"How do you do it with the cap? When you do it… It seems way more Commisarial?" I said, looking at myself in the mirror, I couldn't help but to wonder. What have I done before? Images of the night flash before me with dozens of nightmares swarming all around me, hack, slash, and cleave, I was cutting through all of that Ichor.
My memories only go back until when I was sent flying by that Huge Nightmare. "Tell me, Kit-" I said, looking over my shoulder. "Kira?"
"Yes, dear?" Kira said, lying on my bed. Instead of Kitten? I blinked, and then again. She wouldn't disappear or switch places with "Kitten."
"Sorry, I'm a bit confused. What are you doing here?" Kira's happy expression changed to a frown.
"Kyle?" She asked, confused and bewildered.
I looked around the room for "Kitten", but she was nowhere to be found. "Kir,a where's 'Kitten'?"
She didn't say anything for a moment, and then shook her head in disappointment. "Please tell me you're pulling my leg, don't tell me you forgot again?" The Commissarial greatcoat began to weigh twice as heavy.
"She died in your arms." The entire world faded to black, like a carpet pulled beneath my feet; it felt like I fell into nothingness. The feline green eyes, which once sought to end my life, never seeing them again, ached at my heart harder than a virus spreading its tendrils.
It hit harder than a punch into my solar plexus, breathless, I stumbled against my mirror and laid my hands against my cupboard. I crawled my way out of my bedroom, Kira's words sounded muffled and fell into an abyss.
I looked over to my work desk, the picture above was changed, a man with blond hair held his younger sister, his dead younger sister, in his arms, cursing the god who let it happen and to an unfair world which took his last family member.
The breath stuck in my throat, and I felt like giving out, if I only could pass the doorway. I thought to myself. I pushed myself off the wall, reaching out for the doorknob, and seized it.
Everything felt clumsy, like in some of the vacuum combat training, preparing us for zero-gravity environments. I unleashed a voiceless scream as my door finally opened, and I fell outside of my apartment.
On the ground, one hand dragged my body closer to the salvation I sought. My neighbour's doorstep. My fist knocked against it once, twice, and thrice.
The tension lessened in my throat as footsteps came closer and closer to the door. I breathed in the air gratefully. When Timothy opened the door, I noticed the strands of platinum and gray which have become more prominent. He looked to the left and right before settling to look at me on the ground. "I need help! Kira is in my bedroom. I don't know what happened. She says Kitten is dead, and I don't know why I'm wearing the Greatcoat of my Father!"
Timothy looked over his shoulder and went out of their apartment and closed the door. He crouched down on the floor and looked me eye to eye. "You want to have the talk here or with a therapist, Kyle?" Timothy asked.
The gears spinning inside my head halted to a crawl. "Huh?" A stupefied tone came forth.
"I hope you know it is never my intention to point my finger and blame people. But for this once, I have to hold you accountable for your bad habits and how you cope, or rather, the lack of how you do so."
"Uh, Timothy, what are you talking about?" I asked, my goosebumps racing across my skin like a rash.
"I hate to be blunt, Kyle, but do you know how many times you couldn't help yourself not to remember?" Timothy asked.
"Isn't it a paradox question? I can't deny or confirm if I remember that I can't remember?"
"Good, Kyle, so it should sound equally rational and irrational if I were to say that this isn't the first time. You came crawling to our doorstep."
My mind raced to see another occurrence like that, all the time I spent drinking hot milk, or came over to drink tea. No time I had to crawl when I talked with Timothy about the more and less serious matters of life. "No, I do not."
"Then tell me what is the last thing you remember."
"The… the building came crashing down, and Ibuki and I fought ourselves through the lower city and nightmares came, all around u,s and so many." I wrestled those thoughts time and time again to the forefront of my mind, but they proved more and more evasive as I forced them into focus. "There was this huge one, whose bull charged me and sent me flying. I only remember screaming when I landed." I looked at my hands and arms like I'd lost them that night.
"That's far, Kyle, that's really far." Timothy rose and looked down at me.
"W-what, far? You mean like a couple of weeks? Broken bones shouldn't send me into a coma for that long, especially if I was home..?" Bile crept its way up my throat, and the rancid taste would not leave me, and escaped through my nostrils, reminding me of the distasteful smell and taste.
He offered me a hand, "I think for once it might be prudent that we be a bit more direct with this one, PTSD is a serious concern, and for once I think you need a more hands-on approach to deal with it." He yanked me to my feet, but I felt unsteady.
"You're not the type to jest, don't you pull my leg now, where is Kitten?" I asked Timothy once more.
"As much as I hate it, I think for once I should try to show you first what happened to Amanda," Timothy said, taking me along.