Don't take my memories~Drier

Chapter two-I'm All Alone With Nothing To Show

Drew's PoV
I stared at the White Walls that surrounded me and sighed, hating the fact that I had been caged in a room as blank and empty as this; the room that served as my own sort of personal prison. Here I stayed, day and night, over and over again, never once leaving the room unless one of the weird men dressed in white told me I had to, or if I needed to use the toilet, which was rather self explanatory. I didn't need to leave my cell for food or for water as a nurse would bring that to me three times a day, or, whenever i rang the buzzer at the side of my plain bed and stated down the telephone that I was hungry or thirsty.

Even though I was kept here, in the blank room, as though I was a common criminal, they never denied me access to food and water and most times I wanted something, I had only to ask and seconds later, it would appear at my door. I was never punished or treated harshly and the few people who I came into contact with spoke to me softly, although I was a frail child who couldn't understand things properly and as though they felt sorry for me.

In a way, I could understand why they spoke to me as though I didn't understand as, in certain respects, I didn't understand why this was happening to me, or why I had to be kept here all the time, or why they had to run so many CAT scans and tests on my brain. Of course, they had explained it all to me many times in the past when I had restlessly questioned one of my doctors, yet, they used big, long, scientific words that my brain couldn't understand and, more often than not, I walked away from the conversation having gained no knowledge of my condition at all. The only thing that I did know was that it was something to do with my faulty memory and the fact that some days, I would wake up not even knowing who I was or where I was.

By this point, I had completely lost count of how many days,months, or perhaps even years had passed since I had first been admitted to the hospital and shown to my little cell on the top floor. At first I religiously kept count yet, as the number of days grew higher, it started to depress me that I had been there so long and so, I simply stopped counting, trying to pretend that I hadn't been here this long and that I would be returning to my home soon.

That was, if I still had a home. He could have moved out of our apartment by now, in search of a better life, tired of waiting around for me to be deemed well enough to leave the confines of the hospital. If he had moved on, I wouldn't blame him, yet a selfish part of me couldn't help but hope...

The worst part was that by now, so much time had passed that I could barely remember a single thing about him, despite the fact that the memories I had with him were the one thing I tried desperately to hold onto, but they too, like all my other memories, tragically slipped away, leaving me hollow inside. The image of him in my head had become a blur of sandy long hair and goggles, yet none of his facial features ever showed clearly, even when I screwed my eyes tightly shut in concentration. I couldn't remember much about his characteristics or our time together either, other than him being the kindest, most gentle man I had ever met, and the fact that when we hugged, I felt like the safest,most loved person in all of the world.

Yet his name had been long forgotten; that had been one of the memories associated with him to go first.

The only time I had any hope of seeing him properly was in my dreams. In my dreams, he would seem so real again and just for those few, sleepy hours, all my memories would become clear again and I would actually feel as though I was back home. But the moment I woke up, the memories would fade and I would be left with nothing and nobody once again.

One of my doctors, a specialist whom I saw weekly and helped me try regain my old memories, told me that most of the things that happened between me and the boy in my dream would have been real once and that my memories were being brought out in my dreams. For the next half an hour, he proceeded to question me thoroughly to try find out what had happened in the dream and, once I almost burst into fits of tears due to the pressure being piled onto me, he let me go back to my cell. Ever since then, I lied and told him I had no more dreams about him . They were special and incredibly personal and I was scared that if I told anyone, they too would go away. After all, I had told him about my memory and eventually, he went away. What was to prevent the dreams from doing the exact same thing that my lover had? They may have just been dreams but they were the only hope I had to see me through the dreary days that I endured.