I held my head in my hands and massaged my temples. I was covered in a cold, sleek sweat.
My brother, Kazuma, burst into my room, his brown-blonde hair in dissarray.
“Haine, what’s wrong? You were screaming kingdom come!” He sat down on my bed.

I lowered my hands and stared at them. They were shaking, cold and pale.

“I-I had…a nightmare, again,” I started sobbing. “About Mom-and the accident.”

“It’s over now,” Kazuma leaned over and hugged me, holding me tight, like he had that horrible morning.

“I feel so guilty, but I can’t remember anything! Nothing! Only that dream-it plays over and over in my head like a video tape,” I cried into his pyjamas.

“Hey, calm down. I’ve already told you why you don’t remember,” Kazuma said gently.

True, I knew why. For more than a month after my mother had gotten hit by a car, I didn’t speak, didn’t respond and lost all my memories from before the accident. I ate and all, but I was a vegetable.

I remember it as somewhat neutral.

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