So... this paper says:
My name is Rysa Thalorin, daughter of the late Ronald and Elanor Thalorin. I am 25 years old. My blood type is O Rh+. I have a concussion, fractures in my tibia and fibula, and blah...blah...blah... My local guardian is Drake. Just Drake? And apparently I'm a low-grade... air varian? Whatever that even means.
I set down my medical record my nurse forgot to take after changing my drip. Lying back, I stare at the ceiling. I don't remember anything. Many questions race through my head, but whenever I try to catch one, it feels like my skull is going to crack open. Thinking is hard, so I just let my mind drift, hoping it'll show the hidden secrets that used to be my life. I assume the fluffy hair's Drake. Who's he to me.... No idea. It's been a week in this too-clean hospital room, stuck in bed with a plastered leg and an aching brain.
After the day I woke up, no one came to see me except for the doctor and nurse. They'd occasionally ask me some questions, but I don't answer, terrified of hearing the unfamiliar voice that came out of my mouth the day after I opened my eyes. I was so panicked that I set off the machines again. So now the question is, what do I remember? The answer is nothing. I am a living being with no identity and nowhere to go in my mind. I often wake up from nightmares, sweaty and nauseous, only to forget everything.
I might have gone through some pretty big traumatic shit to end up looking like the corpse I am now. I don't even remember what I look like. Maybe if I saw myself, I'd remember something....but honestly, what are the odds? Even though I look like bones wrapped in a pale sheet of skin, the hospital room looks luxurious. So the question loops back to, who am I really?
I sigh.
The door slides open, and my grumpy-looking nurse walks in and snatches the record sheets from the side table, checks the drip, scribbles something, and storms out in a huff. I make a face at her back. Monica. Same age as me. At first, she tried to coax me into talking with a voice so gentle you'd think she'd dropped straight from heaven. But when I stayed silent for days, she showed her true colors. She interrogated me like an officer cornering a criminal, even deliberately forgetting my pain medication or jabbing the IV into my arm over and over just to get a reaction. My arms are now bruised to the point I don't even want to look at them. Ugh... when can I get out of here?
The door opens again. Expecting the doctor, I pull myself upright.
"Rysa?"
I look up to see Fluffy standing by the door in a blue suit, hair pulled back, looking every bit the shrewd businessman. The next moment, he crosses the room and leans in. I raise my arm, stopping him before he can get any closer. What the heck does he think he's doing? I recoil on instinct.
"I see... you still haven't forgiven me. Rysa, please. It was all for you. If it wasn't for me, you'd still be living with that abusive monster! Father was wrong. And now he's gone because of him. We can finally live like we used to."
Huh?
From what I've seen over the past week, I'm in a private VIP room on one of the top floors of a well-known hospital. Two guys in matching black and white suits stand guard outside my door. Three doctors and a nurse check up on me in rotation, and I often catch them looking at me with a mix of pity and fear. The nurse doesn't even bother to hide her hostility directed at me.
So... from the look of it, either I've pissed off someone important or I'm the important one who's being kidnapped and mistreated. And as far as I know, nobody knows I have lost my memory.
But this guy—Drake—really rubs me the wrong way, seeing how my body pulls away from him instinctively. He said, "Father", does that make us siblings? And who's this monster? I need answers... and he is the only one who can give them to me.
Okay. Here goes nothing.
"Drake, what happened to him?" I ask in a low voice, wincing inside. Let him interpret who I am referring to.
Drake stiffens. The color drains from his face, making him look deathly pale. His eyes scream fear.
"Don't worry, Rysa. You're safe now. He won't come after you. Everything's going to be okay. Trust me," Drake says hurriedly, extending an arm towards me. This monster guy is coming after me? Why? I can see Drake is clearly afraid of this guy, making me feel nervous as well.
Still something'soff. I feel it in my bones. I don't take his hand. A disappointed frown creeps into his face. He looks scary.
"Why'd you come today?" I ask, trying to get rid of the scary guy.
His expression flickers—something between hurt and irritation—before he masks it.
"The doctor said you can be discharged tomorrow. We'll be going to my place. Your place is too dangerous to stay right now. I'll move all your things to my place before we get there. So rest easy. Tomorrow I'll pi—"
"No."
"What?"
"I said NO!"
This is bad. My gut twists inside me. Fear grips my throat tightly. I can't—I don't want to go to his place. I'm afraid of him. But why? My whole body is screaming at me to get away from him. Think of something, ANYTHING!
"Umm, I—I want to stay at a familiar place to me. And I don't want to be a bother. If you're worried about my safety, you can keep those guards at my place." I say, turning my face away from him. Afraid he'll see my reaction.
"So, my place has become unfamiliar to you now. Rysa, you don't know what kind of guy he is. If he finds out you're still alive, he'll tear you to bits. So please listen to me just this once." He looks at me with pleading eyes. I shudder at his words but my body is unshakable. When I think about giving in to him, dread coils inside me, making me feel nauseous. No, I can't give in.
"Drake, please. As I said, you can do whatever about the security or guards, but I need my space to recover. And one of my friends is going to come and stay with me in three days. I can't back out at the last minute." I lie through my teeth, praying he doesn't push me further for details.
"A friend? Who?" He asks, frowning.
"You don't know all my friends. Now, please leave, you're giving me a headache." I say, pinching the bridge of my nose. I feel him staring a hole through me. PLEASE, JUST LET GO!
Lips thinning, he clenches his jaw and forces a smile at me. It looks like he's trying to suppress something really hard. I sink into myself.
"I'll pick you up at 4 pm tomorrow," and then he storms out of the room without looking back.
I collapse back on the bed, exhausted as all the tension leaves my body.