"I'm sorry there is no way that happened," I smirk, striding out into a bustling corridor. I've been at Yamaku for three days now. I wouldn't say I have settled in yet, but at least I found the cafeteria this morning on the first attempt.

"Honest, I lost it on a roller coaster," Ryouta declares from beside me. We have been meeting up fairly regularly for breakfast, lunch and even after classes at the end of the day. It feels strange connecting with someone so quickly, stranger still to connect with someone who seems to want nothing from me but my company.

"Ryouta, you did not lose a prosthetic hand on a roller coaster."

"I did, I did! I had to go to lost and found, I'm being completely honest." Ryouta's version of completely honest differs a little from everyone else's. We hug the left side of the stairs as we climb, this way I can keep my stump against the wall and out of sight. Beside me Ryouta sniggers, but says nothing. Another nice thing about him.

"So that's why you don't wear a prosthetic anymore?" I ask as we reach the top of the first flight of stairs.

"No, that was purely for the ladies," he nods wisely, oddly reminiscent of my grandfather.

"The Ladies?" I raise my eyebrows at him, I used to think this look was intimidating, but based on his fit of laughter apparently not. We stop outside of room 2:3, I still have a little time before class.

"You see I was worried they might think I was to much for them to handle, so I lost the hand so there would be less of me to handle, you see?"

"That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard," I try and look stern, but a grin betrays me. "Will I be seeing you for lunch? I won't need to get in line will I?"

"Nah, I put you on the V.I.P list, but…" He grimaces, "I kinda need to stay behind and finish homework at lunch, its due straight after an-." Trailing off he looks guilty.

"Can we meet up after school then? I need someone to show me the nurses office." I say softly, the halls have grown quiet while we've been talking. Ryouta gives me a worried frown.

"Are you okay?" His eyes flicker to my stump. I've noticed he deliberately avoids looking at it very often, its a kindness I wish he would extend to my chest. But no one's perfect.

"Just an appointment," I smile, happy to see his relief. "So back here at last bell?"

"Yep!" he replies happlily, digging in his pocket. "And Miki?" I look up as he hands me his room keys, attached to them is one of those on-ride photos you get at amusement parks. I do not believe it. The picture shows a very amused looking Ryouta holding up one and a half arms, and beside him a girl looking completely horrified.

"Told you!" He laughs loudly. Snatching back his keys he starts walking down the corridor, waving his stump behind him. I do not believe it.

— — —

"God dammit," I announce to the empty corridor, standing outside the door that I just tried to knock on with my left hand. I don't want to be here, it feels like I'm back in the hospital. I've already had the pleasure of meeting the head nurse. He wasn't to bad, cheerful and helpful he directed me down to this office.

"Come in," a deep voice announces from inside the room before I can knock again. Looking around quickly I can't see a security camera, he must just have good hearing.

Opening the door slowly reveals a modern looking office, though it could just as well be a sitting room. The furniture looks sleek and stylish, but also comfortable. Everything in this room blends together, nothing is eye catching or alarming. The occupant sitting in a comfortable looking cream recliner surveys me over a delicate pair of wire glasses.

"Do come in Miss Miura, shut the door behind you please," his voice is even, it never dips or raises, its like the room, trying very hard not to startle. I close the door, my phantom left hand prickles uncomfortably under his gaze, though his eyes do not leave mine.

"Im Dr Ueda, I'm here to help you with some of the problems you've been having remembering the accident," he nods at a collection of chairs opposite him. A straight backed wooden affair, a bean bag and a wide sofa. "Please sit wherever you feel most comfortable." Is this a test?

I take a seat on the lefthand side of the sofa, pushing my stump between the cushion and my leg. Dr Ueda smiles at me. I notice the only sound in the room is the gentle ticking of a clock. Now that I'm eye level I can get a good look at the man across from me, he's old in his sixty's at least. Bold, the only hair on his face is a wispy white beard, he wears a neatly pressed green suit.

"Miss Miura I want to start by telling you this is a safe place, nothing you say here will leave this room," he takes a deep breathe, like the calm before a storm. "However. You are involved in an active police investigation, and if called on I may be asked to testify against you." He lets that statement hang in the air.

