Chapter Two – Was He Alive?

Jim opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling. It was white, there was nothing special about it, but he knew it was white and that was something at least. He withdrew into himself then, closing his eyes as he tried to test the parameters of his mind, to force himself to remember anything, anything at all from before three days ago, when he'd woken up in that hospital bed not knowing who he was, where he was or how he'd came to get there.

I am James Tiberius Kirk, he reminded himself, running through the list of basic information he'd been told since he'd 'woken up'. I am twenty-eight years old, he continued, my birthday March 23rd, I grew up in Iowa, both my parents are dead and I have a brother who lives at the other end of the galaxy. I was a car mechanic in San Francisco but one night almost three weeks ago I got into a bad crash on my way home from work, my motor bike was totalled but I am, somehow, alive…

But was he alive, really? He couldn't remember any of his life, so he supposed he was living but that didn't mean he felt alive, not in the sense that people were meant to anyway. Something wasn't sitting right with him too, when he'd woken up in the hospital the doctor had looked at him and had at first addressed him like he knew who Jim was but he couldn't have because his psychiatrist, Tobias, had explained to him yesterday that he'd never met the man in his life. It was puzzling, but everything was puzzling now. He continued to think about the dark haired man, what had his name been? McCoe? McCord? He just couldn't remember. That didn't mean that he didn't try, lying in his new bed on a mattress shaped by another person with his eyes closed he tried to think, to breach the barriers in his mind but that was the problem, there wasn't a barrier just a large empty space where he knew his life should have been.

What troubled him the most though was that he'd been in a motorcycle accident, that's what had led to memory loss but there wasn't anything physically wrong with him. With that kind of incident you expected broken bones, cuts and scrapes, a bruise at least, but there was nothing, absolutely nothing. It had been explained to him that he must have taken a hard blow to the head on impact with the road, to cause this amount of trauma to his brain but once again there was no physical evidence of it. His head was fine, no outward damage to it what so ever. This implied that he had been wearing a helmet during the crash, which was good, he commended himself for his views on personal safety, but what contradicted this was that if he had been wearing a helmet it would have cushioned the blow, and he should have been able to remember what had happened, as well as the past twenty-eight years of his life.

With a huff of frustration he opened his eyes again and sat up, looking around his room. It was sparsely decorated, the walls white like the ceiling and it had light wood flooring, there was also the single bed he was laying in, a wardrobe, a chest of draws and a desk but with no chair for it. His bed was against the wall underneath the window so from his bed he adjusted the tint of the glass to 'clear' by pressing a button on the wall next to it, to look out at the surrounding fields. It was a good view but he wasn't awed by it, so far he hadn't been awed by anything in his new life, not that there was much of it, three days wasn't really a long time after all.

This place that he was living in, Drake House, on the outskirts of Salinas, Kansas, specialized in rehabilitating long-term memory loss patients, allowing them to eventually move out and carry on with everyday life, even if that life was totally different to the one he'd known before. As soon as he'd arrived he'd been taken for evaluation, told that the chances are his memory would never come back and he'd have to learn to make a life for himself. At first he hadn't known what they'd meant but he soon found out, for instance, he could talk, although he didn't know what half of the words meant and tenses sometimes eluded him, and he could spell, but he didn't know how to write anymore. He couldn't do simple mathematics but he could solve complex chemistry equations. Just last night he'd wanted a cup of coffee, the craving taking over him as he'd laid in bed but once he was downstairs in the communal kitchen he realized that he didn't know how to make it. The situation he was in was completely maddening, only being able to partly do everyday tasks, sometimes his body remembered how to do things that his mind couldn't and other times his mind would be telling him he wanted something but his body wouldn't know how to react. If it kept up he knew it was literally going drive him in insane.

