Starless

Everyone's searching for something. They may not yet realize what that thing is, but it is a certain inevitability one will have to face at some point in their lives. Or not, and I'm doomed to live out my entire existence as a mere shell of the person I never knew.

I'm getting ahead of myself, but it has been roughly fifteen hours since I woke up from a two-week coma.

I don't know the exact sequence of events since I came to, but it felt like I was staring at the same blank slate for hours on end. I would close and open my eyes and I'd see a new feature in the ceiling that I didn't quite catch before; a new crack, a new ding.

Maybe it was the medication or I'm just slowly losing my sanity, but I kept pondering on the seemingly endless stream of dreams that I had before waking up. They were all so vivid and surreal, yet I can't even remember a single second. It was aggravating, like a book being placed in front of you but every time you peered down to read, the words would just coalesce and become an undecipherable heap of scribbled lines.

I heaved a sigh through my parched lips.

I lay inclined with my head grazing the wall. The overhead lights flickered, giving the small room a gentle glow. The monotonous beeps of the cardiograph zipped through the air, filling the silence. Traffic behind the window revealing the hallway came to a crawl, but I could still see the occasional personnel jogging past. I just assumed that hospitals were always busy. I didn't have a watch on but I could tell it was the wee hours of the morning. I had too much on my mind to sleep.

I could briefly recall the doctor blurting out something as I lie, and at that time, I was too confused to care. I arched an eyebrow at him, still oblivious to everything. He looked at me expectantly and I frivolously blinked back. After pausing for a second, he immediately apologizes and said "I will consult you at a different time." and sauntered off through the doors.

It was weird, looking back at his cacophonous ramblings and remaining indifferent at some of the disturbing things he said. I shook it off as my head throbbed, instinctively clutching the bedsheets of the hospital bed. This is all too much. I decided to momentarily push everything out and resumed to staring back at the ceiling, allowing the mechanical beeps to soothe my nerves.

---

Fragment 1: October 28, 2016

It should've been a normal evening; I was browsing reddit, the night bugs outside were chirping, the moon was shining through the slatted blinds of the bedroom window, and a loud banging was erupting downstairs.

Cold beads of sweat ran down my forehead as I breathed in and out in an attempt to calm my now racing heartbeat. What the hell? I took a quick glance at the wall clock across the room. It was eleven; an ungodly hour for any sort of visitors. Not that we should have any, mom was out on a business trip, effectively leaving custody of the house all to myself. I placed my phone inside my pocket and cautiously exited the bedroom.

I've thought about this situation before. What I'd do if I came face-to-face with a burglar. The first logical step was to get out of the house through a window or something, then maybe call the cops. I soon realized that your mind doesn't particularly function too well under extreme pressure. I brought out my phone but realized I had no load. My mind wandered to the telephone line downstairs.

Halfway across the hall, the banging stopped, the absence of sound was quickly replaced by my racing thoughts. Someone was breaking down the door. I paced down the stairs as the intermittent banging resumed. They're probably under the assumption that no one was home. I quickly scanned the living room for anything to defend myself with. If that's the case, this person might be someone either my mother or I know. I grabbed a letter opener from the coffee table and started for the door. Whoever this was, I'm sure as hell not going to let him make off with our home. I tightened my grip on the letter opener as my whole body began to shake. I took a deep breath and looked through the door's peephole and nearly choked.

Her auburn tresses were ruffled and fell haphazardly over her face, barely obscuring the pink flush which crept up her cheeks. It was Cinelli, the girl who lived just down the street. I immediately dropped the letter opener and threw open the door in a mixture of rage and confusion. She drew her eyes up at me and grinned lopsidedly.

Cinelli Joanne was of European descent. Her Portugesian father migrated from Tacoma and she was subsequently born and raised in San Diego prior to moving here. She looked more like her late mother than her father and the paternal traits hardly showed, I often times forget that she even has foreign blood coursing in her; but when the light touches her face a certain way, she gave this sort of radiance and for a brief moment I realized just how beautiful she could be.

The harsh porch light hit her just above the head, casting dark features all over her face. I guess this wasn't one of those instances.

"Hey, birthday boy," She drawled.

I gaped at her, processing the situation. My birthday isn't until two days later, but that's beside the point. I rubbed my temples. I wanted to say a multitude of things to her but my vocabulary shrunk to three words.

I said, "What the hell?" The terror still present in my voice.

