I should get up.
That's the first thought.
The most obvious one.
The kind people say like it's easy.
Get up. Clear your face. Tidy your clothes.
Crying won't help.
Crying has never helped.Never since he left.
It just makes things slower. Messier. Louder.
I repeat that to myself.
Again.And again. And again. And again.
And again.
I can't move.
My body doesn't respond.
My legs are folded under me. I know that. I can feel the pressure.
The numbness.
The pins and needles that should hurt but don't yet. My arms are wrapped around my knees. I don't remember doing that, but they're there.
I should stand. Keep finding something. Trying a way out. To contact with someone.
"Panicking won't do any good," I whisper.
My voice sounds smaller than before.
That's fine. That's… fine.
I close my eyes.
Satori's voice comes back in my mind immediately:
>"You are too pessimistic."
>"We can revive you."
>"Already planned on doing so."
Always calm. Always sure.
Like certainty was something you could issue from a desk.
I clench my jaw.
"This isn't part of the plan," I mutter. "You said comms would be stable. First mission is supposed to be easy."
No answer.
Of course not.
Another memory pushes in, uninvited.
Odorome.
The heat.
The weight of explosion in my face.
The moment where I realized something couldn't be fixed by being clever or careful or fast.
Strong but not enough.
That was the phrase, wasn't it?
Strong, but not enough.
My fingers curl into the fabric of my sleeves. Too long. Too loose. They bunch in my hands like borrowed clothes.
I breathe in.
It's shallow.
I breathe again.
I tell myself this is temporary. A phase. A phenomenon. Something with rules.
Everything has rules.
Except… it doesn't.
That thought slides in quietly.
Something is wrong.
Not just the world.
Not just my body.
I try to think of my family.
My mother's voice. My father's posture.
The way the room smelled that day.
The memory wobbles.
I see myself sitting there. Older. Tired. Explaining.
Explaining why I couldn't come back the same.
Explaining why it would be easier if I didn't remember everything.
I remember agreeing.
I remember saying it was fine.
I remember thinking it was the responsible choice.
The memory tears.
The edges blur.
The words I said don't sound right anymore.
Why did I agree?
Why did I—
The thought slips.
Gone.
My chest tightens.
"Shit!"
"No," I whisper. "No, no, no."
I try to grab the memory again. It slides away like wet glass.
That's when it hits.
Not all at once.
Slow. Vicious.
The world isn't just rewinding.
My body isn't just shrinking.
My mind—
I can't finish the thought.
I press my hands against my temples like that might hold things in place.
"I'm still me," I say out loud. "I'm still—"
The sentence dies.
I don't remember what I was going to say.
Silence presses in.
Thick. Heavy.
I don't cry.
I don't move.
I stay exactly where I am.
Because if I stay still, maybe nothing else will be taken.
I didn't understand. Actually I did. I just don't anymore. It feels like I can't remember what I'm thinking.
Every second I force myself to get up.
And every second I seem to forget doing that.
I know it that my mind's being messed with. But I knew it a minute ago too.
I don't get it.
I did. But I don't anymore.
I can't.
Anything, I can't do anything.
So I just sat there... Waiting for someone I was supposed to. That I seem to have forgotten about.
And so I sat...Still.