I woke from darkness, my eyes finally free to see the light, but with that came no memories, only confusion, and a Goth boy who wouldn’t take his eyes or hands off me. Slash.

Rating: M; for language, some violence, and sexual content.

Warning: this is a Slash. Meaning, boy on boy love. If you find it offensive then just don’t read. Be mature ;)

Thanks to Zebbie for beta-ing this! You really did a great job cleaning this chapter up (hopefully it didn't take too much of your time). If it weren’t for you, I'm sure this chapter would’ve seriously been mind boggling. Thanks a lot Zebbie, I really appreciate it :)

Now, enjoy.

Escaping the Dark

eVil-uNicorns

Chapter One: Waking Up

My eyelids felt as though they had been glued shut. The lids were too heavy and too sensitive for me to really want to move them, but I did. I forced them open so slowly, so hesitantly that my mind couldn’t articulate what it saw. I was more focused on getting the lids to open than anything else. When my eyes were nearly fully open, blinding, white light flooded in like hot fire. It caused some croaky noise at the back of my throat and I shut it out as quickly as I could. Opening them seemed like a bit of a mistake.

Eyes tight closed, I realised I felt other things. Like my sore, dry throat that felt as though there was some sort of sponge stuck in there. Next followed my body. It was as heavy as my lids were, weighing down so much that it was a drastic effort to even lift a finger, let alone two. By the time I had lifted my whole hand from the itchy sheet I was lying on, my whole arm was burning and sore.

Sounds. My breathing was being controlled by something attached to my face, feeding me oxygen that I didn’t need anymore. I could tell without thinking that I could breathe without it.

Slowly opening my eyes for the second time, I used as much strength I could muster to lift my hand towards the mask covering my mouth. I pulled it off without any thought and sucked in a deep breath of real air, feeling a burn run down my throat and into my chest. I felt so parched that I experimentally licked my lips, feeling the dry, cracked skin that I knew was chapped.

As my eyes tried to adjust to the light, which was causing my head to throb incessantly, I surveyed my surroundings, confused.

I was on a bed. That much I could tell from the lumpy sheet and the fluffed pillow I was lying on. There was a tube attached to my arm, running up to an IV drip bag. To one side, I could see a machine that read my heart’s progress, beeping quietly in the air. The white walls and relative silence seemed deafening.

I knew right away where I was – the hospital – but I had no idea how I knew that. Something foggy in my brain told me I was supposed to know why I was here, but I just didn’t.

What happened to me?

As I wondered this, I felt myself start to panic, different scenarios playing out in my mind. I hurriedly sat up in my wave of panic, feeling dizzy, and falling back down onto the pillow. I immediately regretted taking that sort of action.

Take it slow, I told myself as I breathed in deep, then out, allowing my mind to focus more on the problem at hand: finding out what happened. So, with that decided, I picked an area that I'd check first for injuries.

My legs. Lifting my body up so that I wasn't completely lying down, I leant back against the pillow and pulled the blanket down. I was wearing only a hospital gown, one that reached mid-thigh. My legs, which were pale white, as usual, were skinny, slightly short with no nick, scratch or bruise on them. Checking for an injury that may not show up noticeably, I lifted one leg, experimentally moving it and my ankle slightly. Nothing. Just a slight ache and weakness, so I couldn't keep the leg up too long.

After I finished with both legs, I checked my arms next. They were worse than my legs, the effort of holding them up causing a burning sensation where the muscles were, but I held them anyway. I studied the smooth skin, twisting my arm this way and that, seeing nothing besides the IV line that was still hooked inside my arm, the insertion oddly sickening to see.

I didn't know if anyone would walk in at any moment, and I knew I had nothing on under my hospital gown, so I ran my hands over the scratchy material, feeling for any bumps or severe pains that'd let me know I had an injury there. My hands roved my chest, stomach and ribs, feeling not the slightest bit of anything out of the norm. My back would have to wait until I could get to a mirror. My sore arms wouldn't be able to bend that way.