I leaned on the doorframe and crossed my arms over my chest, shifting my weight on my left foot. She peeked over my shoulder and towards the living room. "I'm going to let myself in," She said, bouncing.

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't."

In response, she brushed past me and took a few steps forward before stumbling face-first on the couch. I inhaled sharply and let the door close behind me, scooping up the discarded letter opener in the process. This wasn't a burglar but calling the police was still a valid option. I slowly walked to her and set the letter opener down on the coffee table.

"Have you been drinking?" I began calmly.

"Nah." She turns her head to me and squints her eyes. "And I'm not drunk, if that's- if that's what you're assuming."

I drummed my fingers on my shorts. "You aren't?" I said incredulously.

She pushes herself off the couch and slumps back on her seat. "What? I don't drink."

I glared at her.

"Well, I guess I had just- just one bottle from dad's closet."

I walked to the couch across from her and sat down. I braced my elbows to my legs, my interlocked fingers pressed against my mouth.

"Wait, no- heh. I didn't even finish the bottle yet," She quipped.

Aside from the times she stuffed her face with ice cream for comfort, Cinelli has never really resorted to alcohol, not even during the lowest points in her life. I didn't know she was even capable of drinking, much more getting drunk.

"What's wrong?" I whispered to the oblivious girl in front of me. A stupid smile was plastered on her face as she looked over to the kitchen behind me. She's seeing something I can't see. I shivered, remembering the articles I've read about the supernatural.

I cleared my throat. "Why... are you here? In my living room? In the middle of the freaking night?" I pursed my lips before adding, "Drunk?!"

Cinelli blinks and eyes me weirdly. "I'm not drunk," She reiterates, tousling her hair with her fingers. "Mhmm. Maybe you're drunk?"

I grit my teeth. "What are you doing here?"

She puffs up her cheeks and blows loose strands of hair sticking to her face. Her black orbs twinkled.

"I wanted to talk."

I almost threw my hands up the air. "You should've just called then!"

Cinelli shook her head. "There's- there's just some things that... can't be said... over the phone," She said between hiccups.

I rested my head on the head of the couch and looked up the ceiling. I sighed, defeated. "What is this discussion that can't wait until tomorrow?"

I can hear Cinelli shuffling at the other end of the room. She hiccups then murmurs something to me.

"What was that?" I said, looking back at her. She was looking down at the carpeted floor, her pink flush had transitioned to a deep red.

Mumble mumble mumble.

"Hey, speak up."

Louder mumble mumble mumble.

"You know I can't hear you, right?"

Cinelli looks up at me, eyes staring deep into mine, her eyebrows furrowed in deep concentration. "Jaylen..." She began, biting her lip. "You're the reason why I'm drunk right now."

"Huh?" I scoffed.

She nodded vigorously to herself. "I always wondered how- what getting drunk feels like, 'ya know? But I never- I never had a legit reason for drinking. I didn't want to, it tastes so so so so bitter, 'ya know? But- I guess like they say," she said, giggling "'tis an acquired taste. And once you- uh- drink a bottle, you really feel like these- these metaphorical chains- are just gone, 'ya know?"

"Get to the point." They said alcohol brings out the fun side in everyone but this is really stressing me out.

She shakily stands up on her legs, jabbing an accusing finger at me in the process. "You like her."

"Who?" I meant to say what, since the question's nature is already inherently questionable.

"That goody-goody girl." She said, wobbling over in my direction.

Erin? "Erin?"

She nodded profusely. Her hair bobbing up and down in the air. It almost looked like she was having a seizure.

"Ah," I scratched my cheek. a terrible habit I've acquired through the years when I was at a loss for words. "She's a great friend?"

"No!" Cinelli protested. "She's my great friend, mine!"

"Is this the whole reason you're drunk?" Was she jealous? Why?

I squeezed my eyes for a moment as I brought out my phone. It was getting late.

"That's it, bedtime," I said. I stood up and strode towards her in three quick steps.

She raised her hands, trying to shoo me away. She took a cautious step backwards but her heel made contact with the base of the couch, there was nowhere else to go.

"Sleepover?" She said, opening and closing her mouth.

I shook my head. "I'm taking you back to your house."

Cinelli frowned at me and before I knew it was already running, or maybe half speed-walking and half tripping, up the stairs. "You can't take me back!" She shouted over her shoulder.

