Stress-triggered dissociative amnesia is a very scary thing. It is more than mere forgetfulness. You continue to act as though nothing is wrong, only to suddenly have no memory of what has just happened. It can make you lose minutes, to hours, to days. I have heard of cases of people losing years, or living in a fugue state. Mine have never been more than a couple of days thankfully. But unfortunately, it means my amnesia has robbed me of important life events such as my father's funeral or suicide attempts. Duo is going to be subjected to similar due to the stresses of the last chapter. Usual warnings still apply.


*BEEP* I groaned at the sudden waking.

*BEEP* I furrowed my brow and tried to turn over away from the noise.

*BEEP* Why did moving hurt so much, why were my arms in agony? What was attached to me that was making turning so difficult?

*BEEP* I opened my eyes slowly; expecting to see the usual surroundings of the apartment, but was met with a blinding fluorescent glare that hurt my eyes.

*BEEP BEEP* The beeping accelerated as the cold dread hit me, I was in a hospital room. What had happened? Why was I here? I scrutinised my memories, but the last thing that I remembered was sitting in the reception room waiting to see Dr Willow. So how the hell did I end up like this?

"Duo? Duo, it's okay, I'm here." I felt the feather-light touch of familiar hands catching one of my own. They were warm but had a slight tremble to them. I found myself gently squeezing it in comfort, but as I looked down at it, I saw the blood-stained cannula. My gaze travelled upwards and what I saw made me sick to my stomach. My arm was tightly wrapped and taped up with heavy bandages. The other arm matched in ghastly symmetry. I don't cut this much /anymore/, I don't cut that deep, I wasn't trying to kill myself, why were they like this? What else could have happened to me?

"Duo…" Finally, I tore my gaze from my arms as a hand gently cupped my face, turning to see glistening tears at the edge of my love's eyes.

"What ha-," My mouth was parched and my throat felt raw. Heero understanding picked up a plastic cup with a straw in it from the side of the bed, and I gratefully sipped at it. The cold water was soothing but it left a chemical aftertaste. "What happened?" I finally managed to ask.

"What do you think happened?" His voice was quiet, and I could tell that he was unsure of himself.

"I, I don't remember…" I closed my eyes replaying what little I could remember. I wasn't even sure what the day was anymore. "I was waiting for my appointment with Dr Willow… And… and now I'm here." I just didn't understand. The more I tried to focus the more I could feel the panic rising. I brought up my free hand to clutch at my head hoping to soothe the blossoming headache. The heart rate monitor didn't help as it quickened again. "I just, I don't remember Ro'."

Slowly Heero stood and carefully moved the cables and tubes around that were attached to me, and slid behind me so that I was resting upon his chest. The intimate gesture caused my racing heartbeat to slow slightly, but I still clung to him like a child to its mother. "Why can't I remember?" I muttered quietly. Suddenly exhausted by everything.

"I found you," his grip subconsciously tightened around me. "I found you on the bathroom floor. There was so much blood. I, I thought I'd lost you." I felt his face nuzzle into my hair, breathing in the scent and trying to hide the tears that I knew had begun to fall. "You nearly died… You cut too deep."

Sighing I felt the headache now pounding in my skull on the verge of a full-blown migraine. Even when I dissociated and watched myself cut, I would remember the surreal out-of-body experience. But try as I could, I remembered nothing of the events that he had so cautiously described. I found I was in return clutching onto him harder through confusion and fear. Why couldn't I remember? What was wrong with me? And I could only quietly repeat 'Why can't I remember' over and over again; as I let my own tears begin to stream down my face.

"It's okay love, I'm here," came the whisper in my ear as he rocked me gently until the exhaustion finally came crashing down upon me.


The rest I received was fitful, and I tossed and turned throughout the night. Frightful nightmares of warped events from my past haunted my mind. They were filled with memories of the war, memories of Solo, Father Maxwell, and Sister Helen. One painful memory appeared to remind me of the first time that I had taken a blade to my arm.

I had had a 'bad day'. Why a bad day would have me so angry and upset I would never truly understand, and I couldn't put my finger on exactly what had happened to make me feel like this. I had been working with the Sweepers for a few years now, and I was no longer a child in their eyes. It had been just after I had met Professor G, and he had shown interest in my 'unique' abilities as he came to call them.

Clutching onto the sink rim, I focused on holding myself upright. I stared at my face in the mirror. My mischievous expression and manic grin greeted me as usual. It had been perfected over the years and was now just a mask to the loneliness and guilt which truly lay beneath. Eventually, this had been expected of me for so many years, that no one had ever thought to look beyond it. That was until Heero did.