The next area to check caused my heart to speed irregularly, my breath deepening as I lifted my hands up and onto my face. I went slower in this process, worry clenching my stomach as I touched my cheeks, lips and nose. I felt cracked lips, and slight stubble of hair growing along my jaw and chin, but nothing that would indicate an injury. I held my breath though, as my fingertips trailed toward my temples, feeling the smooth skin until it stopped.

I froze, the tips of my fingers touching soft fabric. Cotton, I'd have guessed. The material was bunched, as if it were wrapped multiple times on my forehead. Allowing my fingers to move, I trailed them up and around, noting that it was a bandage, wrapped tightly around my head.

This brought me back to the question as to why I was here in the first place. Was I hit on the head? I wondered as my fingers lightly trailed over the soft bandage, wincing when I hit the spot just on the back of my skull.

I guess that answers my question, I thought wryly, finally allowing myself to breathe normally now that I figured out where the injury was at.

It was at the moment that I was bringing my hands away from my head when I heard the door open. I watched with narrowed eyes as a strange boy stood there, his mouth agape and eyes staring frozen into mine. I wondered why this guy was even coming into my hospital room, when I knew he wasn't a doctor or nurse. The average clothes he was wearing told me he wasn't someone who worked here, merely a visitor of some sort.

Feeling a bit wary about speaking just yet, I studied him carefully. He wasn't too bad looking. He was tall, muscular, with short brown hair, mussed as if he had been raking his fingers through it repeatedly. His brown eyes were wide, unblinking. His skin, which was lightly tanned, stood out against the whites of the wall and door behind him.

“You’re awake.” He said it in a whispered croak. “I-I can’t believe you’re finally awake. It’s been days. I thought . . . we thought,” the boy trailed off, taking a step forward. “You have no idea how much you worried us, Calen. I was freaking out. Mom was. Heck, even May and Daniel was worrying.” While he spoke, he walked, nearing closer toward my bedside. I was on alert, my heart beating faster, the beeps filling the air around us as I felt something wasn't quite right with this situation; a boy talking to me as if he knew me.

When he finally reached my side, which didn’t take long, he stretched a large hand out, causing me to flinch, holding my own hands up in reflex to stop the other from reaching me. I didn't know who this boy was, or what he was planning on doing.

It was as if that little flinch broke him out of whatever trance he was in. His wide eyes turned confused, eyebrows drawing down as he left his arm suspended in the air. “Are you all right, Calen?”

Calen? “Who’s Calen?” I asked, my voice rough and scratchy from being so dry.

The boy’s arm fell down to his side, his head dipping slightly as he peered hesitantly over at me. “You are.”

I think I may have shocked him even more with my confused expression. He looked like he had just been slapped in the face, pain etching in his features, though the worry was more evident. “I’m your brother. Do you remember who I am?”

I shook my head, my eyes widening when I realized this boy must clearly be insane. My name wasn't Calen, nor was this boy my brother. I didn't even recognize him! I didn’t even recall a single moment that I’d ever talked —

The realization hit me like a block of cold ice. My thoughts raced in my head over and over as I thought the most immediate question: What is my name?

I didn't have any memories of even a slight conversation with anyone. I couldn't even remember what my name really was.

The question repeated in my head again, only this time I voiced it. Quietly, to myself more than the stranger that stood there. “Who the hell am I?”

The boy’s mouth opened as if he were about to say something, only to close again. He stood there staring at me, thoughtfully.

The sound of the door opening a second time brought my eyes away from my ‘brother’ and toward the door. There stood another person I didn’t recognize — a woman with hair just a shade darker then the boy in front of me, her eyes shining when they landed on me.

“Calen!” Tears streamed down her cheeks as she rushed forward. I was close to freaking out when she was getting closer.

Oh God, not another one, I thought dryly, wearily eyeing her.

