Sorry for all the email alerts, guys! This is the fourth repost of this chapter. Thanks in the hugest amount to LinaRush for catching and pointing out a HUGE mistake! You're a life saver!

One. Week. I just might die.

Breakdown

Chapter 33: Internal

One week. Seven days. 168 hours. It took 168 hours.

It felt a lot longer.

He could hear the doctors talking when they were in his room. He could feel them adjust his sheets and pillows. He could sense when his friends walked into the room. He could hear them, too, begging him to wake up, telling him about everything that he'd been missing, promising him that they weren't going to give up on him. He could feel them holding his hand and playing with his hair. If only he could see them.

He would have cried when he heard his mother's voice for the first time had he been able to form tears. He could hear her crying and whispering. He could feel her kiss his forehead, his cheek. If only he could hold her.

James remembered hearing Sylvia's voice, and he wondered fervently why Carlos' mother was here. Had something happened to Carlos, too? Maybe he'd ended up in the hospital along with James? That would make sense; both of the boys were fairly accident-prone. But clearly whatever Carlos' injury had been, it wasn't as severe as James'.

But then he thought that maybe he'd overdosed again. But he would have remembered that, right? The first time he'd done that, he hadn't remembered right away, but it had all came back to him within two minutes.

Only this time he didn't remember doing that. And even though he still couldn't recall what it was that had landed him in the hospital yet again, he was glad he didn't remember overdosing. He probably hadn't. Which was good; he'd promised, not only his friends and his mother, but himself, that he would never do that again.

But what had he done? He just wanted to wake up and ask what had happened.

But none of that was possible. The only thing he could do was listen to their pleading, broken voices and try as hard as he could to move.

Which he couldn't.

Until it had been 168 hours.

James was laying awake, well, internally, and he had been still wondering what the heck had happened that had landed him in the hospital in such a condition. Despite everything he'd overheard from the doctors and nurses and his friends and mother on their daily visits, he hadn't heard anything that could clue him in to the cause of his damage. It was beyond frustrating.

So was the inability to move. The longer James was frozen, the more afraid he became. Of course, nothing could compare to the first day, when he'd had no idea why he couldn't move. But even now that he knew, it, obviously, gave him no assurance. He didn't even know if he was ever going to fully wake up, if he'd ever be able to move, to open his god damn eyes again.

So, no, knowing that the reason he was fully paralyzed was because he was in a freaking psuedocoma wasn't assuring. It was unsettling.

But then James felt the twitch. At first he thought somebody had managed to sneak into the room without him hearing, even though his sense of hearing had intensified over the past week, since it was all he had to rely on.

But he knew he would have heard. There was just no way anybody could be that quiet. So then James thought he'd just imagined it. But he felt it again, something touching- no, moving- his toe. It had moved. But he hadn't done it. There was just no way. It had been too long; he didn't even remember how to command his brain to fire movement into his nerves. His muscles were slack and frozen forever.

But, again! A twitch. This time James knew it was him. He'd moved his toe. He'd moved.

Just to be sure his mind wasn't tricking him, overwhelmed with desperation and resignation, James tried again, this time concentrating on making his entire foot move.

His first attempt was in vain; nothing happened. But he'd just done it without even trying; he could do it again.

James focused all of his attention, all of his strength, which was miniscule, hardly even existent, into moving his foot.

Five seconds went by, as he strained harder than he thought necessary. Ten seconds. Still nothing, no movement. He was just about to give up again, when-

Yes!

His ankle twitched, sending a tingling sensation shooting up his leg. It was a pins and needles sensation, one he always found uncomfortable, but right now he couldn't imagine a better feeling. Except maybe for the cool sensation of ice cream on his tongue. Ah, yes, ice cream sounded so good right about then.

James nearly drifted off into a creamy chocolate-and-vanilla haze when he remembered that he had much more important things to focus on right now. Like opening his eyes. That was what he wanted to do first, mainly because he wanted to be able to see for the first time in far too long, but also because his eyes were to only part of his body not being pricked and pins and needles at that moment.

Forcing his eyes to open was even more challenging than moving his foot had been. He fought himself for nearly three minutes before, finally, after an entire week, his eyelids lifted and vision was his again.

