Act 2 - Chapter 7: Revoked

You're there

Tiring yourself; we wanted to see you

But you let the music take you

Guide you

.

And from the moment the device rings and the sounds whisk you away to interpret what you succumbed to

I want to be there

..

Each twirl was an attempt to organize the information

Every stretch of the arms moving the stars

One bend, one moment to comprehend

And when settled, a new goal

...

Your feet tumbled through the earth

Every human mistake a part of what

I call music, What I claim worthy

...

The atmosphere was perfect, a light-post

blasted through through the trees, bringing forth a brilliant beam

The night sky burns and compliments your voice in song

The wind caresses your hair

and reminds me that I'm there

...

The voice stops, but the music continues

Exhausted, you crash to the ground

You were through

I want to be there

I don't care

I don't care

how different we are anymore

...

If the universe is too hard to grasp,

I'll reach out to you

I'll lie on the wet earth and breathe

tired breaths with you

What greater length is there than to

be all we can become together, right here

...

I would rather be here

...

Debate

Keel

Reel

...

Real

...

The most imaginative world in which I could feel.

You.

The rays of light blinded me, choked my eyes and strangled my brain. Mechanical whirs and beeps wracked against my skull. The air felt frigid and stale, far too clean and motionless. Everything hurt for a short period of time, but time was irrelevant to me.

Have I mentioned how frickin' much my head hurt?

I put an arm over my face to cover these blinding rays I couldn't adjust to, gave myself a moment to grab my bearings. From the blandness of the air to the machinery beeps and bops and awkward pains within me, it was easy to put together that I was in the hospital. How long? I didn't know, nor did I care.

Voices approached me, spoke to me. They were filled with an overwhelming amount of reverb, causing my headache to spiral out of control. Sleep beckoned me, but I didn't want to sleep. Sleep was a sign of death. Death beckoned me, but I wanted to live.

'Why can't I just live' I asked myself, and then the voices stopped. All was quiet once more.

They must have been nurses, performing surgery or something. Surgery required a ton of expertise and anatomical ingenuity. Precise inputs, careful execution, care and bravery were all necessary to complete a successful operation.

Did Sayori accidentally shoot me?

I rubbed my eyes once more and opened them. In front of me was Monika.

Just Monika, head tilted back against the pasty white wall in slumber, vertebrae in contact with a plastic chair. Where were Mom and Dad? Where was Natsuki, Makoto, Sayori and Yuri?

'What did I do to everyone?'

I opened my mouth to get Monika's attention, to let her know I was awake and wanted answers.

"_-_-_-_" A breath of air escaped me. I could have sworn I said something.

"_-_-_-_"

Nothing. I breathed in through my nose, listened to the exhale forth my mouth, spoke once more. "_-_-_-_"

'I... I can't. I can't talk.'

My heart pounded blood through my veins; my senses dialed up to an eleven. No one could hear me, not even myself. My eyes and all the colors of the world became excruciatingly vibrant, and I couldn't take them. No one told me I couldn't talk. Somebody took away my voice and they took away my vocal folds. Somebody took away my ability to communicate. Everything was gone; my friends are going to leave me because I cannot talk.

Oh no, the Literature club is gonna be so upset.

Unable to touch Monika from where I sat, I lifted my fist and slammed it on the plastic-covered bed holding me. She needed to see me, she needed to see me or else no one would. Nobody could see me if no one could hear me. No one.

No one.

'No one!'

"Hey-hey-hey-hey-hey," finally, the President jolted awake and scrambled toward me as if she wasn't asleep to begin with. "Breathe, Naomi, breathe. Easy now." Her warm hands cupped around my face as her presence drew closer to me, and she guided me back to the pillow below my head. She couldn't've come soon enough.

I could feel the wheezing, the sobs shuddering through my body like an otherworldly experience, cries of terror with no accompanying noise. But Monika stared into me with her pleasant green hues, a small and graceful smile remained as her thumbs wiped away the waterworks among me.

"Can you hear me?" she whispered, hot air dashing over my mouth and chin.

I nodded in return. Why did she ask me that?

"Can you feel my hands?"

