BOY MANIAC

Chapter 4

I lay quietly on my bed, eagerly waiting for my mom to come back. We didn't need to use words to understand each other. Our smiles, shrugs, nods, and winks said it all. But it was the sparkle in my mom's eyes that made me feel calm in this sterile place. So I lay there, wanting to see that brightness once more.

Suddenly, I noticed some movement out of the corner of my eye, and I couldn't help but take a sneak peek. I turned my head and saw a small and graceful girl. Her smooth black hair with a little bit of brown flowed down her tanned shoulders like a river. She was wearing a relaxed but well-fitting dress, and she had a simple elegance about her.

My eyes moved downward, and I couldn't help but focus on the white plastic basket she was holding in her delicate hand. Without hesitation, she greeted me with a lovely voice, her words soft and comforting.

"Hi, Stiles," she whispered in a light voice that floated in the air. She put the basket near my bed and leaned in, gently stroking my face with her hands, making me shiver. She kissed my temple with tenderness, leaving behind a warm feeling. Her voice, like a gentle breeze in the summer carrying beautiful music, filled my ears with calmness. And her smile, bright and full of life, made the dim room feel brighter like the sun breaking through the clouds.

"Can you see me clearly now?" she asked softly, looking into my eyes, hoping for a sign that I recognized her. "Can you hear me now? Or feel me touching you?"

Her eyes, so black and shiny, started to shimmer as tears filled them and ran down her cheeks. I lay there, completely shocked, and couldn't say anything. Her actions left me both confused and fascinated. I stared straight into her eyes, silently wondering who she was.

With a worried tone, she asked, "Hey, why are you looking at me like that? Aren't you happy to see me?"

Lost in my thoughts, I muttered, "I'm sorry, but who are you?"

She shook her head and exclaimed, "Oh my God! You still don't remember me?"

My confusion deepened as I said again, "I asked, who are you?"

She let out a sigh and said, "Wow, wow, wow! Relax, sweetheart. Don't act so weird and moody." Her lips pouted with a delicate pink color and her eyes had an irresistible charm. Slowly, she reached out her hand, ready to touch me once more, but I took a step back, feeling emotional. "Don't you dare touch me again," I warned. "Tell me who you are or leave my bed right now."

An atmosphere of resignation surrounded her as she reluctantly replied, "Alright, alright, alright. I am AY." She anxiously bit her lower lip, the unfamiliarity between us filling the space.

"I missed you so much. Did you miss me?" she asked softly. Surprised and caught off guard, I could only respond with a baffled, "What!?"

I blurted out, my eyebrow raised in confusion. "Did you miss me?"

"Are you crazy? I already told you, I don't know you. Just stop bothering me and leave my bed," I snapped angrily.

"Come on, relax, you grumpy man," she replied. "Can you please just leave me alone? I was trying to relax before you showed up," I pleaded.

We sat in silence for a few seconds, and I felt relieved, thinking the argument was over.

But then she broke the silence by holding her delicate pinky finger towards my face and asking, "Can you remember this?"

"What now!?" I exclaimed, pretending to be annoyed.

“prove that we are still going to be together forever…”

"Are you trying to prove that we'll be together forever?"

She continued to insist, extending her hand even further. "Are you insane? I already told you, I don't know you. Stop this. I'm not interested in playing childish games," I said firmly.

"You mean you can't remember me? This is so awkward. Don't you remember the songs, conversations, jokes, and everything we shared just last week? Can't you remember?" she begged desperately.

As she continued to bother me, I squinted my eyes and suddenly felt a surge of anger. Before I knew it, I found myself yelling.

"What the hell don't you understand?" I yelled, my voice overflowing with anger. "I already told you I don't know you. Just leave me alone."

My words pierced the quiet like a gunshot. AY looked shocked, her face showing a mix of confusion and disbelief. Right then, my mom walked into the room, sensing the tense situation immediately.

"What's happening here?" my mom asked, sounding genuinely worried.

"Mom, this person claims to know me. Can you believe it?" I continued, the anger burning inside me. "She came out of nowhere, kissing me like she's some kind of slut and won't stop bothering me."

"Settle down, Stiles. This is AY, the girl I told you about," my mom interrupted, her voice calming. "The one I showed you in the pictures."

Suddenly, my mind went blank as a fog clouded my thoughts. I desperately searched through my memories, but couldn't remember a single face from any of the photographs. Not one. It felt like I was lost in a strange, unclear world. I tried hard to remember, but my mind stayed empty.