Growing increasingly irritated, I gave chase and grabbed her by the arms midway up the stairs. I flipped her over so she was facing me and lifted her up so that her stomach was resting on my shoulder. Cinelli wasn't a heavy eater, so she didn't weigh much. I darted for the front door with ease.

"Wha- you're taking advantage of me!" She said, pounding her fists on my back.

I jogged down the front yard and to the pavements separating our land from the outside world. Cinelli eventually gave up and stopped punching me. She lay still on my shoulder, muttering incoherent curses. It was dark out, and the lamp posts placed sporadically throughout the town barely lighted the path. I'm surprised that she even managed to come to my house in the state she's in.

After a minute of calmness with only the sound of my slippers on cold concrete and Cinelli's intoxicated breathing, I felt Cinelli shift on my shoulder and lean to my ear, her warm breath sending shivers down my back.

"I'm uncomfortable in this position." She pulls herself down and wraps her arms and legs around my head and torso. She envelops me in a bear hug and I almost trip forward from the sudden imbalance.

"I swear I'm going to drop you."

"No, no don't!" She shrieks. I stifled a laugh as she buried her face on the crook of my neck. She reeked of soap and alcohol.

"Shut up," I said. I could see the silhouette of her house by this point, lighted by the dull glow of a distant streetlight. Just a few more steps and I could throw this drunkard off of me.

"Hey Jaylen," She said as I trudged to her driveway.

"Hmm?"

I stopped in front of her door which stood ajar, light escaped from the crack.

"This is a stupid question, but- but I guess you could say most scientific discoveries begin with a stupid question, like, this one guy who circled the world to prove- to prove that it's round. Like, he didn't know and he could've died-"

"What is it?"

After a pause, Cinelli pushed herself up to look at me. Perhaps it was an effect of the alcohol but her eyes were bloodshot and intense and pierced right through me. I squirmed under her weight.

"Will we ever change?"

The question came like a bullet train derailing after a sudden turn and colliding with a meter of solid steel. A pretty specific analogy for a question so absurd that made me question my hearing.

"What?" I said, setting her down. I looked at her awkwardly.

After it was clear she was just going to stare at me and not repeat herself, I decided on a reply.

I said, "No?"

"What do you mean?" She said after what felt like forever.

"Uh…" I looked up to avoid her gaze, I noticed there weren't any stars out.

"What do you mean?" She repeated with such ferocity unprecedented for a helpless drunk individual.

"I mean, we'll always be friends and stuff. We'll always be neighbors. I'll always be there for you, through your…" I paused, wondering if I should even say it. I was going to melt. "Episodes."

I looked back down, wondering if that satisfied her. But I was only looking at the dark sidewalk and she was already lazily walking back to her house.

"The future is really that predictable, huh?" She said. I didn't know what to say, the mood has turned melancholy so fast. I nodded, even though she couldn't see me.

Cinelli grabs the doorknob and opened the door. The white light hit her face and I could see her expression. She was smiling.

It was imperceptible at first, but she whispered something under a sudden breeze. I rubbed my arms for warmth.

"Sorry, what was that?"

"I like you, you stupid idiot."

I stared at her back, her hair flowing behind her, as she languidly closed the door.

The world seemed to stop, or maybe it was me who stopped and the world continued as usual.

"Huh." I managed to squeak as I turned my head up and stared at the starless sky.

---

I turned my head up and stared at the muted ceiling.

I heard the doors carefully open. A nurse popped into view and asked me how I was feeling and if I needed to use the bathroom. After saying I was okay and declining the bathroom offer, she proceeded to briskly clean the room even though I'm pretty sure someone has already done that an hour earlier.

"Can I borrow a mirror?" I said. She was vacuuming something at the foot of my bed.

My face was blanched and pallid, the charcoal hair sticking out from the numerous bandages wrapped around my head were matted and wild, my eyes were probably even worse, they resembled that of a dead fish. I brought a hand to my face, my fingertips grazed upon my dry lips as I rubbed my chin. I look horrible.

"Thanks," I muttered, handing the mirror back to the nurse. She smiled gently and handed me my food. I lifted my arms up to reach for the plastic spoon and fork and unconsciously observed the intravenous tubes jutting out of my forearm and to a nearby IV bag.

Breakfast was an insipid chicken curry which tasted more like stale bread if anything. In hindsight, it might've been mixed with medicine.

I hastily finished the medicine curry and rested back into the hospital bed, closing my eyes. I've been doing a lot of thinking lately, about what kind of person I was, the people I interacted with, what my life is like. I probably remained pensive throughout my twenty-one-hour stay here.

