I woke up dazed and confused. I was strapped into a chair with a head brace, restraints on my wrists and ankles, and some machinery connected to my arms. I could barely make out the constant beeping of my heart beat on a monitor over the whirling noise of the machines around me. Where was I? Am I really alive?
I could feel the fresh trails of tears on my face. Flashes of Clay came rushing back to me. His blue eyes were more often than not filled with anger or tears of his own. Guilt filled me and my stomach dropped at the thought that I had been the cause of those tears and that hatred.
A door opened and I snapped my head up at the sound of it. A man who appeared to be a doctor came into the sterilized, odorless room. He neared, barely coming into focus in such a blindly-lit room.
"Ah, you're awake," he said. "Hannah, how do you feel?"
I hated his voice. He said my name with a sickeningly sweet pitch that made my skin crawl.
"Fine, I guess. This isn't exactly a five-star hotel as far as I can tell." I said half groggy and half cautiously. I had no idea who this guy was or why I was hooked up to some chair. I tried sitting up but noticed the tug of the needles at my arms. I glanced at them now, making me feel nauseous. The doctor could apparently read the ill-stricken expression on my face because the next thing I knew, he was pushing me back down onto the reclined chair.
"Now, now. There's no need to rush things," he said in a more soothing voice. Something felt off. This didn't seem right…the last thing I remembered was-
"I died," I stated. "I know I did. I felt it all. Everything felt so real." Flashes of the moment when I was cutting up my arms, blood consuming the bath water, staining everything a pink rose color hit me hard. "…how…. how am I here?"
The doctor looked at me with the hint of a smile, "you see Hannah, that's where you're wrong. You didn't die at all. In fact, none of what you remember right now was real. Well, except for a few parts." Now, his expression was unreadable as he pulled out a clipboard and clicked his pen.
"You still didn't answer my question. How am I here?" I nearly demanded. My head was starting to pound and this guy was infuriating. The heart monitor reflected my sudden annoyance and lack of patience. Ignoring my outburst, he started on what seemed like an incredibly long list of invasive questions.
"What was the first memory you have?" he blankly asked.
My first memory? Did I even know what was real anymore?
"Well, Dr. Monotone, it all started when I was a little girl and I didn't get that American girl doll that I wanted so badly…" I said dryly. No way I had to tell this lab coat anything. I didn't even know who I was dealing with.
"Fine. Let me restate the question. What was the first thing you remember while in the V.C.R?" he said with a hint of impatience.
"What you mean this thing?" I said trying to nod my head in the direction of the machine. "Wow, you need to work on your creativity. The name reminds me of my childhood and the Disney movies I'd watch."
"V.C.R. meaning 'Visual Corporeal Rehab'. Honestly, we should have looked at renaming it but it makes sense. It almost resembles a VCR that you would be familiar with." He looked down at his clipboard but made no attempts to ask another question. It seemed as if he was waiting for me to piece the whole thing together.
"So, you're saying that I'm in rehab? I don't remember having an addiction. I did have alcohol once though," I said. "Kind of illegally," I whispered. "Didn't think that would qualify me for an addiction."
"No, Hannah," he said with a sigh. "You're in rehab because your parents put you here."
Mom and Dad? His response sucked the sarcastic charm right out of me. How could they do this to me?
"My mom and dad put me through this? What exactly am I in rehab for?" I couldn't help but feel both curious and betrayed all at once.
He pulled up one of those special-doctor-rolly-chairs and sat down in a position that said "I've got some crappy news to tell you but you have to listen to it anyways". He looked at me for a moment as if telling me was a bad idea, but then decided to go ahead and tell me anyways. I tucked my hair behind my ear nervously, waiting for the crap to hit the fan.
"Your parents signed you up for our V.C.R program because they believed you were seriously depressed," he started to explain.
"Your monotone voice is making me seriously depressed at the moment. How about we talk about getting me out of these kinky restraints?" I said. Nice snarkiness, I thought to myself as I gave myself a mental high-five until I actually looked down at the restraints and needles stuck in my arm like a sewing pin cushion. That's when I noticed the scars on my arms causing me to rethink my next comment. The scars looked like they had been painful and deep. They reminded me exactly of the ones I made in the V.C.R.
Dr. Monotone noticed where my gaze had landed and said, "your parents came home at the right time. You had gone through with your plan of suicide, but they were able to call in the paramedics. You were rushed here, to the hospital, and we managed to stabilize you. You had lost so much blood that it took weeks for you to recover. During your recovery, we discussed ways of helping you once you would be released from the hospital. That's where I brought up my life's work: the V.C.R. Granted, it was experimental, but your parents were willing to do whatever to help you. So here you are."
"Yup. I'm here. And stuck at that. Why can't I leave? I mean you've done the experiment and I'm awake now so I can just walk out of here, right?" Every part of me was already done and ready to take a long nap even though I'd just woken up.
"You can't. I have questions. This machine….this could help so many others just like you. I need you to stay," he begged me. Begging did NOT look attractive on this guy. What was in it for me anyways? Why did I have to stay for this crack-job?
"Why should I stay? Are you trying to propose to me or something? Dr. Monotone, I'm flattered but I've known you all of ten minutes. I don't want to hurt your feelings, but n-"
"ENOUGH," he yelled. Clearly I'd destroyed his patience. "Here's the thing: nobody besides your parents knows about your suicide attempt. We've managed to keep everything under wraps, including both sets of your pathetic tapes so that, when this whole experiment has been concluded, you can go back to a semi-normal life without the consequences. However, that's only if you cooperate." Dr. Monotone shifted on his chair and looked back down at his clipboard. Slightly shocked by his change in demeanor, I gulped and rethought poking at the grizzly bear.
"Alright," I said in a voice that indicated defeat. He should at least be convinced that I actually gave a care about my life after this twisted experience. Ah, there was the silly little word again: care. I'd given up the ability to do so a long time ago. Dr. Monotone looked up from his clipboard to me as if slightly amazed that it seemed I was willing to cooperate.
"But I need to know what experiment my parents signed me up for first." I said. I sounded reasonable enough. I mean, I was kind of stuck at the moment.
"Alright, that seems fair," he said. "The V.C.R. machine keeps you in a dream-like-state. Just like in a dream, everything can feel real as recalled from memory. The V.C.R. sets you in another reality: one without you in it. I honestly voted for the name 'What If I Could' machine or W.I.I.C for short. That's beside the point. What happened for you, Hannah, is the machine placed you in a reality that was centered on the idea of what if you had actually died. It showed you only one of the many possibilities where you died and how the people you left behind were affected."
A valid reason as to why there were tear stained paths running down my face. The reality of it all had been too much. One name kept resurfacing: Clay. That name physically hurt me as if my heart really did ache. It had to be that or else I was the youngest person to have a heart attack. Gahhh, there was that word again trying to worm its way into my heart: care. I thought I didn't care anymore, but yet…the name brought back with it so many beautiful memories it was hard not to. I tried to resist it and give in to the numbness, but my stupid heart still beat for those blue eyes and sweet half-smile.