Somewhat.

This time there were no blinding white lights. Not that he would have minded; he was awake, that was all that mattered. He would actually have welcomed the bright cornea-scorchers had they been there.

But everything was blurry. He couldn't see anything except vague outlines, all grey, colourless.

He suddenly realized how dry his mouth and throat were. Not nearly as bad as the first time he'd woken up from a coma, but still enough to cause him great discomfort. He opened his mouth, deciding to give speaking a shot while he waited for his eyes to readjust to actually seeing things.

But he was far too parched to make a sound. So he settled for continuing to force movement back into his weak muscles. Maybe if he got his heart rate up, one of the machines would beep and notify a passing nurse. He really wanted that, to be noticed right then. And not in the way he usually liked to be noticed.

So he worked on returning feeling and mobility to his muscles. It was strenuous work. James prayed fervently that he wouldn't have to go to therapy or something to regain all of his strength back. This was all just too much.

Soon enough, James felt his legs begin to tingle. He kicked at his sheets. His legs were way too heavy. Next, he could feel his arms. He could roll over. It took a long time, but finally he was able to roll over slightly and reach his hundred pound arm out and press the call button. He pulled his arm back and flopped flat on the bed, the minimal movement leaving him utterly spent.

James fought to keep his eyes open while he awaited the arrival of a nurse. His raw, sore throat was the only thing keeping him from falling back into oblivion. And, maybe the fact that he was too scared to let his eyes close in fear of not waking up, again, was part of it, too. Maybe a big part of it.

He was surprised at how quickly the nurse got there. She entered the room and smiled at him through her slightly flustered look.

"Welcome back hun. So nice to see you awake. How are you feeling? Any pain, numbness, confusion?"

James wanted to scream at her 'Uh, is all of the above an option? !' but his throat was still too dry to speak.

The nurse noticed this right away. "Of course, you must be parched, poor thing. I'll be back with some water and your doctor in a jiffy!"

She bounced out of the room, and James cursed this real life deja vu. He couldn't believe it was happening to him again. And he didn't even know why! He wasn't totally sure, but he thought that maybe he'd rather be waking up from this psuedocoma thing because he had overdosed again rather than not knowing what had caused it at all. But he wasn't totally sure.

Once again mimicking perfectly the last time he'd woken up in an all to similar state, the nurse returned with water and Dr...Anderson?

Dr. Anderson smiled grandly at James, genuinely happy, relieved, and excited that his young patient was fully awake. He was glad not just for James, but for is friends and family as well, of course. For once, he was actually looking forward to having news for them!

James, on the other hand, wasn't too glad to see Dr. Anderson. Sure, he was a nice guy, a great doctor, but having him again made James all the more weary of the overdose possibility. Plus, the word doctor scratched at the back of his mind, as if trying to pull something from his memory. It scared him.

James shook off the uneasy feeling and took his water from the nurse, sipping it greedily. He felt like he hadn't drank in months, not a week.

"James Diamond," Dr. Anderson began, and James couldn't help but feel a little abashed. Twice now he'd woken from a coma or a coma-like state under the care of Dr. Anderson. Of course, this one might not have been his fault...

Dr. Anderson was speaking to him, but James couldn't focus on anything the man was saying. He was trying too hard, searching his memory to its extremities in his desperation to understand why the word doctor was suddenly so terrifying to him. But apparently the extremities of his mind weren't vast enough; he still came up blank.

"...give your family and friends a call. Your mother's been here, as well."

James blinked, snapping to attention at the words. His mom? Childish may it sound, he really wanted to see his mom right then. He missed her like crazy, and for some reason he felt like lately he'd wanted her more than usual. He just couldn't remember why!

And his friends. They were all okay? It was just him hospitalized? That really made him feel heavy with dread at the thought that in that case, maybe he had overdosed.

But then he realized just how much he hurt. Well, it wasn't an intense pain, more of a dull throbbing, but the fact that he did hurt at all, pretty much everywhere, hinted that he hadn't overdosed after all. How would he have possibly ended up with so many injuries by swallowing some pills? It didn't add up; therefore, he hadn't OD-ed. Well, good, but what had he done?

