Reality Check

When I regained consciousness, a blinding white light greeted me, temporarily obscuring my vision. "So this is what death feels like," I thought, finding it rather cliché. Gradually, my eyes adjusted, revealing that I was staring up at a ceiling.

As I turned my head from side to side, a dull pain throbbed at the back of my skull. Suddenly, a piercing emergency siren shattered the silence, threatening to deafen me.

To my surprise, numerous faces loomed over me, unfamiliar yet oddly familiar. Amidst the crowd, an older man's voice spoke devoid of any particular emotion, "We thought you'd never wake up. Guess we were wrong."

Attempting to speak, my dry throat only allowed a croak. Without hesitation, someone offered me a straw, and cool water flooded my mouth, causing me to cough and dampen the pillow underneath my head.

Once my coughing fit subsided, I managed to inquire, "Where am I?"

"You're among friends here, don't worry. You're safe, honey," a kind young woman in a nurse uniform responded.

While her answer lacked detail, it was a marked improvement from the usual indifference I encountered. "Rest for a while. When you feel better, your parents will come to visit you," she reassured me with a smile.

Grateful for the attention, I couldn't help but smile back. Had it really taken a leap from a roof to finally get my parents' attention? If only I had known, I might have done it ages ago.

Suddenly, the room emptied, leaving me lying in what appeared to be a hospital bed. Surprisingly, despite falling from a significant height onto concrete, I didn't feel too terrible. The memory of Brian's lifeless body flashed before me, causing a shudder. Perhaps the last "newbie" had been on to something after all—this leap seemed like the right path for now.

Rolling over, I attempted to get up, responding to nature's call. Immediately, a sense of wrongness washed over me. Both of my wrists were handcuffed to the bed.

Struggling to free myself proved futile. Perplexed, I surveyed the room, finding no evidence of my imprisonment—just an ordinary hospital room. Could it be that they deemed me a danger to myself, subjecting me to some form of suicide watch?

Regardless, I still needed to use the bathroom. I noticed a conveniently placed button within my reach and pressed it, assuming it was intended for situations like these.

Almost instantly, the nurse from before entered the room. "Are you hungry? It's almost lunchtime, but I can fetch you a snack beforehand if you'd like," she offered.

"Thanks," I attempted to smile. "I also need to use the bathroom. Could you remove these?" I gestured toward my left wrist with my chin.

The nurse chuckled softly, shaking her head. "Don't try anything funny with me, young man! I can't let you wander around freely."

"I understand," I frowned. "But how...?"

"You still have a catheter, so if you need to go, just go. Don't be shy. I'll bring you some cookies in the meantime, okay?" she said, winking at me.

"Okay... I mean, you don't have to worry about me doing anything," I replied, slightly confused.

The nurse raised an eyebrow. "Wouldn't be the first time you said that, would it?"

She left, leaving me just as clueless as before. As promised, she returned with cookies, feeding them to me one by one since I lacked mobility due to the restraints. Although I wasn't particularly hungry, I savored every bite, relishing her attention like a starved puppy.

"You're such a good boy!" The nurse patted my head. "I believe the doctor will give you a clean bill of health soon, and then you can see your parents. They've been inquiring about you since the accident."

"How long have I been... unconscious?" I asked.

"Almost three months! You have no idea how worried I was! You're my secret favorite, you know," she confided while gently wiping my mouth.

"Thank you," I awkwardly replied, unsure of the appropriate response.

"Look at you, blushing! I didn't know you could blush! How cute!" the nurse exclaimed, disposing of the empty wrappers.

Later, she brought me lunch, and once I finished the mushy potatoes and unidentified meat substitute, she informed me it was time for a bath.

Eagerly, I extended my arm, hoping to finally be freed from the restraints. The red marks on my wrists were evidence of my fruitless struggles to escape.

Wagging her finger, the nurse warned, "No funny business, mister! I'll give you a sponge bath."

"What?" I questioned.

"What's got you so worked up? I've been doing it for the past months. Don't act like a little princess!" she retorted.

The procedure made me uncomfortable in more ways than one, but I endured it, realizing it was still preferable to the indifference I experienced from everyone else.

The following day, an older man, presumably the doctor, arrived to examine me. He conducted a brief and polite check-up, clearly preoccupied with other patients.

Carefully, I asked, "When can I leave?"

"Leave? What do you mean?" the man frowned.

"I've almost recovered, right? So I can soon be discharged from the hospital, correct?"