Yes, I shook my head once more. Monika's hands were on my face, soft and smooth and lightly scented with lavender. 'Beautiful lavender...' I grasped her left one and pressed into it. Kind and gentle hands were better than any pillow, guaranteed.

Deep breath in, deep breath out.

"But you can't... speak?"

No. I squeezed my eyelids shut and tightened my hold on her. 'Don't leave because I couldn't speak. In fact, you could do all the talking and I can stay with this comfort all I want. Fend away the chaos. Please.'

She giggled, oblivious to my internal struggle, and wrapped her free hand behind my neck, nuzzling her upper body into me. What on God's green earth is the most popular girl in school doing in a hospital, hugging someone who's been literally running around with three other women? More importantly - no, I've asked those questions already.

Nevertheless, Monika's kind embrace had a security I needed, a gentleness the past couple of days have been missing. "Everyone was worried about you," she said, her voice buzzing in my ear, "We're glad you're still here."

Before I could reach my arms around her, another fellow cleared his throat, cueing her to let me go. The doorway next to where the President sat entered an old gentleman with a white lab coat and a stethoscope hanging around his neck. Following him were my mother and father, lacking any reaction to seeing my current status, but they remained unpleasantly silent.

I wasn't going to flip out anymore, or so I thought. If only they could bring about a sense of normalcy and squeal my name or something of the like. Instead, Mom ambled toward me and gave me a hollow peck on the cheek. Silly mom. My chest hiccuped in hysteria, laughter a falsity.

"So, nothing to report?" Asked the older man to Monika.

"Nope, no words, no screaming, babbling... nothing." she replied, "But, he does understand us. You just have to be patient and kind, and not force the interaction."

With my parents close by me (Mom refusing to let go of my hand), Monika not so far away, and this doctor-sir scribbling onto a clipboard, I was able to piece that something big has happened to me. I couldn't understand exactly what, but all signs pointed towards something permanent. The way everyone hid their forlorn expressions from me gave away more than enough.

The doctor stopped his ink scribes, set the clipboard down, and removed his big circular glasses. His eyes behind them were a dull and squinty grey, leaving me to believe he was blind without the opticals. He grunted while pulling up a chair of his own and slapped his palms on his scrubs when he sat.

"What happened to Naomi was complicated, but easy to discern... yet an extreme rarity. To be brief, we believe Takotsubo Cardiomyopathy occurred last night during the incident, what the girls were describing as a 'heart attack.' As far as what's been happening with his speech, I can only diagnose it as Psychogenic Mutism."

Dad shuffled in his seat, "C-can you break that down for us?"

Thanks, Dad, I was gonna ask - oh wait, I can't.

"Sure," he adjusted his seat to fit his lanky form, only to lean forward soon after, "Basically, Naomi built up a significant amount of stress over time in an unhealthy manner. When that stress breaks a threshold or overflows, it causes someone to react physically or mentally. We could guess that it's both, but that's not a true medical diagnosis.

"His heart attack did not show enough symptoms, and it's still in seemingly great condition, which is why we called it... that. Whatever's going on with his voice may need further testing and maybe visits to a psychologist or a speech therapist, though that's beyond my knowledge."

"And so my son wasn't shot?"

"No. Do not worry."

The room fell silent once more. Mom's grip on my hand loosened up and fell away. I saw her neutral expression, the gears working inside her head to say something encouraging. Father stood above her, arms wrapped around her front very tightly as if holding back a volcano by the neck rather than the top. Was his odd position any more stressful than planning my next steps?

I could've sworn I was pierced in the chest until I tilted my eyes downward. The doctor was right. No signs of injury were on my skin; only a few circular pads stuck onto me and wired to a heart monitor.

"Doctor Gozen," Monika opened up, a hopeful smirk etched upon her features, "Naomi can still come to school next Monday, right? We have the festival, and his recent poem was marvelous. I want him to at least be there."

The doctor chuckled and stood up, eliminating some of the tension among us, "Don't you worry! He's only going to be here through the last of the afternoon, and will be released in the evening. He can rest at home over the weekend."

"Ugh," Father scoffed lightly, "That wasn't how I wanted to spend the weekend. Honey and I were going to vacation at the - oof!"