Why couldn't anyone see me for me? Why did they always expect this chatty energetic youth? They had no idea what I had gone through, what I had done, what Professor G was now asking of me. I kept whispering to myself 'I may run and hide, but I never lie,' over and over again as my quiet mantra. It was something that Solo had said when I first met him. I hadn't believed that he had wanted a street rat like me in his gang. The more I said it the more I hated it. My whole life was a lie now. Fuck! The uncontrolled anger flashed across me and I brought up a fist to smash the reflection into shards of glittering pieces.

The mirror had cut up my hand pretty badly. My knuckles were bleeding horribly and had chunks of glass in varying sizes dug into the flesh. But for some reason, it had felt good. I'm not sure if it was the violence or the pain, maybe both, but the feeling of sweet endorphins washed over me. And I couldn't help but stare at my hand in sick fascination.

I pulled one of the larger pieces of glass from my hand and began studying the facetted edge that was speckled with droplets of blood. This one act had made me not care about anything else in the world. The pain was a pleasant distraction.

I sunk to the floor and used my other hand to push up the sleeve that was now turning crimson. Without thinking I had brought the glass down on my forearm, ignoring the scars and bruises caused by my past, and focused on the deep cut that I was creating. It was slow and satisfying. The cut itself wasn't particularly damaging, measuring only three inches or so and wasn't as deep as the cuts that would come in the future. It would easily be ignored by others and just accepted as the inevitable wounds that came with this profession.

I brought the cut up to my lips and was met with a salty yet metallic flavour. The control and pain from cutting gave me the clarity I needed. And for the first time in my life, I felt like I was able to keep going. I could keep my promise to Sister Helen that I would continue to fight to attain peace. If I had this one modicum of control in my life then maybe I could keep fighting after all.

Later though, the cutting became a punishment. The self-hatred and the pressures of war had suffocated me, and it was only with a blade that I could continue living. Then eventually it had become something I had been addicted to, just like Dr Willow had said. My skin would feel like a thousand ants were crawling over me that could only be exterminated with the sweet release of a blade meeting my skin. I can only imagine that this was the same feeling that those addicted to drugs must have felt before they managed to get their next fix.

Waking, I was again greeted with the same blinding fluorescent light, but thankfully without the mechanical drone of the heart monitor.

Saying I felt rough was an understatement. My eyes still felt puffy from all the crying I had done lately, but that was the least of my problems. Heavy aching arms were beginning to itch under the gauze and bandages. I suspected that there were stitches holding the wounds together. I had no memory of what they looked like, but I had a hunch that they were pretty bad from what Heero had said.

My limp braid lay across one shoulder and I could see that it was half undone and the tip held a crimson crust. The mass of hair was feeling greasy too. I desperately needed and wanted a shower. But thankfully my headache was starting to dissipate. Well as long as I didn't focus too much on trying to remember what had transpired to get me here.

I chewed my lip as I looked around the room. It was a private one, no doubt paid for with appropriated OZ funds. One side of the room was floor-to-ceiling windows looking out onto the colony, I must have been pretty high up /you don't deserve this/. And I began to wonder if this was one of the Winner Foundation Charity Hospitals. I inwardly groaned at the thought of the possibility of seeing Quatre like this, I knew he would likely come as soon as he found out. He knew about my… I wouldn't know how to even describe it to him, maybe a lifestyle choice. But I knew he never liked to mention it, only finding ways to help without traumatising me further.

The thought crossed my mind that if this was indeed one of his hospitals, then at least the food would be better than most other ones. I hoped that anyway. As if on cue my stomach growled loudly as a reminder that through everything that had happened, I couldn't remember the last time I had eaten. I rubbed my stomach in the vein attempt of soothing the pain and nausea that followed that would no doubt lead to dry heaving. Something I wished to avoid at all costs.

On the other side of the room, there was a makeshift bed on the floor. And thankfully a sleeping Japanese man lay upon it. His auburn unkempt hair fell across his face which always made him appear so gentle when he was having a peaceful sleep for once.

I couldn't help but think of the last time that we were in a hospital. Heero's recovery after the Wing Zero had exploded above the Maremia rebellion headquarters. I had fallen asleep with my head on his lap, and then woken to an empty bed the next day. After that, I hadn't seen Heero for a year, not until the Peace Gathering the following Christmas (1). I have to admit that it was something that had crossed my mind as soon I realised I was in a hospital, but I had buried the memory as deeply as I could. So seeing my love now, and knowing that he was still here for me despite everything, even if I didn't know what it was, made my lips turn into a smile. And I couldn't believe just how lucky I was to have him in my life.


(1) The events of the Dear Diary fan fiction. You can find a link in my library.

It has just gone midnight. I am having a crappy time at the moment. So in between the stress of the next few weeks, I will try my hardest to write the next chapter. But I admit the plan I have for the future of this is gut-wrenchingly painful to even think about.