James wanted to ask Dr. Anderson why he was in the freaking hospital. But his mouth was still too dry, and his entire face felt puffy, and he was tired.

"If I call them now, we both know they'll be here in no less than fifteen minutes," Dr. Anderson said lightly, and James was absolutely dying to know why 'doctor' was disturbing him so much!

Dr...er, Mr. Anderson continued. Mr. Yeah, that was good. "...just rest. I'll bring them in when they get here. Now, do you have any concerns, any questions?"

Well, yeah, he did, plenty, but he could already feel the tug on his eyelids, the craving to close them, just for a moment...

James stupidly didn't ask. He barely managed a shake of the head before he drifted off.

The next time he'd woken up, unbeknownst to him as a mere eleven minutes later, the nurse from before was standing next to his heart monitor scribbling something down on a chart. She smiled at him.

"Hey, handsome. Dr. Anderson just went down to grab your family. They'll be right up. And your vitals are looking very good, considering." She winked at him. "You're doing good, hun."

James ignored her last comment. He didn't care that she was young, blonde, and pretty. He didn't even notice, actually. All he'd noticed was her third sentence, if one counted 'Hey, handsome' a sentence. She'd said 'Your vitals are looking very good, considering.' Considering. What the hell was that supposed to mean? He knew he was banged up. He could feel it. His ribs were wrapped tight, and every inch of his face seemed to pulse with his beating heart.

Considering. His friends would be here soon enough. And his mother. Then he'd finally be able to understand what had landed him in here.

The nurse offered to help him into a sitting position, and he gratefully accepted, not in possession of any pride to be too proud to accept the offer. His ribs hurt enough with her gentle assistance- he was an inch away from crying out in pain. There was no way he'd have been able to sit up himself.

A sharp flare of pain shooting across his torso later, James was half-sitting, half-laying, and the nurse was fluffing his pillows.

Another few seconds later and she was smiling at him as she left the room.

James gazed around the room while he waited. But he wasn't inspecting it. It was nothing interesting, just a boring white room filled with beeping machines and the strong smell of disinfectant and the glaringly obvious indication of something bad, the something that James couldn't recall.. James barely even noticed any of that. His mind was too busy wondering what was going to happen when he saw his friends and his mother. Would they tell him what happened right away? Would their eyes give it away before they had a chance to say anything? Would they cry at the sight of him awake?

He hoped for the first. Above anything, he just wanted to know why he was here. His mother's sobbing and his friends' hugs could follow.

But when they came into the room, his brain and his mouth couldn't form the question right away. Seeing them sent a shock running through his body, liked he'd been electrocuted. He'd been able to hear them for a week, but he hadn't been able to see them. He didn't notice till now just how unnerving that had been. And so instead of talking, he just laid there and stared at them, taking them in. He went months without seeing his mother anyway, but even back in Minnesota, he'd seen his friends and even Katie and Mrs. Knight practically every day. He couldn't believe he'd nearly forgotten what they looked like.

Now James didn't know what to say. The question that had been eating away at his mind ever since he woke up fled his brain, and now he had no idea how to begin a conversation.

Fortunately for him, he didn't have to worry about that. Kendall, Carlos, and Logan all shouted his name in unison, excitement brightening their eyes and lighting up their faces. James just frowned, even as his mother started crying softly.

"Oh James, you really need to stop going into comas!" Carlos cried, and he began to charge at James, unable to control his joy.

James winced, not because he was afraid of Carlos landing on him and hurting him further, even though Carlos was obviously hurt himself; his right arm was in a sling.

"Carlos, stop!" Logan and Kendall shouted. James watched as Carlos halted in a half-crouched position, ready to launch himself onto James' bed. He slowly stood upright, turning to inflict a look of confusion and innocence on his two friends, wondering why it wasn't allowed of him to hug his recently-awoken-from-a-psuedocoma best friend. He missed him, and that wasn't okay?

But he reminded himself of James' injuries and decided that Kendall and Logan were right in stopping him from causing his poor friend any more pain.

Dr. Anderson smiled as he made his way over to James, and James couldn't help but try to shrink back a little. He wasn't afraid of Dr. Anderson; he'd been nothing but polite to James the last time he'd been in this spot, but there was still something about the word doctor that just got to him and made his stomach clench and his palms go clammy.

