Autopilot

"Tell me more about the day it all came back," he says slowly.

I sigh and let my tongue trail the length of my bottom lip. I click my knuckles out of habit and it releases enough tension for me to calm down and start.

"When that first light hit the sky after the long summer's evening, there were no birds singing," that was the first thing I remembered of the day I regained my memories.

"I awoke to the smell of the bitter, black coffee that my morning so heartily consisted of. Autopilot engaged and I drew back the pale, crème curtains. The sudden movement caused dust to fly into the space where the light streamed in from outside. The dust seemed to wrap itself in light and danced in the flow of sun ending at the foot of my bed. A chill filled the room. I noticed the open window which I could've sworn that I'd closed the night before. Condensation dripped from the chipped windowpane. This confused me as the paint had only been redone in the week prior. I had no idea why it seemed so stressed. I pulled the window shut. Auto pilot shifted these thoughts to the back of my mind and steered me towards my bed. It was only when my hand reached for the blanket had I found the bed was already made. Strange, I thought. My schedule was thrown slightly 'Routine,' I thought. 'Stick to the routine!'. I knew what came next. Coffee. Coffee."

"Dust clung to the underneath of my feet as I strode barefoot into the kitchen. It made me uncomfortable, but autopilot had things to go about. I tripped on the overturned coffee table. It usually occupies the space in the living room. I didn't understand how this could've been put there. I never moved it. How did it get there? Coffee. Now. Think later! Autopilot screamed. It drifted me to the coffee pot. The element glowed like embers. Click. The red light shut off. 7:30am glared on the battery powered clock next to the pot. The musk of burnt, spoilt coffee filled my nostrils. Autopilot filled my chipped mug. I must've left the milk out. It was still sat next to the sugar bowl. There were more ants in there than sugar crystals. The milk never left the bottle when I went to pour it into my mug. I am rather fond of milk to mellow the bitterness of my long black. Although milk seemed to be at a loss Autopilot decided it wasn't too big of a deal and the black substance scalded going down. The white chunk in its plastic casket landed with a lumbering thud on the grubby counter top. There was another just like it on the floor."

"This is going well," Mr Keeling said interrupting. "We still have an hour but if you'd like to take a break then that is fine with me. I just want to make sure you are comfortable."

The wrinkles between his thick eyebrows tense with concentration. His pen scratching at the paper on his old clipboard. I can't see what he is writing. My eyes flash to the grandfather clock stood next to the window. The day is clear outside with the only sounds heard are the ticks of the clock and the uneven breathing of Mr Keeling. I cough and I'm suddenly made aware of my own breath. My throat is sandpaper and I swallow hard. The tension eases with a quick roll and snap of my shoulders. I sit upright in the worn leather chair it makes me wonder how old the chair is in comparison to Mr Keeling. The tick, tock of the grandfather clock makes me realise Mr Keeling is still awaiting my answer. I roll my shoulders again.

"I am fine to continue," I say with a slight smile.

"Brilliant. So what happened after that?" he asks.

"Well autopilot knew what came next. Get dressed, it hollered in my eardrums. My bathroom mirror was filthy and all of my products- creams, lotions, make up items and powders were strewn all over the floor. I immediately assumed an earthquake. That would explain the coffee table being moved into the kitchen, and the milk on the ground. Autopilot override. Brush teeth. Clean ears. Comb face. Tie up eyes. Clothes. My mirror told me I looked terrible that day. So I changed. Mirror said I look worse. Again, I changed. Mirror told me nothing looked good. I decided not to go out. Mirror is a good friend"

Mr keeling made a low hum of disapproval, smacked his gums with his tongue and continued to scratch away at the paper with his blue tip biro.

"What's next? Ah Autopilot called out to Toby. The sound came from my own lips. Toby, it cried. Autopilot poured dry food into an overflown cat bowl. Toby! it hollered again. Here kitty, kitty! Autopilot moved on and told me summer days can be very hot. So I turned on the air vents. 8:00am. Newspaper. The post!"

"Autopilot stumbled over the pile of letters that had covered the mat behind the front door. Pain spread across my palms and in my knees. Autopilot malfunction. Why was there so much mail? I thought. Must've been a mistake. I picked one up and it was addressed to me. I picked up another and another. I would've gone through about 35 different letters with more on the floor. They were all addressed to me. I suddenly had the feeling that I was being watched and I jumped as the mail slot flew open and a single tan envelope landed on top of the pile. I read the crimson ink on front:

"28th June 2015,

Miss Danilla Laine,

247A Kinsley Road"

And underneath it in all capitals was stamped:

"NOTICE OF EVICTION"

I gasped and my eyes flicked up just in time to see a pair of shady eyes staring through the mail slot. I shrieked and the slot closed. Autopilot raced me to the phone but those dark eyes were still embedded in my mind. There was no time to think about them though. Autopilot malfunction. I needed to call the police- NO­- The insurance company. I paid my bills last week."

"The living room was an unkempt mess. My possessions were scattered everywhere. Autopilot didn't care and reached for the phone sat on the charger. I dialled the number on the envelope. The phone didn't ring. There were no dial tones. There was only a flat line for a moment and then- nothing. The phone died. DAMN IT, I screamed to the dishevelled room and slammed my fist into the table the phone charger was sat on. I never noticed the glass on the table beforehand in the exact spot I slammed my fist down. My flesh was red and screaming. Autopilot malfunction. Scarlet pools formed enraged by the damage I had caused to myself. They dripped down my fingertips and collected in meres on my hardwood floor. As I moved it created a trail. You know the kind you read about in the Hansel and Gretel story. It was like a way for me to find my way out of the bathroom. The cool water worked wonders on my stinging hand. I still felt the pressure as glass shards caught the running water. They were clinging to my flesh. I downed a bottle of painkillers for the hurt."

"That's rather dangerous," Mr Keeling says cutting me off again. "That was how you ended up staying overnight in the hospital. You are lucky they got to you when they did." I could feel the empathy roll off his tongue.

"Please continue," he insists.

"I black out for a moment as autopilot takes over. About two hours later it started to really reek in the house. I followed the pungent aroma and the stench was absolutely horrid. Autopilot glitches and I couldn't find the cause of the smell. But after a bit of wandering I found that it was more potent in my spare bedroom. My nose led me to the air vent. I lifted the hoary latch on the vent cover and peered inside. Suddenly my heart was in my ears. The beat was deafening. I vomited, my stomach twisted into the worst knot I had ever felt in my life. My hands shook and I fell to my knees too weak to stand. All I could see was static and the image burnt into my memory. Toby, my precious Toby. My magnificent snow angel stained red. A kitchen knife pierced his lifeless carcass. My head spun and my ears rang and I vomited again. I couldn't breathe. Autopilot then shut down. Thoughts flooded my mind and it was the crowd I always ignore in public spaces. It seemed too noisy for my own brain. Baby kitten. Home. Phone. Eviction. June. June! I was in control! It was June. It wasn't summer anymore. I did this. How could I forget I had done this to Toby? The pills. It was the pills. The man, the doctor gave me the pills. It all came back to me. I was in control. Autopilot was no more."

The grandfather clock chimed the hour making me jump. Our time was up.

"I had a terrible headache after that. But I don't remember the rest of that particular evening. The next thing I remember after the blackout was waking up to you in hospital."