Paint Me Like One Of Your French Men

Painting Twenty-Nine

"You're a real dickhead," the man crossed his arms and shook his head. Vincent squinted, unsure of who this individual was supposed to be. Perhaps it was just another version of himself.

"What does that have to do with you?" Vincent frowned.

"Because I know what you don't," the man returned the frown. "I know what you should know. Why did you have to go and forget? Are you an idiot? Spending time with Uny is probably the best thing that's ever happened to you."

"Adrian?"

"See? You have to know that even saying 'Adrian' is weird for you. You should be calling him 'Uny' like I am. But you aren't. Because you're a dickhead. A massive dick. Just remember already, damnit."

"Remember what?"

The man rolled his eyes. "You know what."

"But, I don't know what. That's why I can't remember."

"Right, okay, be that way then, wake up asshole," the man glared.

...

"Are you okay?" Victor peeked his head into the room Adrian was in. "You've been in here for hours." He stared at the blob that Adrian had become. When he didn't respond, Victor took it upon himself to enter the room and plop on the bed with him. He wrapped his arms around the blanket blob, giving him a big hug.

"I don't know what Vincent did but you have to know it was just him being Vincent." The words fell on deaf ears. Adrian knew that Vincent was just being Vincent. He didn't need to be reminded of that fact. He just wanted Vincent to go back to being his Vincent. The one that cared about him. If Vincent wasn't going to remember him then he would be better off if he had never even crossed Vincent's path.

He hated it.

He hated the agonizing feeling of being the only one with memories. Maybe he should just forget too. It would be simpler that way. This was all Vincent's mother's fault. She never should've come to visit him that day a while back. Then he wouldn't have remembered old memories and lost his only good ones. This was torture. Agonizing torture.

Adrian snapped out of his dreadful melancholy when he heard the sounds of sobbing in the hallway. Curiosity outweighed the feelings of betrayal. He went to the door and stuck his head out. Vincent clung to Lau with such force. The man could barely hold him.

"I'm sorry," Vincent apologized. He looked as if he'd seen a ghost. "I'm so sorry," he repeated.

"You didn't cause that death," Lau said. "It had nothing to do with you. Why are you just now feeling the after effects?"

"I don't want to remember. I didn't want to remember," Vincent clenched Lau's clothes. He buried his head in his chest. "Diedrich can't be dead." The nightmare he'd had was one of Diedrich. He'd imagined the crash so vividly after the dream with his clone.

"It's going to be okay. You have Adrian, don't you?" Lau ran his hands through Vincent's hair. He was trying to soothe him.

"Adrian?" Vincent looked up at Lau. "I don't even know who the man is..."

"You'll remember, in time. But, if you want help with that, I can hypnotize you," Lau smiled.

Vincent frowned. "That doesn't work on me."

"Well, have I ever tried it on you before?"

"No..."

"How would you know?" Lau snickered. "Maybe it does work then."

"I'm not sure if I can trust you," Vincent never let up on his frown.

"What's the worst that could happen?" Lau snickered. "I turn you into my eternal sex slave?"

"Yes, actually," Vincent sighed.

"I'll tell you what," Lau turned his head towards Adrian's door. "Adrian can sit in and keep me from doing anything bad to you. Do you trust him?"

"More than I trust you, that's for sure," Vincent shook his head.

"You wound me."

...

Vincent lay on the bed. His head resting lightly on the pillow. Adrian stood in the corner, watching Lau carefully.

"Steady your breathing," Lau said. "You can feel your body becoming heavier, your brain more open to suggestion," Lau said. Vincent's face never changed. "You're drifting into a deep slumber."

Vincent didn't look amused in the slightest about where this was going. "Search your mind. Visualize doors. Walk through the hallways. Have you found the one labeled 'Adrian'?" Lau said.

"No." Vincent's voice was soft. It must be working, at least a bit. Adrian crossed his arms. He didn't want to get his hopes up. Hope was a dangerous thing. One of the worst.

Lau looked to Adrian. "Do you have any nicknames?" Adrian shook his head. Just the one. He held up a note saying 'The Undertaker; Uny'

"Have you found the one that says 'Uny'?" Lau returned his attention back to Vincent.

"Yes," his voice still soft.

"Describe the door," Lau asked this for his own amusement. He was curious about the insides of Vincent's mind.

"Silver, with stitches."

"Open the door. What do you see?" Tears streamed down Vincent's face.

"I can't," he said. "It's locked."

"It's not locked, Vincent," Lau assured. "Open it."

"I can't," more tears streamed down his face. They formed a puddle on his pillow. "It's locked."

"Why is it locked?"

"There is a woman, she is holding the key. She is laughing at me."

"That must be his mother," Lau sighed. "Reach for the key, Vincent."

"No."

"Why?"

"What if the door opens? What if I regret what I've done?"

Lau gestured for Adrian to come over. "Hold his hand," he whispered. Adrian did so.

"It's okay," Lau assured Vincent. "Open the door."

Vincent's hand trembled in Adrian's, as if his hand hovered over an impossible choice. Adrian squeezed his hand. It was going to be okay. He just wanted his Vincent back. That's all. He just wanted his Vincent back.

"What do you see behind the door, Vincent?"

"Pictures...paintings...there are so many of them, the same person."

"What do they tell you?" Lau began. "What emotions do you feel?"

"A fondness, love?"

"Touch the paintings, how do they feel?"

"They burn. They burned my hand."

"That's good," Lau looked to Adrian. "It means he wants to remember you. He still cares for you."