Once again, for Sand!
Chapter 2: A Confusing Present
"So, why exactly am I here again?" Gilbert was still confused, despite having asked that question to at least three different people this morning. He was sitting in a chair that faced a wide desk littered in papers carefully hidden by little plaques and picture frames at the edge of the surface. The plaques faced away from the desk while the frames faced towards it. Gilbert wondered what sort of pictures the owner of the office kept in them.
"Well, Gilbert," The woman had starting using his first name after asking permission in the first five seconds of introduction, "You have amnesia, as you know, and it is a very interesting case. You see, the reason for your memory loss seems to be a defense mechanism of sorts, buffering you against certain painful memories you would like to be distanced from. Technically, the theory of repression isn't a scientifically proven one, but that doesn't make your case any less credible. Just… special."
The therapist -Johanna, as she had asked him to use her first name as well- spoke to him as if he was a child, carefully, kindly, and slowly, as if he needed extra time to process the information. He restrained himself from pointing out that he had amnesia, not brain damage.
"Okay…" Gilbert replied cautiously. As much as he hated how slow the woman was going, Gilbert found himself doing so as well to make sure he didn't say anything out of the ordinary and send up red flags to the trained eyes of the professional across from him, "So you want me to remember?"
"That's a goal, yes, but it is still much more complicated than that." Gilbert felt like a hypocrite as he started to grow impatient at the woman's excruciatingly slow words, "If it truly is a defense mechanism, then we will need time for healing. It could be dangerous to rush the remembering, especially since your mind seems to be protecting you from something in those memories. It's best to take it slow."
Perfect. Just what Gilbert wanted to hear. Take it slow. He was sure his patience would run dry before the hour with the woman was up. He looked at the clock on the wall behind the desk. It had only been ten minutes.
Holding back a huff, Gilbert asked another question, "What is my mind protecting me from then? From what I've heard from Ludwig and everyone, my life before seemed to have been going pretty well." Gilbert couldn't help but to be curious, despite his better judgement. He knew that he didn't want to remember… but he still didn't know why. Why? That always seemed to be the question...
Johanna - it was still weird calling her that - pierced her lips and looked intently at Gilbert. He could tell she was holding back. "Like I said, Gilbert, all in good time."
And that was the last they spoke of it. Gilbert couldn't tell if he should feel relieved or frustrated by that...
For the rest of the hour Johanna asked him trivial things such as how home life was and what he was doing day after day. They never spoke about the past unless Gilbert brought up something Ludwig or Elizaveta or Feliciano had said to him and it was never for long. Gilbert avoided the past as well as he could, remembering that excruciating feeling he had felt when he'd remembered just a fraction of what had happened to him. His past hadn't been a happy place like all the others had said… it wasn't hard to remind himself that he didn't want to remember.
But sometimes he couldn't help himself. Questions and curiosities would sprout up. Gilbert knew these questions would come back to bite him...
Eventually, they reached the end of the session and it turned out that Gilbert did have enough patience to last the whole time, only if because most of the hour was spent in meaningless questioning and silence. That didn't stop him from escaping as quickly as he could when she had announced that their time together was over. The last thing Gilbert heard as he beelined for the door was the woman letting him know to check into the desk on his way out.
-/-
After his session, Ludwig and he swung by the supermarket to pick up a few things for dinner.
As they walked around, a man caught Gilbert's eye who was standing in front of a shelf of produce and scanning the selection and price tags from behind spectacled eyes. The first thing he noticed about the regal man was his dark brown hair and cravat that adorned the front of his shirt. A cravat? Who the hell did this guy think he was? An aristocrat? When the man turned, Gilbert noticed that he had what you might call a 'pretty' face with spectacles perched on his nose and a mole just below his lips and to the right. When the man noticed him, he did not seem amused in the least as he started to immediately walk over.
When Ludwig noticed, he stiffened and Gilbert finally caught on that catching the attention of the man might not have been a good idea.
