Thank you, Eriks Guest, for finding that. And for reviewing in the first ten minutes. That was rather impressive. :) And good point Guestie. Probably PTSD.

Lacunar Amnesia: N. A condition in which memory is partially lost or the memory of isolated events is lost
Lacunar Amnesia: Amnesia only for certain events

Maria scrolled the page down a bit more, getting into the other various forms of amnesia. Quickly, she began to brief through them. She had been at the search for what felt like hours (really, according to the clock, it had only been half an hour), and she was getting sick of searching. Navigating from site to site, resource to resource, disorder to disease... there were so many and she had so little to go off of! All she knew was that her housemate, who was collapsed on her chair in a dead faint, had lost his memories for a rather extensive period of time. Some thirty years, to be exact. She would question 'how' after she figured out what. What did he have? What did he have? Amnesia. Amnesia of the past. Amnesia of-

-the individual's entire life. Amnesia. Generalized amnesia. Jack pot. Maria smiled and reread the sentence. Generalized amnesia: loss of memory encompassing the individuals entire life. And below that... Retrograde amnesia: inability to recall events that occurred prior to the episode precipitating the disorder. It is the loss of memories of past events. Of course, there had to be more than one thing that fit what she knew perfectly. Of course. Everything was out to make her life harder, wasn't it? Well, at least she had three or so things that it could be narrowed down to. If only her rather useless (as of then) housemate would wake up. Then he could make himself useful and research some of this. She sighed. His problem probably would never be known with absolute certainty, so why was she even bothering? Right. 'Cause she liked knowing stuff.

Back on subject. She had found a few options for the memory loss part of his 'problem', but what about the sudden fainting? It must have something to do with the regeneration of memories, or the recovery, or the whatever-she-wanted-to-call-it of memories. Then again, she only had one thing to go off of. For all she knew, Erik wasn't getting anything back, had fainted from a blood clot in the brain, and had been lying in a critical condition for the past thirty-five minutes. He'd probably be dead by now. Was he..? She hadn't exactly been paying much attention to him... but a dead guy in a mask was not something she wanted to deal with.

His eyes were opened. They didn't seem to be seeing, but they were opened.

"Erik?" No response. His chest was rising and falling, so he was definitely breathing. And when he had collapsed, his eyes had been closed, so he must be awake to some extent. Maybe shouting would do something?

"Erik Destler! You respond to me right now mister!" A twitch. A pathetic, little twitch in exchange for a hoarse voice the next day. Pathetic. Was it possible though that something was actually wrong with him?

"Erik?"
_

"Erik Destler! You respond to me right now mister!" The light was making his head funny. Someone was shouting at him, but he was awake. He must have been awake.

"Erik?" He was awake! The woman would not have sounded concerned if he was still not awake. "Erik Destler?" Indeed. Awake. That was a last name. His... theirs. That woman. He had not imagined that, had he? He could not have. It was too vivid to have been anything but reality. He could still feel everything from that memory. The coldness, the darkness, the pain. It was all there, and he had a feeling that it would not be going anywhere again anytime soon.

"Erik?" That voice was familiar in another world. This world. He was awake. There was no question. He was not dreaming or remembering. He was awake. The voice was shaking him. Not the voice, the owner of the voice. A physical person, not a memory. Maria?

"Maria."

"Oh God, Erik! I was starting to really worry about you!"

Indeed. Not that woman. That woman would not have sounded relieved that he was still breathing and very much alive. Were his eyes open? They must have been. He could not see his eyelids. Where was he? They. Where were they.

"Erik? Erik! Earth to Erik!" In a classroom. He- they- were in a classroom. It was not his own. Maria's? Hers. He was looking at a chalkboard. It had numbers and letters scribbled on it. He had taught himself that formula after his mother- his mother!- could not teach him. A blurred shape blocked his vision, and he forced his eyes to focus. It was her arm. She was waving it. She. Maria. He blinked a few times before pushing himself into a less slumped position. The chair he was in was surprisingly comfortable. Maria was staring at him expectantly. He blinked some more. She did not move.

"Maria?" She did not blink.

"Yes, Erik?"

"Why are you staring at me like that?" Her unblinking mask changed to confusion. Had he said something wrong? He flinched. If he had, surely he would be punished. That woman was not here though. And he was not in his memories (memories!) any longer. Perhaps, a confused Maria would let it, whatever it was, slide? What was it, anyway? His sentence was complete, not fragmented, and everything that was necessary was there. Was it his accent? Had she not repeatedly told him that his accent was fine though? His accent must have been fine! After all, he was speaking in his... own... language. French. Not English.

"Sorry." Her confused mask dissolved, and her stare returned, yet this time it seemed to him to be annoyed.

"Why was I staring at you" It was his turn to look confused. She did not speak French, did she? No! She had told him herself. Her facial expression changed to that of a frown, as if she could interpret his thoughts. "Remember? I can read the language, but I can't speak it worth anything, and if someone speaks it to me, it takes me a few seconds to figure out." Of course. "Back to the question of why I was staring at you." Her face changed to that picturing abject worry and anger. "Why was I staring at you?! Why do you think! You collapsed onto the floor with no warning, didn't wake up for over a half an hour, and when you finally opened your eyes, you couldn't see what was right in front of you! And you ask why I was staring at you!" She paused for a second after her tirade. "You are okay, right? Just a memory?"

"Yes. Just a memory. Memories." Memories of his childhood, if it could be called that.
"Are you going to tell me about them? Or am I just going to keep staring at you?" Maria folded her arms and resumed her previous look. "Wait. Them? You got more than one? That's great! Now you've got to tell me!" He said nothing, and her resolve faltered slightly. "I guess I can live if you can give a general overview, like how old you were, where you were... that kind of thing. I would prefer details..."

"Fine. They took place when I was a child, probably seven or so." He proceeded to tell his roommate those memories, sparing her the occasional detail.