Confusion filled the doctor's expression as he suddenly grasped my head, shining a tiny flashlight into my eyes. Finally releasing me, he inquired, "What is the last thing you remember?"

"Jumping off the roof," I responded with conviction.

"So you jumped?"

"I... think so. Or maybe I just took a step forward? I'm not sure if it makes a difference."

"Can you recall anyone else being on the roof with you?" he continued, as if interrogating me.

Pondering whether to mention the "newbie" who vanished before hitting the ground, I hesitated. "Maybe," I cautiously answered, observing the doctor's reaction.

Oddly relieved, he responded, "It's probably for the best if you don't remember certain things. Short-term memory loss is common after traumatic experiences. However, what concerns me more is your long-term memory. Do you know where you are?"

"In the hospital," I made a "wild" guess.

"And why are you here?"

"Due to my injuries," I replied, perplexed as to why the doctor asked such obvious questions.

"No, why were you in this hospital before your fall?" he pressed, genuine concern etched on his face.

"I wasn't," I shook my head. "I was at my high school."

The doctor sighed. "Do you remember who you are?"

"I am Colin, just a high school student... or maybe not anymore," I uncertainly answered.

"Ah, regressive amnesia," the doctor muttered, jotting down quick notes on my chart.

Growing panicked, I asked, "You mean to tell me I'm not Colin?"

The man shook his head. "No need to worry, Colin. You remember your name correctly. However, it appears that your memories have regressed to your high school years, and you can't recall anything that transpired between then and now."

"What exactly happened?" My breathing accelerated. "How old am I?"

"Calm down, Colin. Everything will be fine," the doctor soothed.

"I'll calm down when you answer my questions," I grew jittery.

Pressing on my shoulder, he called out, "Nurse!"

"Let me go!" I shouted. "Just tell me what the hell is happening!"

No matter how much I screamed afterward, none of my questions received an answer. Desperation filled the room as I pleaded for any peace of valuable information, but silence was my only companion.

The nurse finally entered the room, syringe in hand. With a gentle touch, she injected the contents of the syringe into my IV line, and a sense of drowsiness washed over me. The noise and chaos of my own distress faded away as I descended into a hazy, quiet void.

The next thing I remember was slowly regaining consciousness, greeted by concerned faces leaning over me. As my senses sharpened, I could see worry etched across their features, mirroring the turmoil I felt inside.

"Colin, how many fingers do you see?" someone asked.

Lazily, I responded, attempting to push the fingers away but realizing I couldn't lift my arms.

"Colin, look at me," someone grasped my face, forcing my gaze into their eyes. It was the same old doctor.

"Can you hear me?"

I nodded.

"Everyone, give him some space!"

As the heads finally moved away, relief washed over me, allowing me to breathe easier. The doctor helped me sit up and offered a reassuring nod.

"Just breathe. I understand that it's a lot to take in. I apologize for not recognizing the problem earlier."

Still feeling groggy, I simply stared at him, unable to form coherent words.

"First of all, you need to calm down."

"I am very calm," I replied. "Very, very calm."

"Good. Secondly, please understand that you have forgotten significant events spanning a long period of time. It won't be easy to process everything in a single session."

"Session?" I questioned.

The doctor smiled. "Yes, Colin. We will resume our weekly sessions, just like before your fall. We were making great progress, and I believe we're still on the right track. This setback is only temporary. And you know what they say—every crisis presents an opportunity."

His words felt like something one would find in a fortune cookie, but I remained silent, waiting for him to get to the point.

"You're 23 years old, Colin. You've been with us, at this hospital, for the past five years. Do you understand?"

I nodded slowly.

"Can you recall what happened at your high school?"

Pondering the doctor's question, I struggled to remember anything apart from the "newbies." Uncertain of their reality, I answered cautiously, "You mean the accidents?"

"Is that what you call them?" the man inquired, peering at me over his glasses.

"What else should I call them?" I asked, unsure if we were referring to the same incidents.

"Well, there's no need to get aggressive. If that's how you perceive them, then so be it. After you caused these... accidents, an extensive evaluation determined that you were unfit to stand trial."

"Excuse me, what? I caused... what?" I was certain I had misheard the doctor.

"Between the ages of 12 and 18, you caused 19 students to have accidents. You admitted guilt for each case. However, due to your mental condition and young age at the time, the judge ruled in favor of institutionalizing you. That's why you're here with us, rather than in a state penitentiary."