"Ah, yes. I had heard that you were back." The man said as he approached, "Shall you be attending practice again soon?" The man asked, might he say, somewhat arrogantly.
"Um…" Was all Gilbert could say before his brother interrupted.
"He is in no condition to be worrying about such things. He must recover before he considers taking up music again." Ludwig had squared his shoulders to appear more intimidating, but the other seemed to not have noticed. No, actually, he seemed to not have cared.
"Yes, I heard. Gilbert has amnesia. All the more reason for music, might I say. Music heals better than anything and he will need practice even more now that he must have forgotten everything about the flute." He spoke with an accent, one that Gilbert found hard to place, despite somehow knowing his past self would have recognized it on the spot.
"I used to play the flute?" Gilbert asked, now interested.
The man rolled his eyes, "If you could call it 'playing'. Honestly, I don't see how you could call yourself a flutist."
Gilbert felt offended, if not for his past self, but for his present amnesiac brain. "Bet I could do better than you even if I do have amnesia." He mumbled, causing an amused look to cross the other's face.
"Thursdays are always open, Gilbert. That's the usual day you come, if you didn't know. I will be seeing you then." Then, without another word or a backward glance, the man walked past with his basket of groceries to one of the check-out lines, leaving the two German brothers behind.
"Um, Lud, who was that?" Gilbert turned to his brother who was still angrily watching after where the man had disappeared.
At the question, though, Ludwig turned a surprised face to Gilbert. Shit, what had Gilbert done this time? Had it been the nickname? It had just slipped out!
Ludwig turned away and began walking down the aisle they had previously been about to turn down before the encounter. Was it Gilbert or was there a smile on Ludwig's face? It was barely noticeable, but Gilbert's eyes seemed trained to spot it. He had made his brother smile… it had been so long since he had seen that smile…
"That was Roderich Edelstein. He was your music instructor before…" Ludwig trailed off, "Well, you and him didn't get along all that well. There isn't much to say about him. You talked about him a lot, so I think you had some sort of frienemies thing. Like with Elizaveta, except you could actually stand Elizaveta."
"I'm frienemies with Elizaveta?" Gilbert inquired, eyebrow cocking at the information. It was not surprising news. Gilbert didn't know why, but had forfeited to his memories by then to not care. It didn't seem fair that things he didn't even remember were commanding his life, but there wasn't much he could really do about it.
Ludwig raised his shoulders in a shrug, "Maybe not frienemies… more like rivals, I guess. You do stuff like rough housing and competing. Your relationship is an interesting one."
Gilbert began to nod. This made sense. This is why her soft smiles and worried expressions seemed so foreign to him. Smirks and sneers, that's who Elizaveta was to him.
"Actually," Ludwig spoke up again, "You first met Roderich through Elizaveta. They used to date. I was never sure why you kept taking lessons from him after they broke up." Ludwig shrugged like it really wasn't that big of a deal. It sounded odd to Gilbert, though. If he hated Roderich so much, why hadn't he taken lessons from someone else? Was he really that good of an instructor? From what Roderich had been saying, Gilbert wasn't very good at flute which didn't exactly sound like the merits of a good teacher.
As they walked through the store, Ludwig picking certain items for whatever he had deemed appropriate for dinner that evening, Gilbert continued to think.
His life was confusing and, if he wanted to keep from remembering anything it was probably best to stay away from anyone who might jog those memories. Nevertheless, it was really tempting to go to see this Roderich again.
'Thursdays' had been what he'd said, hadn't it...?
-/-
"Go on, Gilbert. I don't have all the time in the world." Roderich flipped his hand as he commanded the uneasy amnesiac to play. Gilbert couldn't remember a thing from his days of playing the flute, but Roderich had insisted that he wasn't 'dumb enough to forget the proper poise for playing'. Now Gilbert was naturally sitting on the very edge of his chair, back straight and flute perched to his lips. Roderich wanted him to play.
"I don't remember anything." Gilbert complained, whining to this man seemed natural to him.
