Final Truth

Chapter 79: An Argument

Peter's point of view:

Two weeks.

Two weeks of beige walls, of machines, of doctors and nurses and scratchy bedsheets.

Two weeks since I woke up with no memories despite familiarity screaming at me in every look and conversation I've shared with someone else.

Endless frustration that I've tried to hide behind a facade of understanding and patience.

Now, however, I should be able to sort my mind out in peace. Today, I'm leaving the hospital.

"Your vitals are looking good, Peter. I see no reason to keep you here any longer. I'm releasing you to go home," Cassia tells me after one final checkup, face lit with a smile that seems both nervous and relieved.

The question as to why she would be worried about me leaving the hospital leaves me puzzled, but I don't ask her about it. I've resigned myself to the perpetual knowledge that I'll be forever sentenced to questions that don't warrant answers.

"Thank you for taking care of me these past couple of weeks. You, your team of nurses...it meant a lot," I tell her, pulling her in to a light hug in the process.

"I'm sorry we couldn't do more," she admits before slowly pulling away.

I nod, giving her a halfhearted smile before glancing at my hospital room one last time. At least I can walk away knowing I won't miss this place.

I head for the door, but when I begin to open it, I pause as a piece of knowledge that's both sad and funny strikes me.

"Hey Cassia, one last thing."

"Hm?" She asks.

"Where...um...where exactly is it that I live? Where's my house?" I question, cringing at the fact that I have to ask this.

But Cassia only looks at me with softness and understanding, nothing funny about the question in her eyes.

"Julia will take you home. She's waiting for you in the lobby."

Julia.

My throat stops working momentarily, each nerve in my body curling inward in a slight sort of panic.

Julia hasn't been by to see me in over a week, and I've been left with the fear that I'd done something, said something to frighten her off. I tried to reason with myself throughout the process, remembering that she looked close to falling apart the last time we spoke. I couldn't tell you why, and I couldn't ask her to elaborate. I didn't think her visit that day was any different than the others, but each word seemed to wound her in a way I couldn't understand. She knows more than she's letting on, and I'm positive it has something to do with my past, something that happened before I woke up. I don't know how to act around her, don't know how to keep myself from asking questions she evidently struggles listening to. And now, she's decided she suddenly wants to take me home after her absence.

"Ah yes, Julia. Well, guess I'd better go meet her then."

*******************

The waiting room is a character study.

People of all sorts sitting, standing, talking, reading, encased in their own world as they wait to be called back, wait to hear news, wait to file paperwork, wait to do a myriad of things.

Julia is easy to pick out amongst them.

She sits in a far corner, hair pulled away from her face as she mindlessly flips through a magazine that's probably older than the hospital itself. Something tells her to lift her eyes from the page, however, and she quickly sees me upon doing so.