Chapter 9: A Mind of Echoes
POV: Celestia
"I don't trust them," I murmured, my voice barely louder than a breath.
"There's something they're hiding from me."
The notebook sat open beside me, its pages filled with shaky handwriting. Thoughts I wasn't sure I should be writing down, but ones I couldn't ignore. I needed something real—something mine.
I rubbed my arms slowly, as if trying to warm myself from the inside. My thoughts spun again.
"Maybe they weren't good for me. Maybe they did something," I said, still talking to the silence. "Or maybe I did something..."
The words clung to the air, strange and lonely. I exhaled, resting my back against the headboard. "Maybe I deserved to forget."
Then—
A soft knock, followed by a creak.
I turned my head instinctively.
Doctor Kheo stood by the door, blinking at me with a furrowed brow and half a smirk. His coat was slightly wrinkled, as if he'd been rushing between rooms. He didn't say anything at first. Just stared at me for a moment, caught in the middle of what must have been my little monologue.
He raised an eyebrow.
"Oh?" he said, crossing his arms. "I thought we were only dealing with memory loss, Miss Celestia. Didn't know we had to call psych services too."
I snorted before I could stop myself. "Very funny."
Doctor Kheo stepped in, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You were talking to yourself. Deep, too. Something about people hiding things and not trusting them." He grabbed the clipboard at the foot of my bed and made a dramatic note. "Paranoia. Check."
"Stop that." I rolled my eyes.
He chuckled and sat on the small stool near my bedside. "Seriously though, you feeling okay? Any headaches? Dizziness? Weird dreams? Sudden urges to launch a murder investigation?"
I gave him a half-smile, still unsure whether to be amused or annoyed.
"I'm fine," I said. "Physically, I guess. Just… confused."
"Confused's normal," he said, now glancing over my chart. "You're dealing with trauma. The brain's defense mechanism can do weird things. It buries what it thinks will hurt us."
I looked away. "So it's trying to protect me?"
"Maybe," he said. "Or maybe it's just glitching out like a bad hard drive. Either way, don't force it."
"I'm not trying to force anything," I said. "I'm just… wondering."
"Wondering about what?"
"Everything." I paused. "Who I was. What kind of life I lived. Why it feels like my body knows something that my brain doesn't."
Doctor Kheo's teasing smile faded into something gentler. "That's actually a very common thing with amnesia cases. Emotional memory and muscle memory don't always go with mental memory. It's possible that you're feeling traces of past experiences—like echoes."
"Echoes," I repeated.
He nodded. "Ever walk into a room and feel like you've been there before even if you haven't? Your body picks up on energy, patterns, routines. Even fear."
That word lingered.
Fear.
He noticed my silence and closed the chart softly.
"Have you been feeling scared, Celestia?"
I hesitated. "Not… exactly."
"But something doesn't feel right?"
I nodded slowly. "There's a tightness in my chest sometimes. Especially after they leave."
I didn't say their names. He didn't need me to.
Doctor Kheo's gaze softened again. "That's something we'll keep an eye on. You're safe here, okay? And if at any point you start to remember things—or even feel things—you can talk to me. No judgment."
"Even if I sound crazy?" I asked, a half-joke.
"Especially if you sound crazy," he replied with a wink.
I let out a small laugh. The first real one in a while. He had a way of pulling that out of people—softening things without erasing their weight.
He checked my pulse, made a few more notes, and stood.
"I'll be back tomorrow to check in again," he said. "Try to get some rest tonight."
"Doctor Kheo?" I called just before he reached the door.
He glanced over his shoulder. "Yeah?"
"If something's wrong with me… I mean really wrong... would you tell me?"
He held my gaze for a beat longer than necessary, then nodded slowly. "If there's something you need to know, I won't keep it from you."
Then he left.
And I was alone again.
But this time, the silence didn't feel quite as empty.
The door clicked shut once again.
And just like that, I was alone.
But this time, the silence didn't feel quite as empty—it felt worse.
Because now that the distraction was gone, all I could hear was my own breathing. My own thoughts. My own fear pressing in from all sides.
I turned my face toward the window. The sky outside was shifting into the soft hues of late afternoon. Pale orange. Gray clouds. A slice of blue trying to break through. But even that looked blurry to me, like everything else in my head.
The light in the room dimmed as the sun dipped lower, and with it, something inside me cracked.
I pressed both hands against my face and let out a trembling breath.
"What's wrong with me…" I whispered.
It came out shakier than I expected. Like the words themselves were afraid.
"I don't feel real. I don't feel like I belong here. Not in this body. Not in this bed. Not in this life."
The tears slipped out before I even noticed them. Hot and silent, sliding past my cheeks and dripping onto the thin blanket.
"What if I was a bad person?" I asked myself. "What if there's a reason they're scared to tell me the truth?"
I thought of Lala's face, eyes darting, lips trembling.
JC's hand resting too casually on mine, like he was trying too hard.
The silence in the room after they left.
The ache in my chest that kept growing deeper, heavier.
I gripped the bedsheet tightly.
"I don't know who I am."
The words shattered something in me. My breath hitched, then broke completely as the sobs came—slow at first, then harder, louder, raw.
"I don't know who I am," I repeated again and again, as if the truth might change if I said it enough.
I bent forward, curling into myself as the tears poured out without control. My body shook, my shoulders trembled. It wasn't graceful or quiet. It wasn't a single tear trailing down my cheek like in the movies.
It was ugly. Real.
The kind of crying that leaves you gasping. That rips something out of you.