117. Something Missing.

Deangelo.

I felt a piercing pain in my head as my eyes struggled to open. It was so intense that I couldn't move or speak. I tried to recall what happened, but everything was hazy. I felt helpless and afraid, strapped to a bed with wires and tubes sticking out of my body. The pain was so overwhelming that I thought it was going to be the end of me. I tried to scream, but no sound came out. I wanted to ask for help, but I couldn't remember anything or anyone. I felt lost and confused, like I was floating in a dark void.

Slowly, the pain started to subside, and I began to see flashes of memories. I remembered my family, my pack, and my wife, then another unfamiliar face. The memories were blurry, but they brought a sense of comfort and familiarity. As I opened my eyes, I saw a room filled with machines and monitors beeping and flashing. The room was sterile, and the walls were painted in a dull white color. I tried to move my arms, but they were restrained by straps. I felt a cold sweat trickle down my forehead.

I was disoriented and confused. I couldn't remember how I ended up in the hospital, or what happened to me. It was like my mind was a blank slate, and it scared me. When I tried to sit up, I felt a sharp pain in my head and realized that it was bandaged.

The doctors came in and explained to me that I had been in an accident and had suffered a traumatic brain injury. They advised me not to force my memories to come back, as it could cause more harm than good. I listened to their advice, but I couldn't help but feel like a vital part of me was missing.

I tried to remember certain things, but nothing came back to me. It was frustrating and scary at the same time. I felt like I was walking around with a gaping hole in my mind. I knew that there were things I should remember, but they were just out of reach. It was like trying to grab onto a cloud, it was impossible. I tried to focus on the present and take things one second at a time. The doctors assured me that my memories might come back with time, but they were not so sure. It was also hard not to feel like a part of me was lost forever.

While I lay in the hospital bed, I tried to think positively and focus on my recovery. But the feeling of something missing, something that was a part of me, continued to nag at me. I wondered if I would ever be the same person again, or if the accident had changed me forever.

Soon the kids were all in the room with me and even while I made other interactions, I could not help but notice the new nanny whose memory I have none of, she kept looking at me with a concerned expression, and I couldn't help feeling uncomfortable under her gaze. I didn't know who she was, only what our relationship was which was what I was told, the nanny.

I asked Sofia, who was also in the room, who Elena was again like I needed more confirmation. She told me again that she was just the children's nanny, but something about her presence still felt off to me. I couldn't shake the feeling that I was missing something important, something that had been a big part of my life before the accident.

I even asked Diego, who seemed to have a fondness for Elena. He confirmed that she was indeed their nanny, and that still made me more uneasy.

A nurse came in later to usher everyone out of the room so that I could rest. As they left, Luca, my best friend and beta, assured me that he had already started investigating the circumstances surrounding my accident. I was sure that the Amato park was behind this, but I allowed Luca to conduct his investigation anyway. I knew that I couldn't trust anyone, and that included my own memories.

I tried again to remember what had happened before the accident, but it was still all a blur. It was like trying to piece together a shattered vase; some parts were missing, while others didn't fit together. I was left feeling helpless and vulnerable. While I lay there, I couldn't help but wonder about the memories that I had lost and how it would affect me or if they were even very important for my present and future.