Roderich was taking none of it, though. He kept dismissing his worries and complaints and now he wasn't even talking to him! Finally Gilbert'd had enough. Roderich wanted him to play? Fine.
He shifted back into position, letting his spine sit in a natural straightened position. He was ready and he was about to show this prissy Austrian (as he had figured out earlier in the day while arguing with the man) how it's done.
One simple note was all it took. Gilbert couldn't remember what any of the notes meant or where they sat along the surface of the shiny instrument, but it was instinct to him to play just a single note, letting the sound out strong and pure into the silent room they sat in. It bounced off of the walls to fill the small practice room until all that surrounded them was that one note.
Gilbert became immersed in the instrument. He put his heart into the note and let his soul echo in the chambers of the flute. His fingers stayed still and his shoulders relaxed as his practice washed over him. No other thoughts intruded his mind. Forgotten memories and pain didn't matter at the moment. Nothing existed around him, yet Gilbert could feel the world spin beneath him. No one else existed, yet Gilbert was comforted by familiar figures in his mind. Memories leaned on him instead of the other way around as it normally happened lately. Gilbert didn't need the memories; they needed him.
The note grew quieter. Gilbert's breath, though strong from years of playing, could not last forever. He had the lungs of a professional swimmer and lips sculpted for playing. The flute was a part of him that he could not leave behind in the past he had forsaken. He didn't quite know yet if that was a good or bad thing, though he did know he had missed this.
The sound died and Gilbert became aware that his eyes had drifted closed. He stayed that way for a few seconds more, absorbing the calm that was still settled over him and his surroundings. He was slowly coming back to his senses and became aware that he was in a small practice room that sat in a tiny office building across town from the apartment he shared with his brother. There was another person in the room. Gilbert opened his eyes upon this remembrance.
There was emotion in Roderich's eyes. Gilbert couldn't place it - this unmistakeable surge of feeling that had intruded upon the dark-haired man's cold features. The shine of the flute glinted from the corner of Gilbert's vision, still perched to his lips though he had ceased his playing.
This scene, a familiar feeling flute pressed just below his lips, Roderich sitting on the piano stool across the short distance of the small room, it was unmistakably a replication of something that had happened in his forgotten memories. Gilbert couldn't remember a single song or melody, but it was comforting to hear the pure tone of the instrument as he padded a finger on it instinctively. It had not been a song, yet it had somehow sounded even more beautiful this way.
"I had never thought seven months could feel so long. It's as if a lifetime has gone by." Roderich said, very much out of character, Gilbert thought. He wasn't looking at Gilbert anymore and neither did his words sound intended for the other. "I had a horrible feeling about that man. I wasn't the only one, of course. Antonio had started having his suspicions also. Which should have been a red flag in itself - Antonio and I agreeing on something."
Roderich had gone silent. Gilbert and his curiosity couldn't allow that, though. "What do you mean? Suspicions about who? Who's Antonio?"
Roderich met Gilbert's eyes. His fist clenched as if he had become spontaneously angered at Gilbert. Gilbert was surprised by this sudden anger, yet it all felt familiar to him. He was starting to get tired of so many familiar things when they had no right in his mind to feel that way. No words passed between them as Roderich made determined eye-contact with Gilbert, his eyes strangely calm. Gilbert was taken aback and, before he knew it, thoughts flew through his mind. They were foreign, yet, like everything else in this confusing present, familiar. It was as if a spot in his mind had been filled… but now it was as if that spot no longer belonged to him. He could remember something. He didn't want to remember.
"Are you going out with that quiet friend of yours?" His grandfather asked with an amused expression not accustomed to his face. Gilbert knew he had adopted this expression from his old friend, Roma. "Is there something going between you two that I should know about?"
Gilbert groaned, both from the stupidly happy-go-lucky mood his grandfather had slipped into somehow (probably too much alcohol. Funny, his grandfather had never struck him as that kind of drunk) and the constant insinuation from people who assumed him and Matthew were dating.
