Midnight Memories

CHAPTER - 2:

I wake up with a start. And then fall back again because the pain in my head has returned with all it's might. I lie down there for a while, trying to not faint and to listen for anyone near me, but I get nothing. So I try opening up my eyes, but find that I can't. It's not just the pain now, something sticky is preventing my eyes from opening. I start to panic, the first thought coming to my mind that someone has stitched them shut. But there's no pain. And I know that I can open them. I just need help from my hands, which are slowly coming to life by my side. There's a buzzing going on in my entire body. And my head's on fire. And my tongue is a desert that hasn't seen water for decades and my stomach is cosplaying as the most ferocious lion ever. I try to move my numb fingers, and then I try to move my legs. Slowly, very slowly I try to lift my hands up to my eyes and I rub them. But they start stinging painfully so I stop. Next I try to lift my head. Every single movement sends waves of nausea and pain over my body, but still I endeavour, and finally put my head against the bed frame. Then I decide to go to the washroom to wash my eyes. It's a long shot, but I'm pretty sure lying there doing nothing wouldn't help me at all. I had no idea where my phone was. I had checked as far as my hands could reach. But I found nothing. I lift my head up and am greeted with another strong wave of nausea, but keep going on until I'm in a sitting position. Next I slowly try to swing my legs and finally stand up, but my legs wouldn't cooperate and I crash down on the bed again. Fortunately, if I'm not mistaken, the washroom should be right in front of me. 10 small steps at most. I summon up all the remaining energy left in me and succeed in standing. I lean against the wall and move myself forward. All the while my head is on fire and my entire body is buzzing. I've never felt anything like it before. I count my steps as I walk. 1… 2… 3… now the nausea is getting out of hand…4… 5… I can feel the door closing up on me… 6…7… I am flooded with relief as my hands close around the handle… 8…I crash into the washroom… 9… 10… I put my hands around the wash basin and vomit like I've never before.

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It's been a couple of minutes since the vomiting began. I'm sitting on the floor, crying with my hands wrapped around my head, because all the effort it took for me to vomit caused so much agony, that it was a miracle I even survived that. The tears have softened my eyes and they are stinging lesser now, so I try once again to stand up and this time, it's not only hunger and thirst and desperation, but anger that provides that boost needed to stand up. I run the water and feel the coldness and start wetting my eyes with it. The coldness feels like bliss and I reach a point where I can easily rub my eyes. After a certain time I try opening them up and am greeted with nothing but darkness. I panic and start thinking that I've gone blind but remember that I haven't switched on the lights. I stretch my hand back to the switch and flick it up. The sudden light causes my eyes to close but once they have adjusted the very first thing I see is my reflection in the mirror. And what I see is something I knew all along but still really shocking and strangely fascinating.

I'm covered in blood. Using the phrase “Head to toe” would be the understatement of the year. There are small areas of skin around my eyes where I had rubbed my wet hands, but besides that, from my hair to my cheeks to my neck to my shirt to my feet, there's blood everywhere.

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I inhale sharply and try to ignore the constant darkness that is surrounding my eyes, trying to pull me in, and try to take in the horror that was my face and my body. What had happened?, I think with the strongest feeling of curiosity I've ever felt. I try to wipe off as much blood as I can and take off my shirt to examine my chest, expecting some long gashes. But there's nothing, just some bruises, a couple of scratches, and blood stains from the shirt. I take off my pants and find no fresh injuries. That's so weird, I think.

I decide to deal with the sandpaper aka my tongue next. I take big gulps of water from the tap and it is the best feeling ever. Better than the happiness I had felt when I had heard that my mom was finally cancer free. Better than the happiness I had felt when my paintings had finally gotten some attention and I had sold my first one ever.

I keep taking big gulps until I get on the verge of vomiting again and stop myself. I put on some old boxers lying on the floor and exit the washroom. I need food. I need food. I need food. I keep chanting that mantra in my head as I walk out of my room to the small kitchen in the western corner of my apartment. I try to ignore the pain in my head every step brings and pray for some sort of edible item to be in the fridge. I open it up and am very very pleased to see a packet of chocolates and some carrots, onions along with other vegetables that I would never have eaten before but would kill to eat today. I stuff my mouth with the food one item at a time and finish off all the vegetables that could be eaten raw. I also find a can of coke that I gulp it down within 25 seconds.

After I have almost satisfied my stomach, I go and carefully lie down on my couch, my mind starting to clear. Then I say in a hoarse voice: “What in the actual hell did just happen?”.

I try to think of one thing, one small thing, that would provide insight, but fail. It was like I could easily remember the date of birth of Aunt Melissa, and also the name of Andy’s ex-girlfriend's cat - which was Maya - but couldn't remember the last memory that I had. It was as if time itself was trying to play tricks with me.

It was at that moment when I was thinking about the rabid cat Maya, that a shocking realization comes to me. Maya… Andy's girlfriend… Andy… my apartment mate.

In a daze I sprint - if it could even be called “sprint” - towards my room, and hold up the digital clock in my hands. It's 6:51 AM, and it's the 8th of January.

How long have I been passed out?, I think to myself, while shuffling through all my stuff on the floor for my phone.

How in the world did this much stuff come on the floor?. It was as if someone has been looking for something. And that someone was me. And I have to figure out something to solve this big bloody puzzle. I can't go on living my life and completely ignore this. With the phone in my hand, I realize it's dead. I plug the charger in and switch it on to call Andy. Perhaps he is also a piece of this puzzle. Perhaps talking to him would bring back the lost memories. I open up the list of my contacts and am shocked to see my list empty. Defeated, I go back in the kitchen for another drink; I'm just about to take out some bottle out when - BAM! The main door flies open and in comes Andy, at first a look of curiosity passes over his face which quickly transforms to shock and then pleasure. He just stands there, staring at me, and I keep staring back at him, hoping to get some answers.

“Dude… where have… you been?” he finally asks.

“What do you mean”? I reply, knowing fully well he's about to deliver some shocking news.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“I really really think I'm not” I say.

Perhaps it was the sudden shock of seeing Andy, or perhaps it was the exhaustion that had been building up since morning, but I finally give in to it, and the darkness kisses me away, and the last thing I see is Andy running to catch me.