"James, don't you want to say anything to your family?" Dr. Anderson asked nicely, and James glanced from his warm, smiling face to the tear-streaked face of his mother. And...was that Carlos' mom standing beside her? Alright, so whatever had happened, Carlos had been involved, too. Maybe it had been one of their stupid, reckless stunts.

But James didn't spend too much time dwelling on that possibility. He needed his mother to be closer to him. He needed to hear her voice, and to see her stop crying. He was fine- well, besides being unable to recall why the hell he was here.

So he opened his mouth and spoke for the first time in a week, wincing at how hoarse and raspy his voice was, and how badly it hurt his throat. But he pushed through the pain, desperate for answers. "M-Mom?" he croaked. His head hurt, too.

Brooke looked up at him, wiping away her tears. She stepped forward and nodded at him.

"May I?" She directed her question at the doctor.

"Go ahead."

James watched with growing anxiety as his mother made her way over to him. Upon reaching him, she ran her hand over his hair, which- groan- he was sure was even more dull and lifeless than it had been lately. But he had more important things to worry about than hair. Shockingly.

"Hey baby, how are you feeling?" his mother whispered gently, continuing to stroke his hair.

Saying he felt like crap would not only be an understatement, but it would get him no closer to the answer he was aching to receive. He had to ask before she got carried away and cried so hard to the point where she couldn't answer him. Maybe he shouldn't ask her at all. She probably wasn't the best person in the room to answer that question, anyway.

So James, frowning even harder, looked past her and locked his eyes on- shudder- Dr. Anderson. He didn't know what to expect; the answer, everyone's reactions, all out in the open. At that point he didn't really care. He just needed to know.

So he asked. He asked why he was in the hospital.

And everything stopped.

Time froze. Everybody's faces featured the same shocked, disbelieving expressions. Even Dr. Anderson's. He had not been expecting that question. There had been no signs of amnesia. He felt like the worst doctor in existence. He hadn't even run any tests to check for amnesia.

Brooke looked like she'd been slapped. She teetered, stumbling back away from the bed a bit. She could hear six gasps behind her. Her baby! How much did he not remember? How could this be happening to him? Why, why, why!

Brooke whirled, turning on Dr. Anderson. Her eyes were on fire. She looked like she was torn between being furious and shouting at him, and collapsing. She went startlingly pale. "Why can't he remember?" Her voice was low, nearly silent. It grew in both volume and velocity as she continued to rage. "Why can't he remember? ! How did you miss this? ! You're going to fix him!"

James wanted to cry as he beheld the situation unfolding before him. He felt the tears burn behind his eyes, but he did not let them spill over. He could see beyond his shrieking mother that everyone else was in shock; their eyes held the same disbelief as his mother's had, and they all stood unmoving, with mouths agape. Katie and Carlos looked about ready to pass out. Kendall looked like he was staring to get angry like James' mother. Logan, Sylvia, and Mrs. Knight just blinked and gawked. So, no, James couldn't cry. He had to keep a firm grip on his resolve when nobody else could.

He attempted to speak over his mother's frantic voice, ringing high and loud throughout the room, echoing off the walls and reverberating from the corners, making his head feel as though it was a war zone internally. He gripped at his hair and cried out. Loudly. The utterance of pain was enough to make his mother's voice cut off mid-shout. All eyes were on him.

Dr. Anderson hurried over to James' bed, as did Brooke. Dr. Anderson held out a hand to keep her back. "The last thing he needs right now is to be smothered. Please, stay back."

"You expect me to let you take care of my son when you, a so called 'certified doctor' didn't even know he had memory loss? !"

"Mom, please," James moaned. He could hold back the tears no longer. The internal dam broke, and the tears gushed out, releasing both his physical and emotion agony. He couldn't handle the pain, he couldn't handle the lack of memory, and he couldn't handle the breakdown his mother was on the verge of. He'd had so many breakdowns already, and he didn't want to see his mother in the midst of one.

Brooke just shook her head. She knew shouting wasn't going to bring her son's memory back, but it was pure instinct to shout and demand repairs and answers.