"Vati, me and Birdie? We're too good friends for that." Gilbert laughed as he thought about the prospect. Sure, Matthew was cute and fun to be around, but Gilbert just didn't think of him that way. It wasn't anything personal. He did love his buddy, just not in that way. "I've actually got to go to work."
His grandfather's expression changed as if a thunderstorm had crossed it. Gilbert knew immediately he had said the wrong thing. "When will you get a real job, Gilbert? You cannot be a bartender for the rest of your life."
Anger and nervousness bubbled in Gilbert's chest. He decided to let the anger assist him and ignored his anxiety. "I enjoy being a bartender, Vati. It pays well enough and I get to talk to people-" His hands were balled into fists, holding his anger at bay.
"It is not a real job, Gilbert. When will you grow up and take responsibility for your future?"
This is when Gilbert exploded. "MY FUTURE IS MY BUSINESS!"
The memory cut off. It hadn't been as if he'd had a flashback and he had blacked out. None of that had happened. The memory had just been there and Gilbert had seen it in his mind's eye. His hands were shaking now and his skin had gone paler than the chalky white it had already been. It had lasted only a second, but Roderich had noticed. He was a more astute person than Gilbert had given him credit for.
"Gilbert?" His voice sounded worried. No, that couldn't be right. Roderich couldn't be worried for him. "What is the matter?" Roderich's voice shook, yet he managed to keep any raw emotion from seeping into his words. He had stood from his piano bench but had chosen not to approach Gilbert.
Gilbert shook his head and Roderich stiffened. This seemed to be all the confirmation he needed. He walked over with graceful steps and careful feet. "It seems that music is not the solution to your problems right now." Gilbert's head whipped up. What had Roderich just said? "Perhaps it is time for you to make your way back to your apartment."
Roderich kept his emotions in check, not a single disturbance in his features or gestures hinted to any troubles in his emotional state. But his words… they had been the key into seeing into Roderich's mind then. Music could not help in this situation. It could not magically heal Gilbert of his amnesia or the pain of those lost memories. Music had failed and that hurt Roderich. Now Gilbert realized what Roderich had truly wanted him here for. Music should have healed him; perhaps not right away, but with time music had always done its job for Roderich. In his own childish and naive way, Roderich had been trying to help Gilbert.
And it had failed.
"Roddy," Gilbert spoke up, the nickname rolling off his tongue like much of the speech he had become familiarized with, "..." Gilbert couldn't think of a single other thing to say.
"Thursdays are always open." Roderich said in finality and turned away. Gilbert sat there for a while, trying to find something to say. Eventually, though, he stood and left as Roderich had instructed.
On his way out, Gilbert could have sworn he heard Roderich say something. It was whispered from tight lips to the smooth white and black keys of the piano the musician had fixed his gaze on, "I should have done something…"
Gilbert exited through the doorway as the solemn music of the piano played behind him. For once, Roderich didn't take comfort in his piano.
-/-
Gilbert could feel himself breaking on the walk home. Why was his very being threatening to fall apart? Should it be this easy for a person to shatter into fragments of themselves? Gilbert knew he had to get home quickly. His mind told him it was important to get there soon, yet his feet dragged and all he could do to hold himself together was wrap his arms around himself. The physical barrier would do nothing, but it was all he could do. He couldn't stop here. He couldn't curl up on the sidewalk and hide his face from the world and his eyes from the light. His guest room in Ludwig's apartment… please be soon.
Too long did it take to reach his destination. He numbly opened the front door with the key his brother had lent him and slid in. Ludwig was in the living room on the phone.
"I'm worried about him…"
The words didn't pass through Gilbert's ears. He closed the door behind him softly and started to shuffle to his room. Almost there... This floor looked comfortable… No, almost there.
"Gilbert, is that you?" Ludwig's voice came from the living room. The thought of answering made Gilbert's lips heavy and his mind muddled. He started to shake his head and continued down the hall.
"Gilbert?"
