"So, what's your name?"
"They told me it was Utopia."
"Do you remember what day it is? Or what month?"
"No. Is it spring?"
"It's winter."
"Oh."
"In fact, I think it's almost your eighteenth birthday."
"…which is when?"
"Your birthday?"
"Yeah."
"It's on…January sixteenth. That's exactly one month from now."
"So I'm…younger than everyone else?"
"No, you're older."
"…my head hurts, so I can't really make sense of that."
Antonio wrote a couple notes on the clipboard in his hand. I was sitting up in my bed, hugging my pillow. He leaned forward on the chair he was straddling, the pen in his hand twirling the curls in his hair.
"Is there anything you do remember? Like, a teacher or a friend?"
I shook my head sadly. I told him, "The only things I remember are things I learned from school. At least, I'm assuming I learned these things from school."
"Huh." Antonio tapped the clipboard. "You don't remember anything about yourself? Or the people around you?"
Shrugging, I said, "Nope, nothing personal to me. But it's not scary, having no memory. I don't feel weird or anything like that." Then I sneezed loudly, and yawned.
"I guess you should get some rest, Utopia," Antonio said. He put the chair back and patted my head affectionately. "Don't worry. We'll get your memory back again."
"Wait," I said before he left. "How did I end up here, in the infirmary? Was I hurt?"
"Si, amigo. You fell down a flight of stairs and your head landed on the marble tiles. You were very hurt and asleep for a few days. The accident caused a lot of commotion with the students and teachers."
I frowned. Wow, was it that bad?
"So, I slipped and fell? Or did someone push me?"
He shrugged. "We think you slipped. Apparently you fell in the middle of the night. Ivan was the one who found you while taking another of his…nightly strolls."
It was like listening to someone else's accident. Nothing about this felt real or familiar to me.
"Get some sleep, amigo. I'll go check with Senor Rome and we'll see what we can do about your memory."
"'Kay. Thanks, Antonio."
"No problemo."
xXx
Later, in the middle of the night, I awoke to someone playing with my hair. Opening my eyes, I first saw a gloved hand. Then a pink scarf. And finally, lavender eyes.
"Ah, I'm sorry," Ivan whispered to me. "Did I wake you?"
"No," I murmured back, subtly clearing my throat and quieting my heart. "Why are you here? What time is it?"
"Ah," he said again. "So many questions."
I glanced at the clock, and then focused on his eyes again. "It's one in the morning. Why are you here?"
"To see you."
My heart fluttered involuntarily. He still played with my hair, twirling it slowly around his finger.
"Why would you want to see me?"
The hair-twirling stopped. Ivan pulled back his hand, but not his face, which was so close to mine the way he leaned on his chair. When he finally pulled back completely, I sat up in bed, hugging my pillow once more. It was very much like how Antonio was, hours ago, but completely different. These two moods weren't even comparable to each other.
"You really have lost your memory," he murmured. "You're different from before."
Well, duh. How am I supposed to know how I acted before?
"Well, I'm sorry," I said sarcastically, a little irked. "Wanna give me a reference book as to how I used to act?"
He giggled in such a way that I found disturbingly adorable. "Да, very different from before. The old Utopia used to be so nice."
"I can be nice," I huffed.
"Really? Prove it."
I took a long look at him. The boy had wide shoulders and a body hidden beneath a thick overcoat. In the darkness of the night, his blond-beige hair blended murkily with the walls. He had a strong, handsome face, yet still very childish indeed. Ivan was tall, even sitting down. His skin looked so soft for someone that hailed from the harsh winters of Russia. He had a dominant nose, bangs that brushed his eyes, and big, steady hands. Or were they more like hands used to being in control? And there was an air around him, like an aura—a haze hues darker than his eyes. It was meant to be scary, but I wasn't afraid. I was determined to be unfazed.
"Well, I really like your scarf. The pretty pink matches your eyes."
Ivan threw his head back and laughed, heartily and deep. It sent sudden goose bumps up my arms. The good kind or the bad kind, I couldn't quite tell.
Ivan laughed in his native tongue, but quickly reverted back to English. "It's the exact opposite of what you said to me when we first met! You told me that pink was a manly color!"
While he laughed to himself, I was confused. Why was that so funny?
"Hey, you can stop laughing now," I said. "It's not that funny—"
Abruptly, he stopped laughing. Ivan leered forward with all the weight of the world, his one ungloved hand gently stroking my cheek.
"You're nothing like her," he murmured. Breath like sweet candy tickled my nose. I tried to recoil, but was frozen in place. There was a scary gleam in his eyes despite the warm smile on his face.
"Are you bipolar?" I finally whispered.
Ivan blinked. Once. Twice. For the second time that night, he pulled away from me.
"Something like that," he said lightly in his childish voice, gazing at me. "But really, it's like you're an entirely different person, Utopia. What happened to you?"
Irritated—with him and his comparisons—I replied, "I think you've already established that I'm nothing like the old me. I think that's because of the memory loss. Anything else you'd like to point out?"
"No need to be cranky." Ivan stood from his chair, stretching his arms high. "I've gotten what I came here for."
I glared at him. "And what would that be?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he turned to the door and said, "Good night, little Utopia. Sweet dreams."
"You were the one that found me after I fell, weren't you?" I asked. My voice was laced with hidden accusation. Did he know something about how I fell? Or was he really walking around in the middle of the night? Was it just coincidence he happened to stumble upon my body?
He paused. Ivan turned, his eyes now an unidentifiable color in the darkness. But the smile was still there. The smile was always there. "Is that something you have remembered?"
"Antonio told me."
"Yes, I was the one who found you." His expression turned dreamy. "There was so much blood, Utopia. It was gleaming on the floor like broken wine…"
His eyes twinkled, and it freaked me out. The chill of his gaze seeped through the thin material of my clothes. I unconsciously squeezed the pillow closer.
"Sweet dreams, Utopia," Ivan said again. Giving me one last sweet smile he left. The door quietly clicked shut behind him.
Either he honestly didn't know anything, or was a very good actor.
Falling asleep in the earliest hours of the morning, I dreamt about broken wine bottles and lavender eyes.