I don't know why I care anymore. I don't know why I write these pointless things. I don't want to write them. I do not pretend not to be ignorant. I'm sorry I don't know many things. I don't pretend to know many things. I have known something of suffering—but it is American suffering. It is rejection and living in a single-parent home and trying to understand my homosexual father and balancing my work and social lives and pouring out my varied emotions into my writing, which none of my family ever reads. I feel so incredibly alone. But it is American loneliness. It is spoiled loneliness. My life could be so much worse. I could be impoverished. I could be dying of starvation or exposure. Or pediatric AIDS. But no, I whine because I'm lonely.
I'm sorry I'm so ignorant.
~~~
Yami was lightheaded. He'd not eaten anything in nearly a day. He'd had a few hours of shallow sleep, and now he was pushing himself again—talking with Solomon on the phone, arguing with doctors who wanted to keep Yugi in the hospital another night. Yami hadn't been in the boy's room since he'd woken up—all these damn doctors wanting to talk to him and have him fill out paperwork, even after Yami repeatedly told them that he wasn't Yugi's father and Solomon took care of those sorts of things and no, he had no idea what Yugi's Social Security number was.
Yami was lightheaded, and he was worried—his hikari had seemed so afraid and he wanted to go back into that room and talk with him. Finally, he got past the last doctor or official or nurse or whoever the hell it was who wanted Yami to sign some waiver and allow the hospital to keep Yugi overnight. Finally Yami was able to evade the questions and the naggings, and he immediately found his way back into the hospital room where he'd left his charge.
—Only…his charge was gone. No Yugi, no nurses or doctors, and no chart at the foot of the bed with "Mutou, Yugi" and the patient information and diagnosis. Yugi was gone.
Yami was livid.
He didn't calm down until a nurse explained to him that the boy's condition had changed from critical to stabile, and that he'd been moved to the second floor. Furious, Yami exclaimed that he should have been informed, at which time the nurse admitted that she'd tried to tell him, but had been unable to get past his forceful declarations of, "I'm not his father!"
Yami fell silent—he didn't care anymore. As long as Yugi was still okay, he didn't care that he'd been moved or that these incompetent workers failed in alerting him or that some unseen authorities felt it imperative to keep Yugi overnight again or any of the sort. Yami didn't care. He just wanted to get Yugi out of this place and take him home and try to fix what had happened to him the previous evening. He had already failed the boy. He just wanted to take him home now. But visiting would have to do.
Brokenly, he inquired after the room number where the young Mutou could be found and he climbed a flight of stairs—he didn't trust the elevator—and made his way to the designated room. If he could just see Yugi again—maybe things would start looking up. He just had to see his aibou.
He rapped his knuckles on the door with a weary motion and, receiving no reply, let himself in. Curled on the bed he saw Yugi—on his side and facing the window. Yami spied the telltale curve of lashes blink high on the boy's cheek. He was awake. Yami wondered if he'd been awake and alone this whole time.
Careful not to startle his hikari, Yami strode into the small room and approached the bed. Yugi took no notice of him—probably thought he was another nameless doctor—until Yami uttered his name softly.
"Yugi?"
With hesitation, the boy craned his head around to look at his visitor and a strange sense of suppressed recognition came into his features. Yami found something alarming in that expression, so he took a step forward and tried again.
"Yugi? Say something."
The boy was silent for a moment, his mind searching for words behind his wandering eyes. His voice was small when he said at last, "Hi."
Yami's heart stopped. There was a kind of animal abandonment in the boy's tone. Though Yami couldn't explain it, he knew deep down in the more extrasensory parts of his being: "You don't remember me."
Yugi swallowed hard, his mind grasping desperately for more words, his eyes darting now with fear and distress, tears revealing their sad glint in those lavender depths. "I'm sorry," he said, the syllables slurred and in a slightly higher pitch than Yami was used to hearing. The boy blinked slowly and asked, his simple and childlike diction striking Yami to the core, "Are you my daddy?"
~~~
"He's awake? Oh god, he's awake. My grandson—"
Yami held his hands up in an effort to quiet the old man, who stood before him now with tears in his eyes. "Solomon, you must listen—Yugi, he…he doesn't remember—"
"That's fine, bless his heart, I wouldn't want him to remember what happened."
