Seven Weeks: A Seven Days Fanfiction

WEEK FIVE: Thursday, Part 2 (Touji)

My first wondering thought, upon opening my eyes, was that I had actually been asleep. Such a strange feeling, to emerge from peaceful oblivion into awareness of the world around me, when I so rarely reached the oblivion state to begin with. A contented, happy feeling warmed my limbs. This was how mornings were supposed to be—waking up after your body and brain had their fill of rest, with energy to tackle the day.

But as soon as I started to stretch, those warm feelings gave way to less pleasant ones. My hands hurt—a lot—and I couldn't move them the way I wanted to. None of me could move the way I wanted. As I blinked against the bright overhead lights I found I didn't recognize the ceiling. This wasn't my room. And why did I feel so tightly restricted?

I looked down. There were straps crossing my chest and hips. Puffy bands velcroed around my ankles, securing them to a white plastic footboard. My hands were encased in thick mitten-like bandages that went halfway up my forearms. And there were more of the puffy bands just below my elbows that kept me from being able to raise my arms.

An IV bag hung by my head, alongside beeping machines. A blood pressure cuff wrapped around one of my upper arms, which I noticed when it started inflating all by itself. The lights overhead were fluorescent, embedded in the ceiling behind frosted glass. Across from me, the wall was painted with a mural of a rolling green field, trees, flowers, and butterflies. As soon as I lifted my head enough to look at it, a headache surged behind my eyes.

The monitor next to me started beeping more rapidly as I tried to take all this in. Was this some kind of hospital? What was I doing here? How did I get here, what was going on?

The door clicked, and I turned my head to see a woman in a white lab coat entering the room.

"You're awake, Touji-kun," she said with a smile. "That's good. I'm Doctor Taisuke. I'm sure you have a lot of questions for me. But first," she approached the bed and started checking the monitors, "can you tell me what you remember about last night?"

Last night? My head felt fuzzy. It was too bright in here, wasn't it? Where were my parents? Why was I strapped down like this?

"I was working at the coffee shop," I said.

"Mm. What did you do after that?"

"I... I went home, of course."

She cocked her head to the side. "Now are you saying that because you remember it, or because you think that's what you would have done?"

Now that she'd asked, I realized I wasn't sure. "Um..."

I don't know. Did I remember going home? I ought to remember being on the train, or walking to my house, or something, right? But the harder I thought about it, the fuzzier my brain got.

She nodded, and pulled a syringe from the pocket of her coat. "Don't strain yourself, it's all right. A little memory loss is normal."

Since when is memory loss normal? I watched her insert the needle into the bottom of the IV bag. My eyes followed the tube down the side of the bed, up and around to my arm, where it disappeared into the weird mitten stuff covering my left hand.

"Tell me, what's the last thing you remember?" she asked. The cuff around my upper arm was inflating again, until it was gripping so tight I could feel my pulse protesting inside. She was watching the machine it was connected to, and as it very slowly and uncomfortably deflated, she held up a tablet and tapped it with a little stylus pen.

"I..."

Faces came to mind. An older guy with graying sideburns, a younger one in torn jeans. A tennis shoe nudging a dress-socked ankle. Did I know these guys? I didn't think so. At least, I couldn't remember their names, or even having a conversation with them. But then, why could I see their faces so clearly? Why did I feel so... wistful, thinking about them? I couldn't tell her all these disconnected details, she'd think I was crazy.