Mustering the energy he dragged himself out of bed and over to the bathroom attached to his room. It was a modern thing, all white, just like the bedroom, with appliances that you had to talk too to get to work. He still wasn't used to it so when he had to tell the toilet to 'flush' it made him feel slightly self-conscious. Turning the shower on he stripped off the clothes he'd been sleeping in before proceeding to look at himself in the mirror. Despite the fact that he was looking at his own reflection it still felt like a stranger was looking back at him, he didn't know himself anymore but Jim supposed that his face was attractive enough, he wondered what his personal life had been like before. Had he had a girlfriend? A boyfriend? What about his friends, surely he must have had some.

It was all very bewildering and it showed in the blue eyes, his eyes, that stared back at him. If he had had a sexual partner or even friends then surely they would have tried to contact him by now. Someone would have been told that he'd been taken into hospital even if they hadn't known he was here in Salinas, wasn't that kind of thing shown on the news? Due to lack of contact though he was starting to think that maybe he didn't have anyone, maybe he was loner with no friends. He shuddered at the thought of having nobody back in San Francisco. From what he'd learned since arriving that the House, friends were important and he had been encouraged to create social relationships with the other residents, he hadn't really tried yet, unsure of the etiquette. What was really holding him back though was the idea that he didn't have any close friends before. He'd constantly questioned why that was and hoped that it wasn't because he was a total jackass but still these thoughts had given him misgivings about approaching any of the five other people who lived here simply because he wasn't sure what was actually going to come out of his mouth. It had happened a few times, he'd be trying to think up a response to something when words would just tumble from his lips, a smart comment that wasn't exactly offensive but was still cheeky and it would leave him apologising for hours. What type of person had he actually been like? Did he really want to know?

He didn't feel like he was a bad person but did a psychopath really feel like a psychopath as they killed someone, from what he knew of the word, they were completely and always in control. Could he have been a psychopath? Jim was in control right now but then again since waking up he hadn't had the urge to kill any of the other residents so he wasn't going to give himself any cause for worry by following down that slightly strange vein of thought. Shaking his head he turned away from his reflection and stepped under the stream of water, letting it wash over him, spinning in a slow circle so that none of him was left dry.

As he shampooed his hair he heard strange out of tune music starting to bounce around his bathroom. "I'm a cowboy, on a steal horse I ride, and I'm wanted, dead or alive." Jim hadn't thought there was a music station in his room and he was starting to worry was he hallucinating this song? "And I walk this street, a loaded six string on my back, I play for keeps 'cos I might not make it back." With fearful clarity he realized, there wasn't anything playing the music, he was singing, "I've been everywhere, and still I'm standing tall, I've seen a million faces, and I've rock 'em all. I'm a cow-"

He slammed his mouth shut before he could go any further, slightly scared of himself, he couldn't recall ever hearing that song in the past three days so how did he know it?! Fear rolled through him, quickly turning into full blown panic. His breathing rate increased and he felt nauseas, dry retching as he stumbled back, out of the stream of water and pressed himself against the cool tiles in the cubicle. Jim's chest tightened and he flailed, sinking to the floor, his fist's clenched against his thighs. Remember to breathe, he thought as he squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn't though, and it became harder and harder to drag vital oxygen into his lungs. Behind his eyes star's bloomed as he felt himself starting to become light-headed. He couldn't pass out here otherwise who knows how long it would be before someone found him.

"Jim, you have to calm down," a voice said from in front of him. His eyes flew open and he held back a scream. He knew the voice hadn't come from him, it wasn't his but he was alone, completely alone in the bathroom. Now scared as well as in the midst of a panic attack, black started to encroach onto his vision, maybe it would just be better to let himself slip away, at least then he wouldn't hear things. "No," the voice growled, "You can get through this Jim."

He closed his eyes again, the voice, it struck something in his head even if he didn't recognise it. Its deep lilting timbre rang of comfort, companionship, he didn't understand but he still grabbed at it as his vision continued to narrow. "Breath Jim, you're going to be okay. I've got you, and I always will."

