The Cure pt. 1

My name is.. my name is.. well, I can’t be sure exactly what my name is or where I am. I am peering out of eyes that don’t quite feel like mine. I am in the backseat of a car, it’s night, and a familiar man is sitting in the front seat driving. We pull up to a home where a woman and her two daughters come out eagerly to greet us. The man opens the back door and pulls me out. My body is so heavy and lifeless that I nearly fall onto the concrete driveway. I try to move my feet, my legs so that I stand upright, but then notice that I am being hoisted into a wheelchair. I feel a combination of relief and confusion, the man is helping me, but who is he? He is my father? No. I don’t think he is my father, but it certainly feels as if he is taking care of me. I try to move my lips. I want water. My throat is dry, sore, my tongue feels stuck to the roof of my mouth, it’s heavy as cement. He wheels me into the home and the women speak to each other. I think the mother is asking the girls to go to bed, although I can not be certain. I look at the woman, she is in her late 30’s, slim build, soft features on her face, she smiles at me. I want to ask her who she is, who am I, and where am I, but I am very tired. The man wheels me over to the edge of the room, it’s dark in this corner, but moonlight streams through the window. I look at the moonlight. Yes, I do remember that is the last thing I saw before I became so confused. The moonlight. I remember it like a snapshot in time, and I close my eyes to search for more snapshots. The moonlight came through my bathroom window. I was in a bathroom, yes! I open my eyes, I want to celebrate this little gift that my mind gave to me. I look towards the bed, and I now see the woman is nude, the man is nude. They are kissing. They are making love. Making love is something I can remember. I had a girlfriend, or do I have a girlfriend? I feel strange as I glance at my hands, they’re bound to the wheelchair. I recognize my hands, they are mine, and I quietly celebrate every little piece of recognition. I look at the couple, his cock is sliding in and out of her pussy. She moans, she stares at me, and I like the way she looks at me. It terrifies me and thrills me. A feeling of mistrust washes over me as I recognize that this is not normal. The bed they are making love in was the bed that I was to recover in. I think that is the bed that I was to recover in? I don’t know. I don’t know. Who the fuck am I? I try to close my eyes but I can’t keep my eyes off of her and I hate myself, and yes, this is a familiar feeling that I recognize and celebrate.