"I fear you do not fully understand," Yami went on, taking the old man's shoulder firmly. "Yugi doesn't remember anything."
Solomon was at a loss, his large wet eyes blinking at the younger man.
"The doctors call it amnesia," Yami continued gently. "They say it resulted from the blow dealt to his head…they're not sure whether he'll regain his memories."
The elderly Mutou collected himself with dignified submission. "That's okay," he said very softly, nodding in a small gesture. "My sweet boy…he's okay. It doesn't matter." He wiped his eyes. "What…what did he say to you?"
Yami sighed. "Very little. He admitted that he didn't remember who I am, and…and he asked me if I am his father."
Mr. Mutou looked surprised. "He said that?"
Yami focused on some distant point and replied at last, "In almost those words, yes."
"—What did you tell him?"
The younger man glanced away. "I said nothing. I couldn't…I felt the issue needed certain delicacy in attending to. There's a psychologist who works through the hospital—he has most of his experience in special victims…I scheduled an appointment, and he should be coming to speak with me very shortly."
"That so?" Solomon shook his head incredulously. "Well, it seems to me that you've got this all under control." He flashed Yami a weary grin. "Thank you. If you don't mind, I'd like to stay with Yugi…until you get things sorted out."
"Of course, Solomon. Do not by any means allow me to keep you from him. I'm not yet sure how to handle the situation, but you should feel free to go in and stay with him—he is your grandson, after all."
"Oh, I've been so worried for him," the older man agreed. "Poor boy. I'm just glad he's awake so soon."
~~~
The psychologist—Kei, his name was—turned out to be an eager, balding man, mid-thirties, who took his work very seriously and the stress of this was apparent in his eyes. But he had a good heart and a genuine concern for the people he analyzed.
He was not a psychiatrist in the sense that he did not actually speak with the patients about their problems and coach them through their metaphysical struggles. Kei was a psychologist, a student of the human mind, someone who dissected psyches and strived with everything in his being to understand the emotional warfare of victims of mental, physical, and sexual abuse. He understood very well.
He'd found Yami in the hall and, after an abbreviated introduction, jumped right into discussion of Yugi's complex state. "Tell me again," he was saying, "where the boy's head injury is located?"
"Above the right temple," Yami recited, recalling perfectly well the image he'd shored up through long hours of staring at his sleeping hikari the night before and very early that morning.
"And the impact bruised a blood vessel in the brain, creating a pool of blood between the tissue and the skull—a concussion. Any closer to the temple could have very possibly damaged his sight," Kei explained.
"So only his brain is damaged," Yami pointed out with the depressing sense of optimism that he'd learned quickly over the last day.
"It could have been much worse," the psychologist reminded him. "I'm thrilled that he's even awake. Obviously, amnesia is a result of his injury. His motor functions have been affected—he slurred, you said."
"Yes."
Kei sighed. "There will most likely arise other difficulties—you'll come to recognize them soon, and I'd like to hear about them when you do. But in the meantime…he's going to need a lot of special attention throughout his recovery."
"I understand that."
"—And you mentioned that he asked if you're his father?"
"Yes, he did."
The doctor was studying him from behind round eyeglasses. "And how did you respond?"
Yami hesitated under inspection. "I did not," he admitted at length. "It's why I sought your advice. I am not sure how to proceed."
Kei nodded, his calculating gaze losing focus for a moment. "An injury affecting memory…motor functions…I have to wonder," he said, mostly to himself, "if these symptoms are more psychosomatic than medical fact."
Yami glared at the insinuation he sensed. "You think he's lying?"
"Not at all, forgive me," Kei corrected himself. "I mean to say that…oftentimes, especially in the case of a younger, preadolescent individual…when faced with such brutal circumstances as this, he or she will mentally shut down. In the cases of young children, they tend to needlessly hold onto their childhoods well into their teens, as a way of coping with the guilt and the pain they feel."
Kei sighed at Yami's bewildered expression, and shifted his weight on his feet and continued. "What I'm suggesting—and certainly what I'm hearing so far—is a young male, feeling vulnerable and weak after a violent rape, reverts back to a time in his life that…maybe he was vulnerable and weak—his childhood. I know it's not entirely mental—it was justifiably triggered by his injuries—but it is a condition readily supported by the mental and emotional state he's now in."
"So," Yami asked, "it's not all physical?"