And strangely, as he sat curled up in his shower, it was like his body remembered what it was like to be held in someone's arms. He could feel them as he let his body take his mind over. There arm's wrapped around him, rubbing his back soothingly as the voice continued to talk, now seeming to whisper in his ear. It told him that there was nothing to fear, and it reminded him over and over again that he was alright, he just had to remember to breathe, to be calm, to not let his anxiety get the better of him.

This wasn't the first attack he'd had, they would sometimes come out of nowhere or when his mind and body weren't working together, that would also induce his panicked state. Seven times in three days this had happened and as Jim's breathing began to return to a normal state he once again wondered if he'd struggled with things like this before or whether it was just part of the amnesia. Tobias had told him it was perfectly normal, that things would 'get better' but from where he was sitting he could barely see the light at the end of the tunnel.

Finally his chest opened back up and the darkness left his vision, he breathed deeply and calmly, the voice in his ear fading as fast as it had arrived. He didn't move, deciding to sit for a while. He wasn't stupid, he knew having hallucinations was not a good sign, nobody was meant to hear voices. Jim couldn't stop himself from wondering though if the voice was something his own psyche had made up, a kind of defence mechanism against the frequent attacks or whether the male voice was something from his previous life. Playing the deep timbre of the comforting words back in his own head he tried to put a face to it but came up blank, he'd expected that but he'd still tried. He'd been trying a lot of things recently, and he found that generally, he failed.

Deciding that he'd had enough of his shower, Jim stood back up and rinsed the remaining shampoo from his hair and quickly washed his body thinking about what he had to do today. There was his writing lesson and his one on one with Tobias, he knew there was a group therapy session after lunch but as he wrapped his white towel around his waist he decided to forgo it today, it wasn't compulsory after all.

After drying off Jim stood in front of his open wardrobe, the clothes were his but he hadn't bought them himself, they'd been provided for him on his arrival to the House. What kind of clothes had he worn before? He knew that eventually he'd have to stop asking himself questions like this because of course he'd never be able to provide an answer, he hoped that the more he got used to living here and the idea that he would never remember, the less it would happen until he finally stopped.

Deciding on jeans and the red plaid shirt that had quickly become his favourite, he dressed before heading downstairs to the kitchen, his stomach giving a hungry grumble. Cereal, he found, was the easiest thing to make so that's what he ate while staring longingly at the cup of coffee Bridget Meddler, another resident, was drinking. Bridget was an older lady, probably about fifty, with red hair streaked with grey, Jim knew nothing about her. He also hadn't thought she'd noticed from her seat opposite him at the dining table that he kept glancing at her coffee but looking up from her paper Bridget smiled serenely, "I can make you a cup if you like?" she offered her accent dictating that she was from somewhere in the deep south.

"Would you…would you mind, actually showing me how to make it…please?" he asked hesitantly, a spoonful of cereal half way up to his mouth.

"Sure thing darlin'," she smiled at him, folding her newspaper up and placing it down on the table top. "Come on," she beckoned, standing up and moving over to the hot drink facilities, her long skirts swaying as she walked. Jim followed, his breakfast forgotten about as he watched, concentrating severely, her make the nice smelling drink. It was such a simple process he was slightly ashamed for forgetting how to make it but Bridget didn't seem to mind teaching him, asking him gently how he took the drink.

"I don't know," he admitted, his cheeks flushing slightly.

Bridget extended her hand and squeezed his forearm consolingly, "Don't worry about it darli', everyone struggles at first. We'll just start you out with it black and you can add milk and sugar until you find how you like it. I've always found that trial and error is the best way to go about these things."

"I'll keep that in mind," he smiled gratefully at her before they made their way back to the table, Bridget bring a carton of milk and the sugar bowl with her in the process.

Experimentally, Jim took a sip of the black beverage almost choking as he forced himself to swallow at how vilely bitter the taste was. "That," he coughed, "was disgusting."