Before she could reach me though, the boy held up a hand for her to stop. “Mom, we need to talk.” The woman raised an eyebrow at that, confused. “Trust me. It’s important.” She looked hesitant to listen to the boy, her eyes blinking the tears back as she nodded her head.

I watched as they walked over toward the door, exiting it with a backward glance at me. Then the door shut, leaving me alone again.

He had said mom. He had said he was my brother. The way they both looked at me, their relieved expressions at seeing me sitting there, made me believe that they cared for me. Knew me. Could they really be my mom and brother?

But then, if that was the case, how come I couldn't remember them? How come I didn't recognize a single attribute, a single memory of either of them? I was supposed to know them. But I didn’t. They were just two strangers that for the life of me, didn’t recognize. Couldn’t know. My mind wouldn’t let me, just as it wouldn’t give me my name.

Calen. He had said.

I was so confused.

o— O—o

A man with a white doctors’ coat and a tag that read “Dr Herman” walked in a few minutes after the strangers left. He came in with a nurse and the two of them examined me, checking the bandage, asking if it hurt and where. He had me move my arms in different directions, peer into a small light, and tell him how many fingers he held up.

Two. I had said.

While he just wrote everything down on a clipboard, I tried to not flinch or freak out every time his hand or her hand touched me. I knew they were just trying to make sure I was fine, better. But I still felt very awkward and uncomfortable to have these two strangers near me.

Dr. Herman asked me for my name. He asked me the date I last remembered and who the President was. I hesitantly answered Calen, wondering if those brown-haired strangers were telling me the truth. The doctor only nodded, writing down quite a lot for just a simple question.

I didn’t know the date but I could recall the year. The President was an even harder thing to recall. My mind felt fuzzy when it tried to drag up things I could remember — simple everyday things that you should know, like numbers and the alphabet. I knew the fingers he had held up before meant two. I knew that if my name was Calen, it was spelled with either a 'C' or a 'K'. I knew other things as well, like what I was in was a hospital. That the thing he was holding was used for writing. All these things were stuff that I could recall as if it were an everyday thing to know.

A long pause. “O-Obama,” I told him, furrowing my brows and hoping that I got it right.

I did.

“Okay, Calen. I want you to answer a few more questions. Is that all right?” I nodded even though I knew that if I said no he’d probably still ask. “Do you know why you’re here and what happened?”

I bit my lip at his question. I had already figured out that I didn’t know that, but I tried to remember anyway, doing the same thing I did when I recalled who the President was. My end result was frustration and a slight headache forming. “No.”

Dr. Herman didn’t seem at all surprised. “Can you tell me the last thing you can remember?”

Darkness. I remember only being able to see black before my eyelids opened. Nothing before, only after. “Nothing.”

His pen froze on the paper, his eyes calculating. “You remember nothing at all from before the injury?”

I shook my head. The doctor sighed. “I see. Well, Calen. You're severely concussed, following a blow to the back of the head. You’ve been here at Great Hart Hospital for a little more than three days,” he told me, reading off the sheet of paper in front of him. “The tests show what we think could be your diagnosis, but it's up to you on whether or not you want your mother here to hear it. I can tell you right now alone or I can call your mother in so we can discuss it.”

I didn’t really care at that point. I was getting sleepy and my body felt so sore. I hated how confused I was, not really understanding anything about my life, of who I was and how I got there. All I had to go by was what they said. The doctor. My family. “It's fine, let them in.”

This was all just so weird.

o— O—o

Amnesia. Dr. Herman told the strangers and me that I had amnesia. When I heard the woman choke on a sob and saw the boy glance at me with this expression that even I couldn’t read, I blocked everything out.

I was merely a blank person in the moments that the doctor explained what amnesia was, what the result of it could be, and how to go about making myself and themselves more comfortable. To better cope with this affliction.