Mother sent an elbow into his stomach, "Hey, he wasn't supposed to know until later this evening!"

What gives? I had no choice - no say - in what anyone should or shouldn't do. Sick of being left off in the conversation, I rose my hand to my cheek and signaled for a phone. 'My phone, please.'

My parents tilted their heads toward one another and shrugged. Neither of them had it.

I rolled my eyes and exhaled loudly, simulating a breathy grunt of my own.

"Uhm... Should I... check his clothes?" Monika pensively asked. "They're in front of the bed here."

The doctor excused himself, and my caretakers walked out the room briskly. With how hesitant their attitudes around me have been, I would not have expected to see them for the rest of the day. This lack of attention from Mom and Dad felt abnormal, leaving me with a hollowness comprised by regret, and they'd known I've overextended over the past few days, just as Doctor Gozen said.

Monika padded to the front of my bed, oh so far from where I laid in perspective and dug around my backpack meticulously. She seemed to take her time with no abrupt movements like she was waiting for me to make her hurry. I heard the clock above the door tick, the shuffle of my materials, the damned beeping to my left, everything making my seconds feel like minutes.

"Here." The president stood and reached over my body to hand me the device. Its time was similar to what I saw of the clock here, one o'clock post-miridiem.

'Frickin' Monika.' My thumbs pressed into the keys on a note-taking application, and I spun it around quickly. "What are you doing here? You're missing classes."

She frowned, "Isn't it obvious? Who's going to send the doctor's note saying you've missed school for medical reasons?"

"Mom and Dad can do that. They could've done everything and the girls could've told you I'd be gone."

"Naomi, that's what they did," a hand caught her ponytail and she stroked through it, "you're not against my being here, aren't you?"

I shook my skull back and forth emphatically, "No... but I am against wasting your time when you've got better more productive things to attend to. You're studies and clubs and piano and your festival! Don't tell me I'm not a waste of time, just go and better spend it. Doctor said I'll be okay and I'll see you all soon."

Monika grabbed my phone and scrolled through the wall of text I conjured. Her brows softened as her breath released itself, for what she seemed to think was my lack of preference toward her presence. She was obviously wrong. Text just doesn't interpret things the way verbal conversation does. How could she forget?

"About... the festival... we're still having it but we won't perform our poems orally because you can't. We aren't a club of speech and drama anyway. Sayori and I at least figured out how we wanted everything to go this morning, but I want to know how you'll contribute."

I quirked an eyebrow and shrugged before placing my palms over my chest. My fingers closed into a fist, and then I reached toward her and opened it back up, palms up. Better to work on communication skills now than later, so this was a good distraction from the nagging feeling of Monika being needed elsewhere.

"'What can I do?'"

Eh, close enough.

"Heh heh heh! I got you read like the back of my hand!" She set my phone on the side table next to me before plopping herself on the bedside by my waist. The mattress shook a tiny bit, and the blanket under me stretched to accommodate her... thighs and sitting muscles. "We imagine Natsuki to bake some sweets we can use as a parting gift for those who check out our club. Yuri will probably be assigned to create an atmosphere with decorations, and Sayori has been hard at work with gift bags and a couple of posters. Yours truly's got the flyers and pamphlets."

I reached for my phone and started typing once more, "Alright, what about Makoto and me?"

"Makoto's going to lend one of us a helping hand whether he likes it or not, but with you being new and all, I figured you'd like to capture a few memories."

My fingers instinctively flew across the keyboard and-

"Can you wait until I'm finished?"

B-but...

I nodded quizzically, helpless against the powers of authority and voice.

"I've purchased a camera a few weeks ago and didn't know what to use it for until now. So maybe you can take a few photos at our exhibit!"

My lips curved upward. Mom hasn't gotten to add many pages to my scrapbook because there wasn't a reason to get photos taken back then. How wonderful it would be to give my family something to cherish after my accident! It wasn't difficult to imagine her reaction either... coming home with a bunch of little photographs and asking her to put together a collage for the Literature Club, what joy would be upon her face!

But I wanted to do more to help prepare.

