15 Minutes [h.s]

four

Anastasia

"Did you find a new patient for your thesis?" Blair asked as we were walking towards the university's gymnasium.

"Yeah," I muttered, clutching onto the new folder I got. "It's not as interesting as Harry's, but It'll do, I guess."

"You seem pretty attached to that Harry guy," Blair chuckled at the thought. "Didn't know you dig criminals."

"What the hell, Blair?" I stopped walking to face her. "You can't joke about this. He is a man who needs mental assistance. He is out there, probably confused the fuck out of himself. He probably became a criminal because nobody's offering him help. You can't just make fun of someone with that situation going on in their life."

I shook my head in despair and immediately walk away from Blair before she could even say something or follow me.

I proceed to the small canteen beside the gymnasium to cool myself off. I sat down on one of the benches in front of the canteen and started reading my new patient's folder.

After 5 minutes, I decided to go back to the gymnasium to forgive Blair for her sudden rude outburst. She can be quite harsh sometimes. That is, until a mysterious man sat on a different bench to my left, focused on a stack of photographs that he kept on flicking with his hands.

Could he be?

I took a good look at him to realize he was Harry Styles. The man with a huge scar all over his head. The man who suffers memory loss every 15 minutes. The man who was a criminal.

But those polaroid photographs . . .

It would be possible that he was the one who killed that poor man last night.

I shook that thought away. This could be my chance to ask him some important questions, not for my thesis but for my own curiosity's good.

I then walked up to him. He immediately glanced up and startled me. His green eyes had a dark hue on them making it look like it was hungry for revenge.

"What do you want," he asked in monotone, as he was hiding his polaroid photographs.

I then took the courage to finally talk to this man. I cleared my throat. "I'm Anastasia Porter, you can call me Anya. I am a medical student here in HCCM, and I just wanted to ask you some questions about your-"

"No," he rudely interrupted. He quickly stood up and walked away. I quickly followed him.

"Hey, hey! No, I won't do you no harm, I promise. Just for 5 minutes, please." I pleaded.

Harry then rolled his eyes at me. "Fine."

"Okay. How did you specifically get your memory loss?"

"I can't remember, all I can recall I got hit on the head with a huge stick of some sort." he replied, as if what he just said was normal enough.

"Oh, well um, why are you here then?"

"To look for Dimitri Morgan."

I then took out my pen and pad to write the information down. "Why?"

He then noticed I was writing. He furrowed his eyebrows at me.

"What are you doing? Throw that away. Now."

I can't argue with this man in fear that he might do something horrible to me. I then tore off the page and pretended to throw it behind my back but I was actually stuffing it inside my back pocket.

"I'm sorry, I-"

A beeping sound interrupted our conversation. He then shuffled his hands inside his pockets to take out his phone and turn the sound off.

"What was that for?" I asked, eager for him to answer me coherently.

"It's 2 p.m. I have to go." he said, placing his photographs on his bag.

I noticed he has a polaroid camera with him.

"Wait, wait before you go, can you at least take a picture of me?"

"Why would I do that?" he asked me, annoyance evident in his face.

"So that when we meet again, I won't have to introduce myself. I might help you with this . . . whatever stuff you're into."

He probably just wanted to get rid of me so he immediately took a photograph of me. As the picture came out, he gave it to me.

"No, no. Take another one. One for you and me. That way, I can show you the same picture when we meet, as proof that we are friends."

"Friends?" he questioned.

I stopped short before nodding. "Yes. Friend. Please write MY FRIEND on these two photographs, just in case you won't remember me still."

He hesitated but then took out a red marker to write the words in. As I watch him writing the letters down, his handwriting reminded me of the polaroid photograph last night. Along with the scar on the criminal's head, no doubt that was him.

He handed me my photograph and as I was about to thank him he quickly sprinted to the gymnasium entrance.

I then sighed as I looked at my photograph.

I literally just made friends with a criminal. I'm literally putting my life in danger.