Remember: Alex and Aro (boyxboy)

Chapter 3

July, 2017, Present Time

I'm in the forest, covered in sweat and dew from the night's rainfall. I'm still dressed in the asylum's white clothes with the logo and my paitent number. Where am I? Why am I out here? It's not rarely paitents manage to escape the asylum. I pull myself up and onto my feet, staggering and unsteady. Am I drunk?

"It's all right, my love, I'm here." I fall back onto my bum as I spot him coming through the trees, ready to rescue me. "You've been sleep walking again." He lifts me up into his arms, gripping me tightly in his strong hold.

"Who are you?" I take in his long black hair and red eyes. He has pale skin, so perfect I almost think it's fake and a figurement of my imagination, but I know he's real. He's not a hallucination.
"You know who I am." He informs, kissing my sweaty hair. Yes. I do. I've seen him before.

"Aro." I snuggle into him, and he tightens his grip. "That's right, love. I'm here." He lowers his face, his lips lightly brushing against mine. "Alex..."

I jolt awake like I've been shocked with an electric meter. A dream. Just a stupid dream but it's a recurring one. I've seen this man in my dreams at least three times this week. I know he's real. I'm determined to believe he's real. He has a name. Aro.

An old fashioned name. He's from another time. Another century. You could tell from the way he was dressed. I don't have to reach down to touch my clothes to know that they're wet. They always are when I wake up from those dreams. It's like I go swimming in my sleep.

I push away the sodden covers and make my way into the bathroom. "Good morning, piss- your-pants." Carl addresses, smirking at me. He's in the form of an older man today, dressed in dungarees and a funny shaped hat.

"Funny. Get out of my bathroom." I peel off my t-shirt which is soaked like the rest of my clothes and Carl raises his eyebrows. "Can't keep your sheets dry for even a night." He scoffs. I reach out to grab him but he sidesteps. "I'm an old man. Don't attack me." He brushes himself down and leaves the bathroom.

"And for the record." I stick my head out the door. "I didn't piss the bed. I was in the forest." I slam the door in his face. I hear his cackle through it. I turn on my shower and let the water warm up while I remove the rest of my clothes. I wish I had a tumble dryer, it would make mornings like these so much easier.

I step under the warm water, removing all the events of my dream, and the thoughts with it. Including so called Aro.

As I wash away everything, my mind is thinking of a similar experience. Of trying to wash away what happened.

Trying to wash away the evidence.

I shake my head, pushing away unwelcome thoughts. There was no evidence. I didn't do anything, but why did I get fired? I was only two months into my job. 'You hurt someone. Remember?' Richard pipes up, his voice like an eerie whisper in my ear. 'Nooooo he diiidn't.' Sandee replies with her usual singing. "I didn't do anything." I say out loud, trying to convince myself and them.

In truth, I don't remember anything. What exactly did I do?
'Yes you did.'
'But maybe you did or maybe you didn't.'
'You're out of controool, Aleeex.'
'You stupid freak. What have you done?'

             ***************

"Paitent number #3871, please tell me your name and age." This is how it always starts. The weekly consulations with your psychiatrist. Who are you? What have you done? How are you feeling? You tell me, doctor. You're the one who's meant to know everything.

The room is small, cramped with desks and chairs, drapey curtains and leather bound books, all for his paitents to see so he can show off his never ending amount of knowledge. When I first arrived, I used to like this room, this time with the doctor. It gave me an hour away from the bedroom they'd assigned to me.

I got to have a little bit of peace away from the corridors littered with other people who are screaming manically or crying for their mothers through their doors. Like abandoned toddlers.

These days, now I've got to know Dr. Graham Phillips, these weekly tortures have become hell. Being reminded of the past you no longer remember. But the worst thing? He never tells me what I did to get me sent here. He sits there with my file open, every detail of my life in black and white.

Some details I remember and others I don't. Memories I probably won't recover and feel I've made them up because of my illness. They say the voices make me unreliable and not credible in any way. They think I make everything up, and because they remind me of it so often, I'm starting to believe them.

Maybe every one of my memories from my childhood and school life are fake. "Paitent number #3871, tell me your name and age." He prompts again, looking impaitent over the tops of his glasses as he sips his bitter coffee that overpowers the aroma of the room.

I've always hated coffee. It reminds me of my mother. "My name is Alex Danvers and I'm twenty six." I reply robotically, like I've done weekly for eight months. "Good. Now tell me, why are you here?" He starts to bite on the lid of his pen he's holding.

I sigh in frustration. This is the question I still can't answer. No amount of hypnotism or medicine will help me remember what happened to make me lose my job. I don't remember anything.

'Yes you do, you cruel bastard. You led a pupil astray.' Richard reminds, voice harsh. 'No no no,' Sandee interupts immediately. 'He diiiiidn't.'
I shake my head to get rid of them, like trying to fend off a wasp.

Dr. Phillips notices my actions and narrows his eyes. "Are they talking to you, Alex?" He always calls the voices 'they'. There's no point reminding him of anything. He'll never listen. I pipe up anyway. "They have names, doctor." I grip onto the arms of the chair.

"Richard, Sandee, and some don't have names." I stress. "I've told you."
He starts to make notes on his sheet of paper. Clipboard held close to his chest as if he's afraid I'll pull it off him.

"What about Carl? Has he made any appearances recently?" He enquires, pen poised at the ready. The sound of his name sets off my frustration with him. "He never leaves me alone." I complain. I go to say more but Carl appears in his teenage form, sitting on top of the bookcase.

I wince, afraid it will fall over. Dr. Phillips follows my eyes to the bookcase. "Would you like to read a book?" He prompts, gesturing. I scoff at him, marvelling at his lack of imagination. Carl rolls his eyes at him. "Humans." He tuts, staring at the back of Dr. Grahams's head.

"Alex, let me remind you of the question." Phillips tries again, making notes on my 'interest' at the bookcase. "Why are you here?" He prompts again and I groan in frustration. "I've told you." I lean forward to stare him in the eyes. "I've been telling you for the past eight months." I grab his chair, pulling him closer to me.

"I don't remember."