Gilbert swallowed the heaviness that kept his lips in place. He was unable to insert emotion into his response though and his words were flat. "Yeah, I'm here. I'm tired so I'm going to go take a nap." So many words. So much effort.
Ludwig walked into the hall and paused when he saw his brother. Worry etched his brow. "Are you alright, bruder?"
Gilbert nodded and gave a dry smile. Ludwig didn't look convinced. Gilbert didn't blame him.
Neither did Gilbert care at that moment about leaving his brother worrying there in the hall as he turned back around and opened the door to his room.
"Gil-" But Ludwig didn't get the chance to finish what he was going to say. Gilbert had closed the door and was on his way to his bed.
Ludwig loves you. He's your brother, so it's not a surprise… it's still a mistake though. I can't do the same. He can't- I can't- ugh.
Gilbert squeezed his eyes shut and drowned silently in his consuming thoughts.
What about Feli? Elizaveta? Roderich? Do they too? To some degree they must, I guess. No! No! No! Shut up! They can't! I can't… They missed me… they care that I can't remember… they care… DAMN IT NO! I'm so fucked up. Why can't I fix something? Anything? They can't love me! It's a mistake!
Gilbert was shaking. The very thought of it scared him to pieces. They all loved him. He couldn't let that happen but what was he to do? It terrified him. Why was he so scared?
Gilbert realized he had been holding his breath and he took a deep gasp in, opening his eyes. He was staring at the wall beside the bed… his arms were latched around him…
The wall was plain. It was white. A blank slate to project his thoughts. A canvas to lose himself and abandon rationale. Something so familiar to this… something Gilbert was forgetting…
The memories clicked into place before Gilbert could help it.
"You called me 'Birdie', Gil. You saw me when no one else did. I knew from the start that I loved you; why can't you love me too?"
"It's okay. You just need time. It's a good thing I've arranged us all the time in the world."
Gilbert's nails dug into the skin of his forearms as his wide eyes stared blankly at the wall.
"I'm glad you love me. I knew you just needed time! It was always meant to be. I knew it from the first time you spoke to me. I was a shadow behind my brother and just an invisible boy whenever he wasn't around. You were the first to ever see me. You were the only one."
Blood streamed down Gilbert's arms from little crescent shaped cuts. He still didn't release his hold.
"We belong together, Gil." A soft smile accompanied the words. "An 'awesome' fate fit for the two of us, as you might say." Matthew laughed endearingly, as if everything were perfectly okay - as if what he had said had made perfect sense - as if he were not slipping further and further into madness. "You're probably tired, though. It's been a long night. What about I make some pancakes, eh? With maple syrup? It's our favorite!"
Gilbert's eyes were still trained on the wall. Remembering was like finding a puzzle piece to a puzzle you never wanted to finish. Now he remembered and it was tearing him apart more than he ever thought… perhaps it was a bit more frightening than simply finding the piece of a puzzle…
"Our favorite…" Gilbert whispered.
-/-
Gilbert had been working on hiding himself behind a mask. His smile became easier while his reasons to do so thinned. Exhaustion hid behind false energy. Emptiness behind loud words and wild gestures. Smiles were a defense and laughter his offense.
It worked mostly, but Ludwig was terrible at hiding when he was worried. Gilbert's brother worried more than anyone and 99.96% of his worry had been directed straight at Gilbert lately. Ludwig didn't challenge his brother, though. He kept a watchful eye on him, but never called his bluff. Neither convinced themselves Gilbert was okay, but both tried.
"So how come I can still speak in both German and English? Shouldn't English have been something I forgot as apart of the amnesia?" Gilbert repeated the question Feliciano had asked him the other day. If Gilbert'd had the energy for it, he would have been curious too, but, at the moment, it was simply a way to avoid other matters with the therapist.