"That's what I believe," Kei agreed. "The concussion, the amnesia, the speech impediment—they all certainly could be physically induced because of the impact on the brain, but it's entirely plausible that they can be traced to the mental cacophony going on in his psyche right now as well."
Yami blinked. "I only begin to grasp this," he said. "But I am obliged to trust your professional opinion," he yielded. "What do I do?"
Key chewed his lip. "He asked you if you were his father…obviously he's reverted to a time in his life, or an age, when he felt close to his father. He feels insecure now, so naturally he would seek comfort in that closeness he experienced once—You're not his father, are you?"
"No."
"Brother?"
Yami set his jaw. He didn't like the personal questions. "No," he said.
"What relation do you have to him, Mr. Yami?"
Yami blinked. "I'm a close friend."
Kei raised an eyebrow. "Are you in any way romantically involved with him, because if you are, I'm afraid you can't—"
"—How dare you suggest anything of the sort," Yami cut him off, his eyes narrowing in fury and mistrust, his stern voice punctuating the air with swift force. "I would never be presumptuous enough as to take advantage of the boy's trust. He and I share bond that I could never conceive of explaining to you, and therefore I will not attempt to—do not ask me again."
Stunned, Kei stared at him and swallowed. "Fair enough. Forgive me." He paused, and with his silence assured the other man that not another word would be interjected on the subject. "All I'm trying to say is that, no matter your true relation, he asked you to be his father. Obviously, he feels attached to you. He wants to cling to his father in this time of uncertainty, and he decided to cling to you. It's going to require a great deal of work, but he wants you to do it, and now you have to decide if you're willing to be there for him."
Yami was lost.
"If you decide to take it upon yourself to help him through this," Kei continued, "you'll have to be there every step of the way. You can't change your mind somewhere down the road. He needs unwavering support right now. If you're not up to the task, don't hurt him by going in half-hearted, do you understand?"
Yami's brow tensed. "I would do anything for him. I wasn't there to protect him when he needed me the most…I am bound to be with him now. I would walk into hell for that boy, if he asked."
Kei nodded. "Good."
~~~
Yami had won the first battle of many that he sensed he would encounter in the time to come—he had defeated the monster of this place that had tried to swallow him whole—he won against the nurses and doctors and stubborn receptionists, all longing to feed the beast that was the hospital, lest it consume them instead. They had tried, but Yami had succeeded them all.
He and Solomon would be able to take Yugi home that night.
Yami had not yet had a chance to see Yugi since before his discussion with the hospital's psychologist. He hadn't yet summoned words he might use. It was afternoon. Twenty-four hours before, he never would have dreamed of having to go through all of this. Life can be so odd. But Yugi would sleep in his own bed that night, and it was one of the very few comforts Yami found.
Stop stalling.
Go in and see him.
Swallow your fear, you coward—it's Yugi. Even though your conscience is screaming LIAR, go in and see him and tell him what he wants to hear. Just do it for him.
Yami watched with a detached sense of nervous longing his hand upon the doorknob, turning slowly, the longest rotation of his life, the metallic vitals in there clinking, opening their secrets to his touch, a dull creaking hinge and the door was open. Mr. Mutou was in there, sitting on a chair by the bedside, his genial smile holding Yugi's attention until that point, when the door opened and the newcomer stood there dumbstruck, watching them.
The look on the young boy's face showed that he recognized who Yami was, his brows arched high and lips parted and his amethyst eyes still sparkling though everything hurt inside.
Yami found it difficult to breath. He blinked, and a tear fell to his cheek. Failing any attempt at subtle, he asked, "What do you want?"
Yugi gazed at him—he was smarter than he looked—he understood this game. He swallowed hard on the words that wouldn't come, carefully structuring the response in his shaken brain, aware that his response was crucial. "I want someone to take care of me," he replied honestly, shaping the sounds with difficulty in a mouth that seemed to work slower than his mind. "Daddy," he asked, big globs of wetness welling in his eyes, "will you stay for good this time? Will you take care of me?"
Yami's heart was moved. His gaze held Solomon's for a brief second. This is it. He took five steps into the room and to Yugi's bedside, where he faltered and placed a hand on Yugi's arm, unsure of what else to do and, though a pending sob constricted his throat, whispered, "Of course," at which Yugi grinned. "I will not leave you…son."