The Amnesiac

Part II: Chapter One

Days past, and Anatoly remained sullenly holed up in his room. His mother knocked on the door every few hours to say, "You okay in there?" To this, his answer was always a solitary, disinterested grunt. 

When he bothered to pay attention to it, he found his phone buzzing incessantly with messages from Harry, Brian, Tom and the others. He even got a long message from Ron, telling him that the book club would start reading Of Mice and Men whenever he was ready. But nothing came from Eloise, not that he particularly cared. He simply wanted to be left alone, she knew that, and he knew that she knew. 

After the sixth consecutive night of fitful rest, there came about a change in him. It happened without any of the gradual progress that usually precede such changes, and there was no obvious reason for it. Perhaps he was just... bored.

He'd gone to bed early the night before, but his sleep hadn't refreshed him. On the contrary he woke up muddled, irritable, and angry. He sat up slowly, and looked around with hatred at his room. 

It felt cramped, dim, claustrophobic. A prison cell. 

Everywhere he turned, there were relics of his past. Posters with faces he didn't recognize smiled down at him in mock approval. Trophies and medals that felt unearned glistened on his shelves. This is someone else's room, he thought. 

There was an old beanbag chair in the corner and a lava lamp on the nightstand beside it. A cozy reading place, or so it seemed. He thought it must have once been a favorite place spot of his, for his bookshelf was right on the other side. Yet, no matter how he tried, it was impossible to get comfortable in the lumpy chair, and the lava lamp threw strange shades and patterns across the page that made his head ache.

None of this is mine, he thought. His head spun.

None of this is mine, he thought again, but this time it was a declaration rather than an observation. From then on he vowed to disown everything that had been his. Those had been the possessions of his former self, and to loot the dead was something he considered wrong beyond measure.

Residnikov stood, naked, and walked to the shower. He finished cleaning himself minutes later, threw on his least dirty pair of jeans and a hoody, and walked into the living room.

Sophia Adriane Residnikov met him with wide eyes. "Anatoly," she exclaimed. "It's so good to see you up! Are you," She bit off whatever she'd been about to say, evidently not wanting to upset him. "Can I get you anything?" 

"Yes, actually. Can I borrow your car," He asked. 

Sophia Residnikov's lips tightened. She turned to look at her husband, who was studying his son dispassionately. "Um, well-"

"Where do you want to go," said Alexander Residnikov, "I'll take you."

Anatoly sighed. "The Library, I want to go to the library. But I can go by myself, I don't need you to-"

"What about Eloise," Sophia snapped, "Maybe you can call her, I'm sure she'd take you!"

"Is she my chauffeur," Anatoly asked, full of disgust. 

"She loves you," Sophia said.

Anatoly looked away, "And that gives me power over her? Is she indebted to me? No, what right do I have to take advantage of her..." the word love rested on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't bring himself to say it.

"I can take you," Alexander said. His face had not changed throughout the conversation.

Anatoly rolled his eyes. He thought about calling Harry, or one of his other friends, but that felt just as wrong.