Johanna, still an odd name to refer to her as even though he had been calling her that for weeks now, smiled kindly at the question. "You know what motor skills are, right?" Gilbert nodded his head. "Well, it's a lot like that. You have something called declarative memory and something else called procedural memory. You have to recall declarative memories, so it's a conscious thing. With procedural memory it's instinctive, automatic, implicit. You remember it unconsciously, if that makes sense."
Gilbert nodded again, taking in the information but mostly trying to find something else to keep the conversation from veering too far into territories he would rather keep uncharted. After the silence stretched too long Gilbert looked up to see Johanna looking at him calmly and Gilbert knew exactly what sort of things were going through her mind.
Johanna knew everything that Ludwig had told her. This meant that she knew everything. She knew about him throwing up in the bathroom and she knew about him locking himself up in his room. She knew about his moodiness and the fact that he had barely eaten anything in the past three days. She knew about every little thing that his little brother was concerned about and every situation that had worried him.
She knew everything and this caused her to try her absolute hardest to get him talking. And did Gilbert talk.
Nothing he had to say was of any relevance to the things she asked. He evaded the questions like a well-versed politician and instead brought up trivial experiences of his week and weak questions he thought up on the spot. He held an empty smile but couldn't control how he hunched over in a disheartened slump. Gilbert clenched his hands as tight as he could, wishing he could dig his nails into his arm to keep his thoughts straight. The scars where he had done just that these past few days were hidden underneath long sleeves, but they weren't simply just on his arms anymore. They trailed all over his skin from his shoulders to wrists, along his sides and waist. Hurting himself in this way couldn't have been healthy - he knew this inherently - but it helped so he continued with it.
It wasn't exactly a good idea to do so in a therapist's office, though. Gilbert wasn't ready to so easily give this woman something to pen into her little notepad she kept on her desk. That satisfaction didn't belong to her.
Who's satisfaction should it have been then? Gilbert's? Was clawing himself to blood and scars something to be satisfied with? If he didn't feel so emotionless and flat Gilbert thought he would have felt repulsed by his behavior. He hoped he would have felt that way…
The therapist talked more about amnesia. She asked if he had remembered anything and he had replied with a simple 'No.' She had looked disappointed like she had known he was lying. Heck, she probably did. He didn't care.
Gilbert had only remembered snippets since the day he had first clawed his arm to bleeding- since that blank wall had dredged up so much. Now seeing that wall made him nauseous.
Those snippets were always random. A short memory of spending his sixteenth birthday with two boys around his age. One had long blonde hair. The other dark and curly. He remembered the innocent smile of six-year-old Ludwig. Elizaveta spinning a frying pan in the middle of a kitchen in jeans and a green blouse.
Gilbert hadn't remembered anything more about his grandfather - or Vati as he actually called him. What he had remembered in the practice room was all he had of him. There were so many mysteries…
Gilbert was done with mysteries. He wanted to stay in the dark. In the dark he was safe. He was only safe if he did not remember.
"Gilbert, are you alright?" This was a question Gilbert had become familiar with in these recent times. It was the only thing that had the right to feel familiar to him. Gilbert looked up from the palms of his hands. He was sitting on the couch at home. Gilbert flinched at the thought. He had called this his home…
Gilbert was lost for a brief moment between that single word and the confusing reality that he was in the apartment. He had forgotten that Ludwig had picked him up after his session with Johanna. He had forgotten that he had been watching reruns of 'Friends' on the television in the apartment's living room.
Gilbert hid his confusion behind a strained laugh and answered, "Of course your awesome bruder's alright!"
Ludwig looked disappointed. Gilbert had received a lot of those looks lately. "Really, Gilbert? You don't look alright."
"I'm as alright as an amnesiac can be, little Luddy! Don't you worry your pretty little head!" Gilbert swung his arm over the back of the couch and turned to face his brother.
Ludwig rolled his eyes, a smirk on his lips at his brother's typical response. Despite this, Gilbert knew he still hadn't convinced his brother.
Gilbert wasn't convinced either. He couldn't even convince himself. Gilbert knew, deep down, that he really wasn't alright...