I didn’t know what type of person I was supposed to be, what I was supposed to say, or even how I should really react to everything. I just sat and let everyone deal with it all as they saw fit. I didn’t talk to the brown-haired strangers unless they spoke to me first. I didn’t carry on a long conversation, only spoke one or two word sentences. I was uncomfortable and tired.

And now — even if I didn't remember — I knew that my name was Calen, that the strangers were my family. The Doctor had proven that when he called them in, addressing them so.

A part of me wanted to be the son and brother that I was supposed to be to them; wanted to do whatever ‘Calen’ did, whether it was a smile when someone made a joke, or brought on a conversation without being initiated first. I wanted to satisfy the woman that kept sobbing and looking at me as if she really didn’t know how to handle me. As if she didn’t really recognize me either.

The boy was the worse to be around. He kept trying to make me talk, when all I wanted to do was fall asleep and hope this nightmare would end. It didn’t help that he’d look at me with hurt every time I merely said, “yeah”, “no”and “I agree”.

I didn’t share their memories anymore. I didn’t share the characteristics of the boy before. At least I didn’t think I did. I’m sure the boy before wouldn’t have been practically a mute in front of his own family.

As my first day, first memory, wore on I learned a few things. The woman’s name was Carly Riley. She was of course, my ‘mom’, worked at a bank, and loved to garden. The boy was named Ash Riley, my eighteen-year-old brother. He was a senior, liked to play football and had a best friend named Daniel.

I’d meet Daniel later, he said.

They told me that my name was Calen Michael Riley. I was sixteen-years-old. A sophomore. I liked to paint and had won an art contest the school had posted. They also said my best friend was a girl named May who Ash explained was, ‘odd and technically my enemy most days.’

I knew they had said more. They kept going on and on about things that I did, things I used to do, and people I was friends with. It was all so suffocating. I couldn’t grasp all the information they threw at me. It all seemed like someone else’s life.

I was getting so aggravated by the time Daniel came, that I didn’t even spare him much of a glance. Just a quick nod and my eyes were glued to the television screen on the wall.

“So . . . how’s everything been going down here?” I heard the newer stranger ask. I looked over at him from the corner of my eye, seeing him stand there next to Ash. He was tall; pale, more lean than muscular. He had dark, raven-colored locks that were cut haphazardly, reaching nearly to his shoulders. His eyes, which were surveying every inch of the room were an icy blue. And his clothes were weird. He wore tight black jeans with chains along the sides, an equally black tee, half-untucked and thick boots.

I also noted a few metal piercing’s on his face. One eyebrow, and snake-bites on his lip.

I could remember what a snake-bite was, but couldn’t recall my own name? I really didn’t understand how my mind worked at all.

“It’s been going . . . good,” Ash answered, hesitating and sparing a quick glance in my direction. “How’s school been these last few days?”

“It’s been fucking shit. Mr. Cass threatened to give me extra work if I didn’t get your butt back to school.”

Ash chuckled. “He’s still pissed that I won’t be able to play in the game tomorrow?”

I felt both their eyes on me this time. “Nah, he’ll be cool about it. He understands why.”

I had a feeling that I knew what they were talking about. Me being here in the hospital was the reason why Ash couldn’t play . . . what was it that he played again? I felt a little shamed at not being able to remember what sport my own brother played. Especially since I was the reason why he couldn’t play tomorrow.

There was an awkward pause before I heard the raven-haired boy speak again. “How’re you feeling Calen? Happy to finally be able to get out of this shit hole soon?”

“I-I guess,” I stuttered, glancing at him for a quick moment before I turned my eyes back to the TV.

“Honey, I’ve got to go sign some papers,” Carly spoke suddenly, standing up and leaning toward me. Everyone noticed my flinch, and the hurt that spread across Carly — my mom’s face. “I’ll be back soon, love you.” Her lips barely touched my bandaged forehead, before she turned around and left.

I was left with another awkward silence and two teenage boys that I was supposed to know.

