January 23rd 2006
I can walk in my dreams. I can move, I can talk, I can make connections. I can run, I can scream, I can die over and over again.
It’s something.
It somehow still feels unnatural to open my eyes. Like, every time I do, God is thinking; what do you think you’re doing; go back to sleep! I’m so tired all the time and I always want to go back to sleep the minute I wake up.
Except for when he’s there.
I watch the blond boy intently, his tongue sticking out of his mouth as he brushes the blue crayons over the paper with great effort. His mother is lying next to me, fast asleep, probably exhausted.
His mother. My wife. My son.
I repeat the phrase a few times in my head, then nod confidently. This is my family, that’s right. They’ve told me so a few dozen times, I should remember. I can feel the woman’s breath tickling my neck and I smile. Half of the time my smile doesn’t work and when it doesn’t, I just smile in my thoughts. It’s close enough. The man at the end of the bed smiles now too, letting me know the smile worked this time. He’s blond, not very old, barely a man yet.
Nick.
I like Nick; he has a short name, easy to remember. He also barely leaves the room. I’m still not sure if he’s family or not, but I do know he’s close to me. He gives me a sad smile. I can see the pity in his eyes, I can feel it radiating off of him. It makes me sick, but I can’t tell him to stop it. It’s like a TV show, a very boring, uninteresting TV show that you can’t turn off. And I’m just a viewer.
“Daddy! Daddy! Look!” the kid suddenly shoves his piece of paper in front of my face, waving it around to make sure I see it, “Is Donald Duck! Nick drew Donald Duck, and me gots to color it!” He watches me with hopeful eyes, then turns to Nick, questioningly. “Donald Duck, right?”
Nick nods, barely containing his laughter and I smile too, or at least, I hope I do.
“’s Good, Bay.” The words leave my mouth before I know it and I notice Nick watching me with wide eyes, the smile slowly spreading into a full grin. He leans in, patting my arm approvingly.
“See, I knew you were still somewhere in there!” He declares.
Gee, thanks.
Baylee seems fairly satisfied with the compliments and takes a big black crayon, covering the duck’s face completely. Nick’s eyebrows shoot up in shock.
“Donald ain’t black, dude!” he comments and laughs. I laugh too. Yet another accomplishment in the life of Brian Littrell.
Baylee just shrugs, turning back to his drawing, contemplating his next move. Nick watches him with a mixture of horror and amusement. “Don’t you dare giving him a green beak, young man!” he comments, smirking.
Baylee narrows his eyes and stares back at Nick, a sly grin slowly appearing on his lips as he reaches for the green crayon. His eyes never leave Nick’s as he puts the crayon to the paper, defiantly stroking it across Donald’s mouth.
“No! What did I tell you!” Nick exclaims and the little boy giggles, doubling over in laughter next to me.
Today is a good day. Today is progress day.
When he’s finally finished, Baylee unceremoniously drops the drawing on my stomach before hopping off the bed.
“Hungry,” he announces.
I watch Nick get up with a sigh, taking Baylee’s hand as he leads him out of the room. “We’ll be back in a second, okay? Get some sleep.”
I only blink, suddenly feeling drained. Slowly, I turn my head towards my wife, who hasn’t moved since I woke up.
The room is silent now, and I kind of like it that way.
Too much noise is confusing. My eyelids grow heavier as I watch her, softly resting my cheek against her forehead. I close my eyes and slowly doze off…
I jerk awake with a shock as the door opens suddenly and another man steps in. I feel my wife stir beside me as well. I glare at the guy. Can’t we get a minute of rest here? He gives me an apologetic smile, quietly sneaking over to the chair Nick left earlier.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you guys,” the man speaks softly.
“’s okay, Howie,” my wife mutters, stretching stiffly. She winces as she sits up from the uncomfortable position in the bed, looking around in confusion. “Where’s Baylee?”
“Nick,” I grunt and both Howie and my wife look up in surprise.
“What?”
I just shrug, having forgotten where they’d gone. Howie stares at me for a few more seconds and then turns his attention towards my wife. “They’re gonna discharge him soon,” he speaks and I frown. I hate it when they talk about me as if I’m not in the room. Especially Howie does this. Maybe he thinks I can’t hear him, or understand him.
Maybe he’s just an asshole.
My wife nods absently, frowning slightly at the black and green Donald Duck picture, then shaking her head with a smile, “I know,” she replies, not looking up. “Tell me you didn’t make this,” she addresses me and I shake my head.
“Thank God,” she laughs.
“Leighanne, I’m serious,” Howie presses, “We need to consider the possibilities.”
“I know,” she says again, then turns to me again, “We’re finally going to get you out of this damn, room, what you say?”
I raise my eyebrows slightly, considering this. “Home?” I ask hopefully.
The blond woman sighs almost inaudibly, but because she’s still just inches away from me, I can hear it clearly. She hesitates before she answers, “Yeah… sort of.”
She and Howie exchange a look I can’t decipher. Sort of… sounds fine. Their conversation continues, but I soon lose interest. Closing my eyes again, I listen to only the soft hum of their voices, feeling myself float away.
“We didn’t even have to think about this if that dick hadn’t…”
I snap my eyes open at the mention. I don’t remember much from a life before this room. Only freeze frame pictures of memories that don’t carry any meaning. I don’t recall many names; and have to rely on my intuition to remember faces. I stare back at Howie with wide-open eyes and he worriedly lays a hand on my arm.
“Hey, you okay?” he questions. I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment and then nod slowly. His hand leaves my arm.
“Brian? Can I ask you something?” Howie asks after a few seconds of silence.
“Howie…” My wife tone sounds warningly, as if she already senses what he’s going to ask. I feel her stare boring into the side of my head, but keep focusing on Howie as I nod slowly again.
“Do you… do you remember anything from… from what happened?” he stammers quietly.
“Damn you, Howard!” my wife explodes next to me, but I just keep staring blankly at Howie, shrugging eventually.
“Just… just tell me this,” Howie speaks, before taking a deep breath, “Was it Peter?”
“Damn it! We’re not supposed to ask him those questions! You know that!” My wife exclaims beside me, but I can barely hear her. Unwanted images flood my mind and I grab my head, wincing. It’s getting increasingly harder to breathe and I can faintly feel hands on my arms, on my chest. My head feels like it’s ready to explode in a matter of seconds. The flashing images are blurry at best, making me dizzy as they speed past my line of vision.
There’s only one thing I can clearly make out. A bright colored collection of pills and bottles.
The room has entirely disappeared and suddenly I’m alone in another room. The pills lined up on the headboard of the bed make an inviting impression. I look down at the glass in my hands, frowning. Do it for them…
I swallow thickly, watching my hand move on its own accord as it pushes the glass into my arm. I try to scream.
This is not a good day.
Chapter End Notes:
oh them feels...
please review, I'm not entirely sure about this chapter, thank you!
please review, I'm not entirely sure about this chapter, thank you!