"Stiles, you just called me a slut," AY said, her voice quivering with sadness, holding her hands over her heart.

"Oh dear, oh dear. I'm sorry on his behalf," my mom quickly stepped in, gently patting AY's back. "Please don't take it personally, okay?"

AY's question hung in the air, filled with confusion and longing. "Why is he so rude to me?"

"That's just how he reacts when he meets someone new, or let's say, a visitor..." my mom explained softly, her words carrying a touch of sadness.

"But I'm not a stranger; I'm his best friend, why can't he remember me? Why do you have to say sorry on his behalf? I don't understand," AY inquired, tears starting to fill her eyes. My mom looked at AY intently before finally speaking. "Amnesia."

"What!? What do you mean?" AY asked anxiously.

"His memories; there's a chance they're gone."

"No way! It can't be true, you must be kidding," AY said, her voice trembling.

"I wish I was. He can't remember you, not even me. He doesn't remember anything," my mom sadly explained.

AY slowly covered her mouth with her fingers, her eyes widening in disbelief.

"But he remembers you. He called you mom," AY desperately pointed out.

"I told him I am his mother. He doesn't remember me either," my mom responded with a hint of sadness in her voice.

"Oh no! If his memories are gone, that means Stiles is gone too. Without his memories, I mean nothing to him," AY whispered.

"No! My Stiles is gone," she repeated, her voice filled with pain.

"Come here, my child," my mom said, pulling AY close. A whimper escaped AY's lips as she sniffled quietly, nervously chewing on her lower lip.

"I can't believe Stiles would never talk to me like this," she said, blinking quickly, trying to stop tears from falling.

"Don't cry, my child. Let's just be happy that Stiles is alive," my mom said, gently patting her head.

"No, this is not the Stiles I know," Ay sobbed, collapsing onto my mom's shoulder. She looked utterly defeated, overwhelmed with emotions, and shut her eyes.