Dr. Anderson cleared his throat. "Mrs. Diamond, I believe I know why James is unable to recall the incident that led him to be here. But I need to ask him a few questions, to support my theory."

Brooke glared at him. What good would questions do? If he and the other doctors hadn't noticed anything in her baby's brain activity that might prove his amnesia, what good would pestering him do?

But if it could help prove whatever Dr. Anderson's theory was in the slightest-whatever it was- and if his theory meant they were able to fix the memory loss, then she would take it. Anything to mend her boy.

Brooke nodded reluctantly, and Dr. Anderson nodded back and politely asked everyone, including Mrs. Diamond, to leave the room.

They all gave James small smiles, attempting to reassure him, but it was impossible to be convincing when they weren't even assured themselves.

Brooke gave her son a chaste kiss on the head, squeezed his hand, told him to stay strong, and followed the other mom's through the door.

Dr. Anderson turned to James, but before he could begin, James spoke.

"What happened to Carlos?"

Dr. Anderson shook his head internally. This boy just discovered he had memory loss, and he was more concerned about his friend than himself. Dr. Anderson had seen the unbreakable strength of the bond between these boys before, but it never ceased to amaze him. They were the epitome of selfless when it came to each other's needs.

"I'm not sure Carlos would want you to find out in this way. I'll leave it up to him to decide when and how he wants to tell you." Dr. Anderson was fairly sure Carlos wouldn't mind if he told James right then, but he wanted to respect the younger boy.

James frowned. Why couldn't he just know, and now? He already forgot a lot of stuff; why should this be kept from him? It was beyond frustrating, but deep in the back of his mind, James knew to go along with whatever Dr. Anderson asked of him; he was the doctor, he knew best.

James blew out a rush of air from between tight lips and nodded. "Alright. I'm ready."

Dr. Anderson picked up his clipboard, and James felt a funny twist in his gut. He ignored it. He was nervous because of his memory loss, that was all.

"What is the last thing you remember?" Dr. Anderson questioned. "Describe as much as you can. What's the last thing you remember doing, the last person you saw? Anything and everything you recall, no matter how seemingly insignificant."

James bit the inside of his cheek as he considered. "I...My very last clear memory is going to sleep. It was...I don't know the exact date. I was sick. Or, just getting over being sick. We'd been back from our tour for about a week. I was starting to feel better. I had something big planned the next day...I don't remember what. It's like I went to sleep that night and woke up here."

Dr. Anderson nodded and wrote something on his clipboard for a moment, and the movement of the pen made James dizzy. There was something about the clipboard that bothered James, that perturbed his mind and made shivers erupt and roll down his spine. His skin was raised with goosebumps. He chest felt tight. He didn't say anything, because the instant Dr. Anderson stopped writing and looked back up at him, his eyes warm and friendly, James' anxiety evaporated.

"Alright. You said that was your last clear memory. Have you had any hazy flashes, any pictures run through your mind, things that you didn't recognize?"

All at once the cold, numb feeling was back. Scared. He was scared. But he had no indication as to why. Maybe talking about it would help.

"Well-" His voice wavered, and he paused a moment. "When I was in the psuedocoma, I...the word 'doctor' really bothered me, for some reason. I didn't visually remember anything, but certain little things disturbed me. It's still happening. You writing on your clipboard. I don't why or what it is exactly, but it's making me feel...weird."

Dr. Anderson nodded. "I'm sorry, James, but I have to get this down," he explained, lifting his clipboard.

"I know. It's okay."

Dr Anderson resumed his note taking. "Can you elaborate on this feeling of 'weirdness'?" he asked without looking up, still writing.

James sucked in a deep breath. "Well, watching you write makes me feel shaky and cold and a little sick to my stomach and my mind is screaming at me, telling me something bad is connected to the clipboard and the word 'doctor', but I just... I have no idea what it is." James brought both fists down onto the bed and let out a frustrated huff. "Will I ever remember? Myself, I mean, without needing to be told."

Dr. Anderson capped his pen and looked up at James' solemn face.

"That's up to you."

"Well?"