"I recommend adding milk first then go about adding the sugar," Bridget advised before picking her paper back up again and continuing reading from where she left off. Jim did as she said, adding milk to what he thought was an acceptable colour and taking another sip of the hot drink. It wasn't as bad as the last time but it was still too bitter for him. After a few experiments with the sweeting granules he decided that he liked his coffee with milk and two sugars. Jim drank his now costumed beverage with reverence, enjoying the taste and the hot feeling of it sliding down his throat.

When the cup was empty he placed it down on the table top and stared at the back of Bridget's paper, trying to think of something to say. Maybe he could ask about her, about how she came to be here or how long she'd been staying at the house but he couldn't get the words out of his mouth so he continued to sit there in silence was she perused the morning paper, scared that the questions might be classed as too personal. After a while he picked his spoon back up and proceeded to push the now soggy cereal around his bowl, not eating it but wanting something to do with his hands.

His mind quickly slipped back to the events of earlier that morning, it wasn't a normal thing to happen that was obvious, but should he tell someone? He wasn't sure. Tobias would probably want to know about it but he didn't know if he really wanted to tell him, to be poked and prodded some more because of a mysterious male voice that he heard on the brink of collapse. Surely the voice had been a good thing, really, he'd been alone and if he had passed out then no one would have come looking for him until he was late for his writing lesson, which was still hours away. Once again he wondered who the voice belonged to and would the disembodiment return the next time he was in the midst of a panic attack or was this just a onetime thing.

With shocking certainty he realized that he wanted the voice to return, he'd felt so comforted by it, calming him down quickly and efficiently compared to what happened during his other attacks. Once, one of the other residents, a man named Dmitri, had gone so far as to tell him to, 'get a grip' and to 'stop drawing attention to himself' when one developed in the TV room on his first night. Jim had proceeded to run from the room to be sick in the kitchen sink, his trembling hands gripping the counter for support, one of the nurses then came in and found him, escorting him to his room, staying with him till it had passed.

Jim's attack in the bathroom had lasted maybe ten minutes tops, he'd never had one that short before. One he had the day before had lasted three hours and it had been complete hell, for a whole hundred and eighty minutes he had felt like he was going to die, his chest tight, unable to breathe evenly, shaking and constantly retching without actually being sick. He wouldn't wish it on anyone. Unlike the one this morning though, someone had always been there for him, to help him through it, even if they weren't always effective with their attempts, but this morning he'd had no one and it had resulted in a hallucination.

He dropped his spoon and pushed the bowl away, he was going round in circles and he knew it but he had so little information about anything he had started to fixate on the things he did know. Jim looked up and noticed Bridget watching him over the top of her paper, "I'm going into town later if you care to join me?" she offered, "you'll catch cabin fever if you stay in this place for too long."

"I-I don't know…" Jim trailed off, feeling fear starting to churn in his stomach. He bit his lip, praying that he could stay in control of his anxiety but as he lifted a hand to run it through his hair he noticed that he was visibly shaking.

"Maybe some other time then," she smiled before folding her paper up and standing.

"Thank you though," Jim added hastily, "for asking and for showing me how to make coffee."

"Anytime darlin', anytime," Bridget nodded at him and left the room, leaving Jim alone with his increasingly dangerous thoughts.

"What have you been doing today?" Tobias asked Jim, his rich, melodious voice rumbling from the man's broad chest. Jim sat opposite him on one of the plush armchairs in the wood panelled room, not looking into the man's eyes, rather staring at the wall to the left of his head.

"Nothing, really," he answered, chewing his lower lip, "I had my writing lesson, I skipped group and now I'm here."

"Why did you not attend your group therapy session, James?"

The question hung in the air between them before Jim decided to answer, stealing himself, he took a deep breath before admitting, "I had another panic attack this morning and then I felt like I was going to have one at breakfast when Bridget asked me to accompany her into town. I didn't want to take the risk."

"Have you had any more attacks today?"

"Not yet."

"Why do you say it like that?"

"It's inevitable isn't it?" Jim countered, "They aren't just going to go away so something will set me off, something will tip me over the edge and I'll be crippled by this, this fear I seem to hold in me." He gestured to his own chest, waiting for Tobias' reaction.

