Wanting to ask many questions, my lips parted to release the pressure with my first words. Nothing came out.
I wasn't able to speak.
My throat tightened as I forced out air. Trying to shape the words in my mind, they disappeared before they reached my lips. A hollow air.
I tried again. This time, the speed of my lips increased, frantic to form an ounce of speech.
My jaw was strained from the continuous attempts that turned into silent screams. I need to tell them something is wrong. The maid or even the woman who called herself my mother, I want them to prove that these attempts were only my delusion. My eyes, panicking, scanned everyone who had come before the room. All I could see in their eyes was confusion and a hint of fear.
This was no delusion. My speech is gone. This reality was something I could never accept. Losing my memories was tolerable; I could regain them eventually from those around me and piece the missing parts together myself, but speech was different. My heart slammed into my ribs. My hands wouldn't stop shaking.
"Honey, slow down; it will come out."
I looked up, seeing the woman holding her arm close to her chest. It was easy to tell that her words were shallow. Her words came out too fast, too rehearsed. It was easy to tell that what she was telling me was something she wanted to believe.
I wrapped my hands around my neck, as if a snake coiled around it. Attempting to move my throat. More failed attempts. More shallow breaths. Panic remained. The panic increased the strength of my grip, suffocating me even more. As the pain amplified, so did the faint breaths attempting to escape my throat. The pain peaked, something in me turned off, and I could no longer feel pain. At that moment, the thought that came to my mind was odd. Why did my speech matter?
It was a moment of clarity. I didn't have a name for myself, nor a family, nor myself. Why did my inability to speak even matter? Was I scared of something? There wasn't anything that came to mind. It felt like I was stuck in a glass room, unable to leave. Ending my moment of clarity, the edges of the world were soft. Colors were blending into each other in a way that was bizarre. A rush of black began covering my sight, filling every inch of color. My ears rang. The room slanted. I heard someone call Orion—I think the last thing I felt was a hand grabbing my arm.
My consciousness kept leaving and returning. In those split seconds, I could see a group of people frantically forming around me. A man with a suitcase was examining my body, and somewhere behind him, a woman's face crumpled; something he said had broken through to her.
Sounds came, distant and inaudible. Then light. Bright light that had once burned me, but this time it didn't sting as much. My eyes had become relatively accustomed to this light. Then came smell, a sharp fragrance that soothed my nose.
A man with a stern look was sitting beside my bed, stealing glances at his watch. Watching me regain consciousness, slowly rising my strained body.
"You lost your ability to speak," he said, those words frighteningly fast. I couldn't really describe the emotion that came with his words.
"I believe it has something to do with your coma. But I believe you'll eventually regain that ability. It also seems you lost your memories, but those things should recover with a trigger. It's your job to find your trigger; beyond that, there's nothing I can really do."
I wasn't panicking this time, thanks to that moment of clarity. It wasn't all bad news; these conditions weren't permanent. I was also curious who I used to be and why I was here. Would I be happy or would I be sad about who I was? Those questions had sparked my curiosity.
"For now, just get some rest; your mother should explain the parts of your memory you need."
So that woman was really my mother. I should at least start addressing her like that. This mother must have been the one whose eyes were filled with shock from earlier. I want to ask the doctor why she reacted that way. As I parted my lips, I stopped. Realizing it was pointless, disappointment filled my face.
The man had realized my attempt and said with a hint of annoyance, "Give up; you won't be able to right now, no matter how much you try."
With that, I slowly lay my head onto the bed, my thoughts stopped finishing themselves. As my body grew heavy, sinking into itself. My mind had cleared.