A rush of emotions flooded me, and my stomach tied up in knots. Guilt took over me as I witnessed a tear sliding down Ay's cheek. I wanted to apologize to her, to invite her to sit next to me, hold my hand, look into my eyes, and forgive me. But I couldn't find the right words. So I lay on my bed, avoiding eye contact, and let guilt consume me.

~~~~

The memory loss I experienced was a really scary and terrible nightmare, not a nice and magical adventure. When things were calm and I was surrounded by kind people, I found things wrong with them or other things. The love and care from my loved ones made me annoyed. I couldn't remember a lot of words or read properly. But whenever my emotions turned cold, I would suddenly start swearing and saying sentences that didn't make sense. I would even get mad at anyone who showed me affection, like my dear mom, the doctors, nurses, or even visitors.

But there was something special about my mom. Even though I made so many mistakes, she would still try to smile, and she seemed warm and understanding.

Visitors came to see me, some brought nice presents while others bombarded me with lots of questions, hoping it would help me remember.

"It's me, Becca. Do you remember?"

"Do you remember my nickname?"

"Mrs. Smith, why can't he remember us?"

They would ask my mom for answers.

"He has amnesia... So it's hard for him to remember a lot," she explained.

"Amnesia? What's that? Well, I don't know much, but I'm sorry, Stiles."

Oh, the grandmothers, they were the hardest to deal with. They showed their sympathy in their way.

"Oh... how terrible."

"Hey there, poor old boy."

"I feel so sad for him."

I was really angry when they came up to me with their weak and shaky hands, offering condolences like people at a funeral. It made my blood boil every time they said something sympathetic. I could feel fiery rage building up in my eyes, my muscles tightening, and my fists clenched by my sides, as I struggled to stay calm. At that moment, I felt like a volcano that was waiting to explode at any moment. I couldn't understand why they were looking at me that way. Was my fate already decided? Was this amnesia something that couldn't be cured, even worse than any illness?

As the pressure inside me grew, it all exploded and my words became like fiery attacks:

"You horrible person!"

"You old lady!"

"You worthless guy!"

"Keep your bald head away from me!"

"Just leave me alone!"

"Get your feeble hands off me!"

I couldn't control it; these passing thoughts tortured me constantly, with no way to escape. I lived a life consumed by hatred and anger, deep down desiring to be kind to everyone. I had a compassionate heart and the ability to make the right choices. But my betraying brain was like a tormentor, causing me to act in ways I desperately wanted to stop. Even though I wanted it to end, I couldn't make myself stay quiet.

When my visitors return to their homes, my mom would sit in front of me with a worried smile on her face. She would look into my eyes and ask, "How are you feeling?" I would try to smile and say, "I'm okay, Mom."

"Styles, the way you acted earlier today was not fair. You were mean to the people who came to see you. You scared them," she would say, looking concerned.

"Mom, I promise. I don't know why I acted that way. You might find it hard to believe, but I didn't mean to say those things. I promise I promise, I promise. I didn't mean it," I would admit nervously.

"That's what you always say, but I still trust you," she replied.

"You do?"

"Yes...but you need to stop throwing tantrums. You're not a little kid anymore. You're seventeen years old."

I started different kinds of therapies: physical therapy, talk therapy, or whatever they're called. My handwriting was a mess, impossible to understand. I had trouble reading, tying my shoes, and even writing my name. I couldn't do anything correctly, not even putting on my slippers. That overwhelming anger that used to take over me slowly went away when I was with my talk therapist. She had a British accent that was as appealing as her appearance. Instead of using swear words, I found myself expressing love. Instead of labeling someone as crazy, I praised them as a genius.

After we finished talking, my mom lay down on a nearby bed. She winked at me and closed her eyes, her shoulders moving up and down as she fell asleep.

A little while later, I heard a smooth voice say, "Hello..."

I looked around quickly and saw a girl standing next to me. She smiled briefly and settled herself in a corner. Her hair was a beautiful mix of black and brown, and it curled perfectly on her tanned shoulders. I watched as she took out a big phone from her pink purse and tapped her slender fingers on the screen. I wanted to talk to her, to find out who she was and why she was here. I wanted a real connection, to become someone's friend. But I was scared of stumbling over my words, so I kept quiet. I just stared at her for a while, tapping my fingers on my lap and sighing in frustration.

Finally, I gathered the courage to say something, looking into her face. "Hi..."

"Yeah, hi," she replied, giving me a quick smile before going back to looking at her phone.

I needed to find something else to talk about, something that would interest her. Trying to keep my smile, I asked, "Um... did you come to visit someone?"

She looked up, nodded briefly, and then went back to focusing on her phone screen.

"Okay," I said.

"I don't wanna bother you, but my mom over there fell asleep, so I'm just bored and needed someone to talk to," I said.

The pretty girl looked at me and lifted her face.

"You think I'm still angry at you, right? But I'm not. I don't hold grudges. I'm just being cautious, keeping my distance so I won't upset you or cause any problems. Anyway, it's nice to see you looking friendly again."

"Angry?!" I blurted out. "What are you talking about? Why would you be angry at me? We just met today, or have we met before?"

"Huh..." she blurted, her eyes widening. "Are you joking?" she asked.

"Why would I?" I replied stubbornly. "This doesn't make sense."She muttered.

"What's the matter?"

"Do you not know me?" she asked.

"I don't," I replied, shrugging my shoulders.

"Come on, I'm AY. The girl you made cry."

"I don't remember," I shrugged.

“It happened just a week ago when your words hurt me deeply. You called me a slut, as if that's all I am. I was so glad that you were wide awake, so I became too clingy. But you ruined it all quickly, spoiling my joy with your hurtful words.

"I'm sorry, but I don't remember," I stuttered, desperately searching my memory. But I couldn't recall the painful moment she was talking about.

"It's okay, really," she assured me, her voice filled with a mix of kindness and understanding. "I don't hold grudges. So it's okay."

A heavy silence settled between us, feeling suffocating. One second passed, then two, then three, each second highlighting the tension in the air. Just when the silence became too much, her soothing voice broke through.

"Oh, by the way," she mumbled, breaking the silence. "Wole asked me to give these to you."

She held out her hand, showing me two envelopes and a clear packet with bright yellow flowers. They glowed brightly as if embodying a lazy sunrise. I pressed the soft petals to my nose, breathing in their lovely smell.

"Wole? Who is Wole?" I asked, confused and furrowing my eyebrows.

"Wole is your best friend," she explained. "He used to visit you often, but he recently went on a trip to Port Harcourt with his family. They went to spend the holidays with his grandparents. So he won't be able to visit until he comes back."

"Go ahead and open the envelopes," she encouraged, sounding excited.

With curiosity, I carefully tore open the envelopes, eager to see what was inside. The words on the paper danced before my eyes, creating a path in my mind. They held secrets, emotions, and memories that were waiting to be discovered.

"Go on, read your letters," AY gently encouraged me.