There was always something about waking up one day and not knowing where you lived, who your family was. Waking up and not knowing who you were. For me, it was almost unbearable. I didn't want to leave the ones I loved behind to pick up the pieces, to erase the sins I had committed.
But I didn't have a choice; there was nothing I could do.
At least I could start over, start fresh.
The pearl-white light burned my eyes as I continued staring endlessly at it–or maybe it was the tears building up, the dread and fear threatening to take me alive. An itchy gown covered me, and I was bound to the bed by velcro and duct tape. The heart monitor spat out spiking lines every second and produced a high beeping sound that reminded me of every noise in this hellhole, and a yellow light flashed every time I held my breath, every time I tried to keep the moisture inside me.
One life. One chance. I hadn't succeeded. I never knew why I, of all people, had been given another chance to live. I guessed they assumed we were never satisfied with the choices we made in life. Few can argue with that.
I remembered nothing about my previous life–my old family was erased from my mind, my old self disappeared, melted sometime between the transition to the hospital and the operation. Even when I tried my hardest to summon the memories, it came out blank, a white light that hid the fuzzy remains of the previous me. Now, I was in a room, lifeless and lacking color, waiting to see if I could truly start over, and this wasn't just a hoax, a prank they tried to play on me.
A soft clicking brought me out of my daze, then the screeching legs of a chair on hard tile pulling up beside the hospital bed, and then sound of a person hefting themselves into it. A single pair of eyes met mine, but I looked away after a second. I couldn't understand why the rising feeling inside me was, of all things, resentment. It was as if I was waiting for something to happen, for a fight to break out so I could run far away from this place and never come back.
Then again, how could I run away from the people that completely changed me as a whole: my appearance, my personality, my name? Everything was cleared, wiped off. Everything about my past self was poof–gone. Erased from the system and never mentioned again.
The person lightly touched my chin, and turned my face toward them. My hand twitched, but I curled it into a fist to avoiding hitting them.
"Hi, sweetie," a voice, female, no doubt, chimed, "my name is Dr. Stevenson, and I'll be taking care of you for the next 12 weeks." I saw a small smile appear on her lips through my peripheral vision. She lightly touched my chin, and turned my face toward her. My hand twitched, but I curled it into a fist to avoiding smacking her. To avoid crying.
I refused to be 'looked after' for 12 weeks, when I didn't even know much about myself. I had no idea how she would pull that off, or how she had done it for so many years. I was surprised she hadn't gone insane at that point, dealing with so many amnesic patients every day. Including me.
Dr. Stevenson must've seen my expression, because she placed a hand on my arm and gazed at me knowingly. I was pretty sure that she gave that same look to every one of her patients.
I couldn't pull away, but I narrowed my eyes. Jesus, would you keep your hands off me for once?
Then, she sighed and whispered, "I know it can be tough starting over, but you'll get through it. I promise you that."
A/N: Short & rushed, but I hope you enjoyed Chapter One of The Beginning of The End! Don't forget to comment to show what you think (and improvements for future chapters,) and like to show your support! Stay tuned for Chapter 2! <3