“Oh look Calen!” I heard Ash speak excitedly, pulling out a DVD that had sat on the shelf the hospital provided. He held it up, smiling. “This was the first Disney movie that we saw. It ended up becoming a favorite of yours.”

He walked over toward me, holding it out for me to take. I took it with a frown. It read: The Lion King in bold letters. I had no recollection of watching this, ever. Flipping it over to the back, I scanned the contents, reading what it was about. It didn’t sound all that interesting. At least nothing to really smile like Ash was doing at the moment. But I smiled back, hoping that he’d see I wasn’t totally bogging his moment.

I think it came out more of a grimace, or maybe he had wanted me to say something, because not too long after, his smile disappeared. “I have to go to the restroom,” he claimed suddenly, rushing out of the room without a glance.

It didn’t take a genius — or someone without a memory — to know that my room had its own restroom attached.

Now I was left with only the dark boy. I wondered if the old Calen could clear a room of its occupants so quickly, or if the newer one was just fortunate in that way. It was too much to handle, having three strangers awkwardly conversing with one another.

I could see from the corner of my eye, the raven-haired boy shifted, moving a little closer toward the bed. My head felt a little foggy from having to take so much in, so I couldn’t recall his name, even though I had heard it not too long ago.

Darren?

Or was it something that had an ‘l’ in it? Dan . . . Suddenly he moved again. I was okay with one shuffle closer, but if he moved any more I would raise my eyes off the TV and toward him, full alert. It was one thing that the strangers before were my family, but this boy was just a friend of Ash’s. I had no idea if he was remotely trustworthy. Heck, I could barely trust my own family.

Finally I did end up having to look at him. He was only a few feet away now, still at the ready to move closer. “Can I help you?”

I noticed his eyes were so beautiful when you looked directly in them. Though I could tell, I wasn’t comfortable at looking at them. My stomach automatically clenched.

The boy raised a hand toward his dark hair, pulling a few strands behind his ear. “So you really don’t remember anything?”

I thought we’d all covered that. “Right.”

He took another couple of steps until he was directly next to my bed. “I’m Daniel Kelly. It’s nice to meet you.” He held a hand up in greeting.

My brows dipped, my eyes suspiciously looking at his outstretched hand and then toward his eyes. “What?”

Daniel shrugged. “You don’t remember me. And although I know you, it isn’t polite to just pretend you do know me, and act as if you don’t need a proper first meeting greeting. So, I’m Daniel Kelly, eighteen-years of age, and Ash's best friend.”

I found trouble producing words, feeling strange about introducing myself but I was sure the old Calen wouldn’t be such a coward. “I’m Calen. I don’t remember my last name but I think it started with an ‘R’. I’m sixteen I think and my best friend is someone I haven’t even met yet.”

Daniel nodded in understanding, smiling. “Calen Michael Riley. You don’t have to remember anything else but knowing your full name would be ideal.”

I smiled a little hesitantly back, inwardly thanking the boy for actually giving an introduction as if he didn’t know me, which somehow made the prospect much easier to deal with. Even if I knew he was pretending for my sake. It was nice. I didn’t feel as much pressure.

It wasn’t long before Daniel sat at the foot of my hospital bed, his tall frame stretched out so that his body heat was close to my legs. I felt warm, comforted by him there. Not at all freaked like I originally thought I'd be. I still did feel a slight bit of anxiousness, but that wasn't a surprise. I had only been officially awake from my blank life for almost six hours.

A part of me hoped that it would take Ash and Carly longer to get back to my room, giving me some peace of mind. I felt a little bad about that, but I just really didn’t like being awkward with them. Daniel didn’t make me feel that way. He made me feel . . .

. . . I don’t know.

I guess he made me feel as if I didn’t have to be the old Calen. That it was all right to be the Calen now, the one with no memories of his friends and family, or his life at all.

It felt nice.

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