Today's Heartache (Peterick)

Part 8: Hate Yourself For Me

Patrick's POV:

The dreams had become more frequent, arriving in the form of hazel eyes and a stubbly chin almost every night. I didn't know who they belonged to. The face had suddenly appeared sometime ago when I least expected it, but it never lasted long. He'd stare at me. His mouth would move, but no words would come from it.

I wondered who he was a lot, wondered if he had a big role in my life if any at all. Jon had asked me to describe him during one session, but whenever I was awake I never could see him well in my mind. His image was always fuzzy and unclear until I'd see him again in another dream. Jon said that was okay. He had told me it would make more sense in time, but so much time had passed, almost two months actually, with not much of anything to show for it.

When I had told Pete about him he seemed to tense and act a little strangely until I mentioned that I didn't know who he could be.
"Maybe he's a friend or something from back home?" he suggested.
"No. I don't think so. I remember all my friends. He's not one of them."

I had tried hard to figure out his identity, but my mind was pretty much useless out of its dream state for any ounce of thinking about my past. Lindsey had lent me one of her sketchbooks to keep by my bed, so that when I woke up I could draw what I remembered about him piece by piece. I worked on his eyes first, focusing on them every time he showed up and putting in the details. Lindsey helped too since I wasn't much of an artist. She would perfect the bits I put down, defining them more and adding realistic aspects she thought would help me envision who he was.

I showed Jon the drawing after about a couple weeks of working on it, and he studied the person for a few moments.
"Do you recognize him?" I asked.
"Yes."
"Who is he?"

"I can't tell you that."

"I-I thought that's why you wanted to know how he looked like, so you could remind me what he was to me."
"I apologize for implying that, Patrick, but you know you have to let your own brain do the hard parts. We've established how difficult that can be, but you're doing so well. In two months time, you've already regained a lot of your memory back. That's much quicker than most patients with your condition. Some never remember anything at all. You should be grateful your body is putting in the work to figure it all out."

A nurse poked her head into my room and looked to Jon.

"He's got a visitor," she informed him.
"A visitor?"
He got up and went out into the hallway with her. I watched them talk for a few minutes through the window. Jon came back in afterwards with a concerned expression.

"Is it my mom?" I asked.
"No. I think...I think it would be best if you went out there, and they told you themselves."
"Are you sure? We've still got another twenty minutes.

"I'll finish talking to you once you're done. Visiting hours don't last very long. Go ahead. I'll wait here for you."

I left the room, tying the string around my bathrobe a little tighter and making my way over to the visiting room located near the entrance. Pete passed by me on the way over and stopped to say hi.

"I've got a visitor," I told him.
"Yeah? Who is it?"
"I don't know. Jon said I should find out myself."
"Tell me how it goes during my lunch break, alright?"

We hugged briefly before I continued down the hallway and into the large room designated for visits. It was full today. Patients' families and friends sat with them at a table, playing card games or having a chat. I searched the room for anyone familiar, but no one caught my interest, so I settled at an empty table in hopes they'd come find me.

"Patrick."

I followed the sound of the voice that came from behind me and found myself looking at a man with dark, flowing hair and deep hazel eyes that seemed to suck me in fast. He looked like my drawing of the man in my dreams. My heart skipped a beat then as he waited for a reply.
"You probably don't recognize me, do you? They told me what had happened with your memory and everything. Well, Dr. Walker called me about it when you were first admitted. I-I'm sorry it took so long for me to come see you. I didn't know how to deal with the news at first."