| Subject: Traumatic Amnesia 82 |
Author:
Nikita507
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Date Posted: Saturday, April 04, 10:15:33pm
In reply to:
Nikita507
's message, "Traumatic Amnesia 81+" on Saturday, April 04, 06:53:47pm
“Let’s get you onto the stool in the kitchen,” Michael’s voice broke the morning air and Walter turned from the stove to see Michael walking into the kitchen with Nikita up on the crutches. He was beyond surprised to see Nikita with Michael. She looked tired but yet she looked much more like herself. Michael moved the stool and Nikita got up on it. “Thank you.”
“Michael…” Walter spoke and Michael smiled as he faced Walter. He was obviously proud of what he had been able to do. “Do you think you can make us some French Toast?”
“Do you think that is wise, Sugar?” Walter addressed Nikita immediately. “You’ve been throwing everything up.”
“I’m starving,” Nikita commented and Walter nodded his head and then leaned on the counter in front of Nikita. “I would be starving too if I’ve thrown everything up for three days.”
Nikita looked at Michael with a silent glanced and Michael cleared his throat, trying to get Walter to just make the food. Walter shook his head and was about to protest to Michael once more when Nikita spoke, “I don’t remember the last three days, Walter. So I think I’ll be fine if I eat.”
Mick had heard the voices in the kitchen and had stood outside of the room as Nikita finally told Walter that she couldn’t remember the last three days. Mick nervously stepped into the kitchen before tentatively placing a hand on Nikita’s shoulder. “Good morning.”
“Hi,” Nikita softly spoke as she looked at Mick and rubbed her face. “I guess we have a lot to talk about.”
“Not if you don’t remember it,” Mick commented and Nikita swallowed and rubbed her hands along the table. She knew that Walter was listening even though he was now starting to cook. “I remember parts of the dreams, Mick…”
“And?”
“I’m scared hearing that I lost three days… because I’ve had other patients do that before… when they are recovering things… from their past…” Nikita’s voice cracked and Michael moved away from the side of the kitchen where the cooking was happening to Nikita’s side. “Let her eat first.”
Mick sighed as he stared into Nikita’s eyes. She was frightened and she knew what things could mean. It also meant that she could be jumping to conclusions that would mean absolutely nothing. “Popsicle, don’t try to be a therapist to yourself. That never works out.”
“Look, I’m cooking French toast… the kitchen is not a therapist’s office,” Walter shook a spatula at Mick. “After she tries to eat, let’s hope that it stays down. I don’t want to be answering to Dr. Jurgen if she gets sick again and I have to explain why it was sugary French Toast that she eats first.”
“Because I’m your Sugar?” Nikita shrugged her shoulders as she was uncomfortable with what was being said right now. Part of her wanted to go back to the room and hide in there forever with Michael. Maybe leaving and just being with Michael would be enough. Maybe she really did not need to face what had happened that night. Maybe it was a one time thing never to happen again.
It was Mick’s pat of her hand that broke Nikita from those thoughts. It was as if he could tell that she was planning to run from what had happened. “We’ll talk later.”
“Sure,” Nikita confirmed with a nod of her head. Mick looked at Michael as he placed a glass of milk in front of Nikita. He could have stayed in the kitchen and had breakfast with them, but Mick wanted to think about things himself. But he didn’t get far before his cell phone started to ring. “Hello?”
“Mick, you go to come meet me immediately,” Birkoff directed.
“Birkoff, Nikita just woke up.”
“Even more of a reason for us to talk.”
“I have to stay for her…”
“And I got the contents of the drive… and it’s.. I can’t stand to read all the facts,” Birkoff admitted. Mick turned on his heels and looked back towards the kitchen. He loved Nikita and he hated to think about what the truth was in her life. Mick had a feeling that something was off and now it was all being confirmed. But he could not imagine that Madeline had been part of it. “How bad?”
“I don’t know what is worse… her childhood… or what they did to her,” Birkoff hissed and Mick rubbed his forehead. “They changed her, right?”
“Practically everything but her name.”
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