People outside my home are just as troubled as I am.

"I'll gladly be your guys' photographer, but I can't just laze around all weekend long. Maybe Natsuki can come over to my place and get some baking done there. Mom and Dad won't be around so the kitchen's free."

Monika's reaction confused me, "Why her? Can't she bake at home?"

"Have you not seen her face recently?!"

"I do every day! She's such a cutie, isn't she- oh... so that's what you're into?"

I decked her in the leg with my phone, and she let out a yelp like a little puppy. My stomach lurched in laughter, and she followed suit after realizing what a smarty pants she was being.

"I'm serious. Ran into Nat with Yuri last night. Her body was covered by an oversized sweater and her face wore unnatural marks."

"Un... unnatural... No..."

The room became eerily quiet despite all the ambiance I've noticed from earlier. Seeing Monika frozen in thought was more heart-wrenching than when I stopped her panic attack. Her emerald eyes searched the space around her as if looking for clues to an unsolvable mystery or the power to make my words disappear.

Technically, I could delete them, but the pixels' meanings would forever still be etched into her brain, just like that pitiful image I've encountered.

Instead, I dropped my phone between the two of us and passively placed my palm on her thigh, urging her to make eye contact with me. When she found the resolve to do so, I closed my left hand into a fist and flexed my arm. Afterward, I gestured between the two of us.

We were going to be okay. Though I hated my circumstances, nobody has been lost among us. Monika needed to realize that before stress takes her over too.

A singular tear dropped down her cheek, and her hands clasped around the one I've reached for her. "How?"

I shrugged right back.

"K-kay," our fearless leader found the strength to smile after a deep breath, "I'll let her know you've invited her."

No, my head shook and I jabbed a thumb on my chest, careful to not disturb any of the patches on my skin.

Even the lack of voice won't stop me from reaching out to my friends.

OoOoOoO

Hey. Is this Natsuki? This is Naomi.

OMAAAA FINALLY YOU TXT ME! D':

Took ya long enough dumy

Shut up, just be glad I did.

Fine mmmmmmmmeanie!

So whats the gist, nobody send you get well treats? XD

You think you're funny. Don't ya?

Yep! You know I am! Master of jokes!

Made at the expense of my hospital stay.

Oh sorry. Not carful like I should b over txts

So... you got festival plans? Monika paid a visit during lunch hour and we talked about it all.

Ugh dont remind me plz

But I kinda wanna. You want to come over and bake some stuff this weekend?

O now were talkin! Cupcakes yeah?!

Whatever you want. I can even ask my parents to buy stuff. Whatever you need to get the job done.

no nay you dont have to. I can get by

But I WANT to.

... fine :)

Uhm... when? And for how long?

I'll be home this evening so stop by whenever tomorrow.

When do I need to leave

Whenever you feel I guess

U guess?

Is there a problem?

I mean... yes n no.

Look, I got gym really soon.

Expect 2 have me around for a while okay

Kay. Take care, Natsuki.

U2 :)

OoOoOoO

Hey everyone.

Do you ever have those moments where you know what you want but find it difficult to get those wants out of your body for the world to hear? That's what I've felt for the entirety of this chapter.

In the last chapter's Author Notes, I've mentioned this one would be a doozy. Not necessarily because of length, but complexity. Despite my medical research regarding heart attacks, speech-related disabilities, and my desire to explain those issues in reasonable literacy, I feel like I fall short.

However, I'm letting it slide for this chapter. I haven't been in the shoes of Naomi, but I can imagine what it's like to have no voice. No way to sing or hear yourself cry. When all you're limited to is body language, you simply miss out. I eventually decided that this chapter would cut short, not due to writer's block, but due to the expression of limitedness.

Does this justify the lack of style compared to my previous chapter? Maybe, but it isn't an excuse. Yet, I treat all that Naomi says to us as his mind going through this new change. The shock of having encountered a fake heart attack, your friends introducing their own dilemmas, and losing the ability to speak is a HUGE ball of trauma I never would've had Naomi go through when first drafting this story.

And so, this challenge will be great to explore. I hope you continue to enjoy TRTT with me. Happy reading, folks!