"I'll have some tests run to make sure the head damage isn't the cause of the memory loss," Dr. Anderson informed his patient's family and friends. "His brain swelled and that was why he was fell into the psuedocoma; it's possible that may be the cause of the amnesia. But-" he continued, and all attention remained firmly on him and his words. "-I strongly believe head trauma is not the cause. The last thing James remembers is going to bed one night while he was recovering from sickness. Based on what you've told me, I can presume that was the night before his first counseling session; James doesn't remember any of his counseling sessions, or any of you even mentioning therapy. He also experiences discomfort at hearing the word 'doctor' and he become quite agitated when I began writing on my clipboard. My belief is that James is repressing any and all memory of counseling. It is quite possible, given that many victims of traumatic experiences force the memory or anything that reminds them of the memory out of their mind. However, the memory is still in James' mind, just hidden. There is no telling whether or not he will remember; it is up to his subconscious to decide. I will leave it up to you to decide whether or not you would like to tell him. But right now we are going to run a couple of tests to make sure that head trauma is not the cause. I will inform you right away if it is. Do you have any concerns or questions?"

Brooke finally closed her mouth, then opened it again to ask "Is it...would it be better if we did tell him? Safer, for him?"

"I cannot say for sure if the memories will resurface on their own, and if they do, when. If they do, there is a possibility that James will lapse into a state of depression, indifference, or he may not be affected by it at all. It's impossible to predict. The decision it solely up to you. I don't want to make a bias here. I honestly cannot say which is the better option; telling him or not telling him."

Brooke nodded slowly, staring straight ahead, as if in a daze.

Logan piped up with an inquiry of his own. "Is this a form of PTSD?" he questioned.

Dr. Anderson nodded gravely. "Yes. Repressing unwanted memories is a sign of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder."

Carlos bit his lip to hold back a sob. He felt awful, at blame. If only he'd been smarter, faster, maybe he could have prevented this, prevented getting shot...

But he knew that by the time he'd entered the room with James and...and the man who had done this to them, that James had already been affected. It was inevitable.

Carlos sank into his mother's comforting arms. She kissed him on the head

Dr. Anderson went off then, presumably to run the tests, and the seven he left stood frozen to the spot, nothing if not a little stupefied.

Finally Kendall spoke up. "So it's all up to us. We have three options here. We tell him and whatever happens happens, we don't tell him and he doesn't remember, or we don't tell him, he remembers, freaks out, and hates us for not telling him." He rubbed his hands over his eyes and sighed loudly. "This is...just too much."

Mrs. Knight stepped forward. "I think it's best that we tell him. Rather him find out now, with all of us here to support him, than for him to remember at a time we least expect, and panic." She turned to Brooke. "But you're his mother," she said. "It's ultimately up to you. What do you want? What do you think is best for your child?"

Brooke closed her eyes for a moment, and she could feel everybody else's on her. They were waiting. James was waiting. Her mind tossed the options around, the possibilities, the potential consequences, the unpredictable outcomes...nothing kept him safe from his own mind. Which ever way she decided to go, he would be hurt. She figured he wanted to know, anyway, and besides, if they didn't tell him, how would they explain Carlos' injury? And what could they say to him? Sorry, we know you're dying to find out what happened, but too bad, kiddo, we ain't telling you? Lie to him, make something up in a futile attempt to protect him? Then a month later she'd be receiving a phone call from Jennifer telling her that James woke up screaming in the middle of the night and was torn between being afraid of leaving the apartment and hating all of them for not telling him in the first place. The only thing that made sense was telling him.

But then, what if they didn't tell him, and he never did remember? He would never have to worry, never have to recall the horrifying events...but was that a risk worth taking?

Brooke opened her eyes. Seven pairs of troubled ones peered back at her. Still she was hesitant to make a final decision. Which option would do her baby best? Which would keep him most sane? Or would he suffer from flashbacks and trust issues his entire life either way?

He would, she realized. It didn't matter what she decided.

James was scarred forever.

No, James is not going to end up with the nurse. She's not that important. Notice I've strayed from romance so far. Yeah, not introducing it now. Sorry any hopefuls! I'm also sorry this took SO FREAKING LONG!. :p Lets just say that laptops are good for carrying around, but they are also good for breaking down. No pun intended. x_x