"Do you understand?" He says.

"How can you testify against me and not let anything I say leave the room?" I ask, more defiantly than I intended. Not answering at once the doctor touches his fingertips together.

"I cannot reveal anything you tell me in confidence, I can however submit my findings on my assessment of your mental state." Picking up a jug of water from a tray on his desk he looks up at me. "Would you care for a drink?"

"No, thank you." I pause for a moment. "Is testifying against me something that's likely to happen?"

"I hope not, but these are far from normal circumstances."

What on earth have I gotten myself into now? I don't remember, that's the problem. The way this doctor talks it sounds like the police are much more involved than grandfather lead me to believe. Did I do something? Something bad? Did I hurt someone?

"Tell me Miss Miura, what do you remember about the accident?"

"Nothing" I reply simply; honestly.

"Well then we have much work to do."

The next hour is spent talking, strangely not about the accident or what I can remember but about unrelated matters. How I was getting on in school, how I was interacting with my peers and even touching on my home life. I thought this would be a sword fight, an interview where I would have to rebuke his clever accusations. In reality I realise I'm more like a fish caught on a hook. He tests every question, if it appears I'm in danger of braking the line he lets out slack with an easier less intrusive line of questioning.

As time goes on we become more comfortable talking, he switches seamlessly to using my first name. I can't quite seem to relax though, I'm constantly on guard unless I should accidentally reveal too much. He says very little about himself, but seems, at least on the surface, to be honestly interested in me. As the session starts to unwind he pulls a blue file from his bag sat beside his chair.

"Before you go Miki I would like to know if you could try and identify somebody for me?"

I nod meekly as I'm passed the open folder, on the front page is a photograph of a young man. Older than me for sure, his silver hair is buzz cut close to his skull. His eyes are bright in contrast to his hard face. He seems familiar, but I can't place him.

"I'm sorry, he looks familiar but I can't remember where I would have met him, why?" I ask, handing pack the file. I notice a concerned frown dent the doctors otherwise unflappable outward appearance.

"Not to worry too much about that for now Miki, we have made good progress today," putting away the file he withdraws a small white card. "Will you contact me if you remember anything or have any concerns at all?"

I agree to do so and he gets up to open the door for me.

"I would like to meet with you this time next week, is that acceptable to you?" I nod my assent, then step out into the corridor, I look back to Dr Ueda who nods at me before retreating to his office. Fatigue hits me as I make it to the end of the corridor and out into the evening sunset. I feel like I've been in a mental boxing match, all I want is to sleep and try and get the image of a silver buzz-cut out of my head.

— — —

I step off the bus onto a hot dry sidewalk, the bustle of the city fills my ears. I head down a familiar street, passing bars and clubs, closed this early in the afternoon. Rounding a corner I come across a group of people gathered around a huge black pickup truck. The english letters "F.O.R.D" are written across the front bumper but I don't really know what they mean.

"'Sup Miki?" A girl asks me, I can't recall her name.

The crowd parts before me as I approach. One person is left leaning lazily against the front of the truck, his short silver hair catches in the sunlight. He's gorgeous. I feel the heat rise in my cheeks, with a small smile he reaches out a beautiful hand to me.

Everyones looking at me now; waiting. I know if I take his hand everything will be better. I will be a better person. I won't be alone. I place my left palm in his.

Pain. Pain like I have never felt before forces me awake. My hand is on fire, it feels as if each finger is being stretched then shrunk before being bent back and crushed between two irons. I scream in pain, the yell unnaturally loud in the quiet room before I force my face into the pillow.

Curled in a ball my stump pressed hard to my stomach I look over at a familiar illuminated clock face telling me its past three AM. I hope I didn't wake anybody up, all I need is for my neighbours to start thinking I'm some kind of screaming banshee. Three light taps in quick succession are followed by an even lighter voice.

"H… Hello? Do you need me to get the nurse?" Oh good, day three and I'm a banshee.

I scramble out of bed, nearly tripping over my bedclothes in my haste. I open the door just as my missing hand gives another stab of pain, annoyed at being ignored. Before me stands a short brown haired girl with perhaps the biggest blue eyes I have even seen. Her petite frame is covered in a pink and white night dress, a blur of lace and frills in the feeble lighting from the hallway.