"You cannot let your fear rule your life. I recommend that next time Ms. Meddler offers to take you into Salinas you go with her, no matter how you feel. If these attacks are going to become part of everyday life for you then you are going to have to learn to work through them, to take control of your body back from the fear that dictates it so much. I will teach you some breathing exercises that should help when the time comes, now what do you think caused the attack this morning?" Tobias asked, and then he added softly, "Tell me about it."

"I was in the shower and I started singing but I couldn't remember the song or even how I knew the lyrics and it freaked me out," he answered truthfully, his voice stuttering slightly.

"Can you remember the song that you were singing, it might relate back to your old life somehow."

"No." This was also the truth.

"What did you do to take control of your breathing?"

"I don't know," he lied smoothly, Tobias opened his mouth to continue in this line of questioning but Jim beat him to it, not wanting his hallucination to come to light. "Did I…I mean, do you know if I used to suffer from any kind of anxiety disorder, you know…before?" Jim asked, waiting with bated breath.

"Not that I am aware of but you are a completely different person to who you were three weeks ago, James, you have to stop trying to find out who you were and start trying to discover who you are. I would also advise you not to go trying to find yourself on the internet again," Tobias commented, lifting some of the weight from Jim's shoulder's that he wasn't going to press him details about that morning.

"You know about that, huh? And, erm, if you wouldn't mind, could you call me Jim please, James makes me feel uncomfortable." It wasn't a lie, he thought his full name was too formal, especially in a place where he was basically laying his soul bare to another human being.

"Of course I know, Jim," Tobias smiled at his patient, "one of the nurses informed me that it led to one of your more violent attacks."

"Yeah that wasn't a fun one," he remarked as if talking about a particularly bad movie.

"Eye contact too, Jim, you need to work on eye contact otherwise you risk alienating people and it will be harder for you to connect with them, to make friends."

Jim wasn't sure how to answer, so he didn't, he just sat there and continued to look anywhere but Tobias' eyes. Eventually he dropped his gaze to his hands, staring at the white knuckles of his clenched fists. He willed himself to relax, this was a safe environment, but he found it difficult, the silence in the room being slightly oppressing. "Is there anything you can give me?" he asked hopefully, looking up and into Tobias' eyes for the first time since he entered the room.

"First I must establish which one of the many anxiety disorder's you are suffering from, this will take time and patience. It is even possible that you may be afflicted by more than one. I think in the mean time you need to find something to occupy yourself with, so as to not wander down the dangerous paths in your mind, you don't want to push the boundaries of it too much. It could become very stressful, increasing the chances of having another attack."

"I'll think of something," Jim commented, rubbing his hand over his chin and feeling the stubble scratch his skin. He'd either have to ask someone to show how to shave or start telling people he was growing a beard.

"Now before I teach you the breathing exercises I mentioned," Tobias leaned forward and caught Jim's eye, holding his gaze as he asked, "is there anything else you wish to tell me, anything at all?"

Jim's heart raced. Should he tell Tobias? If there was a time, this was it but hearing voices, never mind being comforted by them, it was not normal. What would happen to him, what kind of medication would they put him on? Would they purposefully induce attacks to see if he hallucinated again, because surely that was what it was, a hallucination, he brain acting out under the strain the attacks put on it.

He baulked at the idea of being literally forced to go through an anxiety attack so he looked Tobias in the eye, a small genuine looking smile on his face and said, "Nothing. Nothing at all."

A/N: Hello again my friends! A huge thank you has to go out to everyone who has reviewed, favourited, followed and read the last chapter :D The response has been amazing, I seriously wasn't expecting it, you guys just make me so unbelievably happy! Tumblr is 'losingmyangelgrace' yada yada yada. So yeah, please let me know what you thought because I was back and forth with this chapter and unsure about keeping certain parts but I left them in despite my worries about it so feedback would be amazing. Until next Tuesday, much love! xx