The nurse took my empty plate and left the room as soon as she entered. The nurses here were nice enough, but they were brusque and insincere with their one-size-fits-all smile; I'm beginning to yearn for someone from my life to visit me, if anyone even bothered. Did I live a life of ignorance and hate, does anyone really care?

I shifted on the bed, trying to get to a more comfortable position. A few hours ago, when I went to the bathroom and a nurse had to assist me, I found out that I also broke my leg. A thick layer of cast traveled from my left calf to just underneath the knee. They said that I shouldn't scratch it but I still reached down and placed a hand on the cast. It was futile, and it wasn't doing anything about the itch, but I found security knowing that I was holding my leg and it was still more or less intact.

The doors opened once more as my assigned doctor, I think it was Will, entered the room. He was holding a clipboard on his right hand and the other ran through his sandy hair with the occasional shocks of gray. He sported a white coat which looked humongous on his thin body. His tired eyes were framed by a pair of thick round glasses. He was probably well into his forties by now. Creases formed across his forehead and cheeks as the jovial fellow smiled in greeting.

"Good morning, Mr. Harper."

Jaylen Harper, that's supposed to be my name.

"Good morning," I croaked. My voice was rough and dry, like that of dead leaves.

"How are you feeling?" He said.

"I…" I said, trailing off. I was growing increasingly tired of hearing that question from everyone who sees me, yet I'm still not entirely sure of an answer. I was certainly doing better than before but I felt like I'd seen better days. at least I assume I do. "I feel fine."

"Alright." He acquiesced, casually nodding.

Dr. Will views the papers stapled on the clipboard. "I presume you're wanting some answers. I would hope your parents and friends would do a better job at explaining all these, but I'll try to tell you everything as briefly and as accurately as I can. Now this news might be surprising but it's perfectly okay for me to slow down.

"You've been involved in a car accident."

I clenched and unclenched my fists. Car accident. Makes sense.

I nodded, urging him to continue.

"Now, I can't get the specifics right, but you were driving down Arthur Boulevard through a storm. Evidence shows that the car brakes were malfunctioning prior to the accident. The car had skid across the wet asphalt and collided with a tree."

Strangely enough, the whole event felt like it happened to someone else, it couldn't be me. What was I doing in Arthur Boulevard? Where is Arthur Boulevard, even?

"Is that how I lost my memories?" I said, the most prominent question pounding at my head.

"You suffered a concussion, yes, but what you are currently diagnosed with is post-traumatic amnesia."

Post-traumatic amnesia. Makes sense.

"Now what this means is you didn't lose your memories from brain damage or oxygen deprivation commonly associated with being comatose, it doesn't even concern any physical harm for that matter. It is an entirely psychological case. An individual with PTA may have witnessed something horrific, something that left your mind too scarred for it to process normally. In a way, it is a defense mechanism for your mind to cope. And in your case," He motions a hand to me. "a car accident."

I nodded once more, trying to stomach the news.

"I've been having really vivid dreams lately," I said, hoping for a correlation.

"It is said that those who suffer from PTA can only recall 'islands' of memories at a time. Perhaps these dreams of yours are actually fragments of memories resurfacing in your consciousness."

"That means I'll be getting my memories back, right?"

"It is a healing process. After our evaluations with you, you may undergo therapy."

I nodded, shutting my eyes. I'm not even sure myself what you do in therapy, but the prospect of which did not leave an appealing impression.

"You are indeed very fortunate Mr. Harper, a direct collision like that would've been fatal. You did however, manage to break a leg, but still, a full recovery is to be expected."

I unconsciously look at my legs hidden beneath the covers.

"Great," I mumbled. The energy suddenly leaving me.

"Oh, and one more thing," Dr. Will said, placing the clipboard down adjacent from me.

"Yes, Doc?" I said.

"A guest at the lobby wants to see you. You are currently cleared for visitation but if you'd like, we can appoint her at a later date."

"Someone's going to visit me?" I said, my interest suddenly piqued. "Who is she?"

"Ah, yes" Dr. Will lightly chuckled, like he literally forgot to say the most crucial detail, her name. "Her name's Erin Ansel. She's currently out on the lobby, but it's still up to you if you'd like to see her."

A person from my old life, I'm not sure if I even can.

"And if it's worth adding, she said she's your girlfriend, but I can't confirm that."