"I'm sorry I woke you," I apologise, my little finger picks this moment to stretch itself to twice its normal size before bending backwards. I feel sick, dizzy, I need to sit down. I land on my bed In a heap, groaning into my pillow. Quite forgetting my guest.

"Whats wrong?" The girl asks, she looks terrified. Screaming? Check. Locals afraid? Check, I have this banshee thing down.

"My hand forgets that its not a hand anymore, it hurts." I gasp as my phantom hand makes a fist so tight it could crush steel. I feel wetness on my cheeks, this is pathetic Miki. "It really hurts."

"What can I do?" She edges closer.

"Something, anything. Distract me?" I plead, the pain has never lasted this long. What if it's stuck like this? Okay deep breaths, deep breaths.

"My Sister lives in Paris, she says it's lovely this time of year." Well that was distracting.

"You don't look French," I groan, even my hand lets up a fraction to see where this is going.

"I'm not, she attends university there," she edges a little closer to the bed, I sit up cradling my burning hand in my lap. "Heard of the Ecole Normale Superieure?" she asks hopefully.

"Its too late for made up words, who are you?" I ask, more sharply than I intended.

"Oh I'm sorry, I'm Komaki Ikuno," She pauses slightly, "I sit next to you in class."

I blink a few times, trying to make her out in the darkness, she's about a head shorter than me and now that I think about it she does seem familiar.

"I'm sorry, I've not really gotten to know my classmates yet," I apologise, I'm doing that a lot tonight. "I'm Miki, sorry again that I woke you."

"It's okay," Ikuno smiles, bouncing a little on the balls of her feet. "I'm kinda a night owl anyway."

Well lucky for me I guess, at last the pain in my hand has started to slip away. Only biting in sharp stabs every now and again, like a monster clinging desperately to an icy cliff face as it slips to its doom. I look up at my visitor who for all the world looks like she's having the time of her life.

"Would you like to sit down?" I ask, pulling the blankets back to reveal a clear bit of mattress. She nods earnestly and taking great care climbs into bed next to me, her back to the wall.

"Are you new here as well?" She asks, straightning her nightdress. I nod, nice to know I'm not the only person trying to fit in.

As it turns out we have a lot in common. She attended a boarding, I assume private, girls school before being transferred to Yamaku for reasons she doesn't reveal. I guess it's like in prison, when the inmates don't ask each other what they did to wind up behind bars. We talk at length about school, she's modest about it but I get the feeling she is way ahead of me in class. She talks about how she misses her friends at her old school, how she does not know how to act around people here. If I had to make a guess I would say she's not spoken much to anyone since term begun.

"Would you like to come to breakfast with us tomorrow Ikuno?," I ask.

"Us?"

"Well me and a friend, he's kinda nice," I have to think for a moment. "Nice smart arse, lets go with that."

"I would like that," she yawns into her hand. "I should get back to bed." I nod in agreement, though I don't think I will be getting any more sleep tonight.

"Thanks," I gesture to my stump. "It helped."

She just smiles and nods sliding off my bed and over to the door. We wish each other goodnight then she is gone as fast as she appeared. As I lay down in bed I start to go over the events that lead me to this point. The therapist shows me a picture and the very same night I have a dream about the same person.

My hand prickles as I let my mind wonder back to the dream or was it a memory? I've been to the street before, I know that. The people seem familiar, I even vaguely remember the truck. English letters on the front sticking out more in my mind than the pickup itself.

I thought I would remember everything all at once. A lightbulb would come on inside my mind and I would know. I am not sure I can do this on my own, its a scary thought. I've been alone as long as I can remember, surrounded by people, but alone.

I try and find a comfortable spot in bed, but its useless. My body has given up on sleep, I feel restless like an overcharged battery. I spring out of bed heading to my suitcase. Perhaps I don't have to do things alone anymore. Ryouta has become a better friend in three days than I've had in three years. I pull on my well used tracksuit bottoms.

It's too much to think about, friends, memories, crashes, pain. Far too much. I need to let go, I need to run. I head out of my door with a grin, striding out into the rebellious night. Now, where did Ryouta say that track was?