The time seems endless these days. It's the same routine over and over again. School. Work. sleep. You lost count of how old you've gotten, how long it's been since you've simply stopped thinking. The gears in your mind whirred to a stop on that one fateful day.
You remember sitting, hands on the wheel. You had a fascination with trains, you can recall. And it was coming so fast, quarter of a mile away and the car behind you accelerated and you were bumped onto the track. Shock. You couldn't move, breathe, you can count the fucking inches of how close the train was to you and then black.
You woke up in a hospital four months later. You had been in a coma. And at that moment you were suffering from severe amnesia. Nobody claimed you, called you their own and took you home and told you who you were. You were in that hospital for another 2 months before you were thrown into the world and everything shattered. You mind stopped. This was 7 years ago.
Now you are 22 years old and you can still barely keep up with your own lifestyle. At this moment you were crossing the street actually, on your way back home from a long 12 hours of work. You head was down, earplugs and your eyes wondered upward ever so slightly and you could see the lights. The car lights swerving towards you and there was a shout and you were off the ground. Arms were around you and for the first time in 7 years, you felt safe. You breathed a sigh of relief when your sneakers touched the concrete and you turned to meet your savior, greet him, thank him.
You knew his face.
Pale skin. Freckles dancing upon his nose and cheeks. Golden locks of hair and those dumb shades he's kept for years. You had no idea how you knew this, and your lips parted in a small 'O'. His arms dropped and you knew his eyes, scarlet, were looking right at you. Your fingers reached up and grazed his cheeks and his name just rolled off of your tongue. "Dave?"
He seemed shocked you knew him and his lips were forming words. Words you couldn't place, couldn't hear. Then he said your name. Like it was a blessing. His hands were on your cheeks, and his forehead knocked against yours. He repeated your name over and over and everything seemed like a dream. A wonderful, ever so fake dream. Your eyes closed and you felt yourself smile. "Dave," You repeated blissfully.
But then everything was gone, too fast and you were standing alone on the sidewalk. Your hands were still up and your stomach churns.
Maybe you're going crazy. Insane. Visions that you wish were reality and you barely register the small tears rolling down your cheeks. "Dave." It was barely a whisper and you break down.
You go home and you cry. You fists are balled in the sheets and your chest is heaving. You wake up the next morning and you forget. You forget his face, his name, what happened.
You continue your routine. Over and over and over again. School. Work. Sleep.
Your name is ((F/N)) ((L/N)) and you are labeled a 'phycopath'.
You rock back and forth in the white room, wrapped in an endless hug.
The same story plays over and over again in your head.
But you can't tell if it's reality.
You can't tell anything.
Because you are completely. And utterly. Insane.