Escape the world. Forget it all and begin your journey to a fresh new start.
That's the tagline of the rehab center they have come to stay at.
Phoenix has had a rough past, and has come here to start over.
Milo doesn't remember a thing from his, and can't wait to get out of the place and figure out his life. .
What happens when they meet? That's a story to tell.


5. (4)

He didn't come.
It was the poem reading day. Both of them had read their poems aloud, and he had, then, told her to wait for him at their usual spot.
But, as she sat on the bench for two hours straight, waiting, but there was no sign of Milo.
She decided to talk to him at the dinner table.
He wasn't there, either.
Sitting in her room, after her therapy session with Elena, she wondered where he was.
She tried to convince herself that it was probably some emergency. He had an extra session he forgot about. He'd be there the next day.
But still, she had an unsettling feeling.
She felt claustrophobic. She opened up the window to let in some air. Hannah and Ally would be here from their therapy sessions anytime now. Talking to them might distract her.
Kittens, she tried to think of kittens to distract herself till then. She loved kittens.
That was the thing about depression. It didn't need a valid reason to come, and turn someone's life upside down. It would just be there, even if everything was going well. And turn off the lights to even the brightest of days.
You can't prevent it. You can't stop it. How can you, afterall, when you can't even describe it.
But she wasn't giving up. She had come this far. She continued to think of good things.
Books, movies, comics, a new Batman one was due this month.
She remembered Milo's lame Batman metaphor.
She smiled.
Kittens-0            Milo-1

He couldn't go.
He had told Phoenix to wait for him. But as was making his way to their usual spot, his therapist, Bill, came up to him.
"Milo, we'd like to talk to you," he said and asked him to follow.
We? Who? What? Why?
Milo followed, a billion questions swimming in his head.
Bill took him to the room where his therapy sessions were held. There sat another man who Milo recognized from the flyers they were given. as the head therapist.
He was asked to take a seat.
"Now," Bill began to speak, "we understand that all of this must be very confusing for you..."
Yeah, no shit.
"...not remembering anything but..."
Why was he talking about stuff, they had already gone over?
"...there's something you deserve to know."
There were a lot of things he deserved to know.
"And that is, how you lost your memory."
"I know you must be wondering why we are deciding to tell you this out of nowhere?"
Milo nodded.
"It's because of your poem," the head therapist spoke up for the first time.
"My poem?"
"Yes. You should know that we are very worried about you after listening to it."
Milo was getting more and more confused. "That's why we need to know that you have no motives of-of," Bill stayed silent for a moment before continuing, "Milo, your poem is about suicide."
Another moment of silence. The head therapist asked, "Do you see where we are going with this?"
Milo looked between him and Bill until realization dawned on him. Like a bucket of ice cold water on a December evening.
No, it couldn't be.
He felt paralyzed by shock. He had always wanted to know more about his past, how he lost him memory, but right there, he didn't feel ready for all this.
And then Bill's soft voice cut through his ears, confirming his fears, "You lost your memory during a suicide attempt."
"B-but I-"
Bill put a hand on his shoulder.
"We need to know if you have any motives of s-"
"No," Milo was getting angsty. He didn't know why. All he knew was that he wanted to get out of this room. He needed to think.
But they kept him there for God knows how long. Talking, interrogating.
Finally, Bill said, "Alright, don't over think it. Get some sleep. We'll discuss more on our next session. But still, if there are any moti-"
The look on Milo's face stopped Bill from finishing that sentence. So, instead, he just pat him on the back one last time, and set him off to his room.
Dinner time was over by then. It wasn't like he was hungry.
He just wanted to see Phoenix.

Time was crawling too damn slowly.
Phoenix couldn't wait till the next evening. The suspense of he would, wouldn't, would, wouldn't come was killing her.
The breakfast and lunch were eaten during their sessions, so she had no chance of seeing him before that time, either.
And with each passing second, time slowed down a little more.
So, when she was sitting on the garden bench, where she had arrived especially early that day, time seemed to be stretching into an infinity.
That was, until she saw Milo walking over.
Because then, time completely stopped.
And she had a feeling, so did her heart.

Maybe it was the look on his face that Phoenix didn't question why he'd gone missing the previous day.
He returned her the book she'd given him, and they began to talk. And for some time, he forgot about everything else. He forgot about yesterday, the confusions in his head and all else.
And they talked and talked and talked. Just like they always did.
And he wished that time would stop. And all of this would never end.

Time was going too damn fast.
Before she knew it, it was almost time for him to leave.
She was dying to ask him what was wrong, what had happened.
His eyes looked sad, and his expressions were blank. They'd be replaced by a smile, but it'd be gone soon as it came.
And he was about to leave now.
"So, I guess I'll see you tomo-"
She couldn't anymore.
He stopped talking to look at her, as if telling her to go on.
"Is something wrong?"
A look she couldn't quite comprehend crossed over his face and she immediately regretted asking that question. Sure, they had spoken for hours about movies and books and songs.
But this, what if she had pushed it? Asking a personal question. What i-
"Right now?" Milo's voice cut through her thoughts, she looked up at him, he was looking back at her, his expressions soft.
Correction, looked into her.
She nodded, carefully.
"Nothing," he said, half a smile on his face, as his hand traveled slowly towards hers. Taking hers in its warmth.
And he leaned back against the bench, closing his eyes as she heard him whisper, more to himself, than her,
"Not anymore."
And she.
Phoenix silently crumbled. Dying and getting resurrected to his touch.

Her hands were soft. Her grip was firm.
Her body was warm. Her radiations were warm.
He was a lost explorer. His life was a question.
She was the answer.
And he was complete.

Join MovellasFind out what all the buzz is about. Join now to start sharing your creativity and passion
Loading ...