The intense feeling of warmth covered Xander's body, causing the boy to stir from his slumber. The warmth then soon turned to heat, not too high as to burn his skin but enough to bother Xander into wanting to open his eyes. After first it was a strain, his eyelids feeling akin to heavy bags. But soon, he forced himself awake, left stunned by the setting he found himself.
Greeted with the image of a hospital—an actual, safe and care-inducing hospital—was where Xander found himself. A row of windows was to his right-side, allowing the sun's rays to beat against his body with the clear blue sky visible. The room was cool blue and white with an inviting flair caused by the mix of the two colours and the symbols painted on the walls—small, child-like angels with a distinct artistic quality. He looked to both his sides, seeing a nightstand with a vase of flowers and a vital signs monitor beside him. The faint beeps of the machine sounded strangely similar to Dr. Falco's own monitor—rhythm, tune and beat eerily the same.
Despite being able to see to his sides, a strange darkness clouded his left side, leaving Xander to surmise that side of his face was bandaged. Looking down at the rest of his body after removing his bedsheets, parts of his arms and legs had been covered in bandages as well. When Xander tried to move his arms, some of the IV fluid tubes that were driven into his skin restricted his movement.
He remembered now where he was, where this had been. A memory of his, one that he never wanted to remember.
Xander sank back against the bed, forcing himself to relax—but every detail of the room only fed his anger. Everything he looked at made me more enraged for some inexplicable reason. He hated what his mind was doing to him, his own rage of his true reality giving him the knowledge to see through the smokescreen and mirrors. This wasn't right, even though it had happened. What was the point of thinking about the old, when all it did was make him hurt more?
The turning of a doorknob rattled through the room. Then, a second later, a young doctor in white robes entered the room. He was exceptionally well dressed and attired, clean-shaven with a singular wedding ring on his finger. His skin colour was white like Xander, yet more vibrant and joyful after seeing the awakened boy. He raised his ring-bound hand to wave at Xander, the boy indifferent to the man's gesture of goodwill.
Xander stared blankly at the man before fixing his gaze on the doctor's ring. With each second that passed, he seemed to grow more annoyed with the stainless nature and pure-essence of the flawless gold. His stare only disappeared when the doctor dropped his hand and walked closer to his bed. The sight of the ring did not sit well with the injury-covered boy.
With a small, near unnoticeable smile, the doctor began the conversation, "Look at who's doing better."
When the doctor had made his way close enough to Xander, he took a seat at the edge of the bed.
"We were getting scared you wouldn't wake up there, Champ. My name is Dr. Harris." The doctor continued, his voice filled with levity and care, reminiscent of his father. "Are you feeling well, Xander?"
Xander looked at his arms, legs, and then felt the bandaged side of his face.
Does it look like I'm feeling well, you—, Xander thought, before his mouth moved on its own.
"Yes, sir," Xander replied, not so much having those words ready to be said in his mind.
It seemed being a part of the remembrance of this event meant his answers were already predetermined to what they had been that day. The doctor probably couldn't even see his true expression, just the one that was also present when the questions were asked.
"That's good to hear," the doctor replied. "That's great to hear."
The repetition of the statement prior was quite awkward, irking Xander. It felt like something rehearsed, though exuding some level of care—almost meaningless. The words were just as hollow and toned as Dr. Falco's words.
"Um…Sir?" Xander asked.
"Yes, Xander?"
"How did I get here? The last thing I remember was going outside, and…Diane…," Xander said, before his voice shot up an octave with fright and dread, "Diane! Mr. Harris, sir, my sister! Do you know—"
"Calm down, Xander. Your body won't respond to the stress well, and you haven't fully recovered yet." Dr. Harris told him.
"Where is she!?" Xander shouted.
Just shut up…, Xander thought, closing his eyes if he could and growing disdainful of himself. If you were faster and just listened to your father quicker, you wouldn't have to worry as much as you are right now.
"She is alright, Xander. I promise you. In fact, she had very few injuries compared to you." Dr. Harris told him, "Please, son. Just calm down."
Don't call me that. I am not your son.
Xander's memory self calmed down at the doctor's behest, the pulse rate beeps of the machine returning to normal state.
"Xander…," Dr. Harris said, voice dropping from its higher, more friendly tone, "how much do you remember before you go here?"
I said it before, you idiot? Xander thought, with a hint of hatred, to the tone of the man. Were you not listening?
"Very little, sir," Xander said.
The doctor looked away from Xander, to the blue sky outside the window. A few dark clouds were beginning to roll across the sky, not yet ready to rain but multiplying in number in an attempt to supersede the sun.
Dr. Harris patted Xander on the leg before rising from his position. "That's fine, Xander. Some nurses will be here to bring you food and a couple of other things. You just rest up until you're strong and healthy again, alright?"
"Yes, sir," Xander replied, "but sir—"
"Don't worry so much about her. I'll send her to visit you soon since she's been awake for a couple of days coming in here when you slept." The doctor finished before muttering under his breath, inaudibly for Xander not to hear, "I am sorry I can't be the one to tell you what happened to the rest though."
The doctor looked at his ring for a second, fixing it on his finger, before stepping out of the room. Xander had watched him do this gesture, finally able to put into words why he seemed so fixated upon hating the golden trinket. If his father's thoughts and plans had come to life, he would get to see such a ring upon his own father's finger. But, because of how dirt poor they were, neither Kessler nor Veronica ever had such a tribute of love. That gold was a lie, a testament to a relationship that was broken in an instant.
Why…why didn't you tell us yourself, you hypocrite!?
These words echoed in his mind, ricocheting around the empty space in the room as the sky and area got darker and darker. Small sprites of static came over Xander's eyes like a television trying to find a signal, as the walls peeled, and his own thoughts distorted into deeper tones he never thought he could hear.
What's happening? Xander thought, his own internal voice feeling shaky.
He felt his soul slowly being pulled out of his own body so he could see the remnant of the child he so desperately wanted to forget. However, the stainless gold ring was unforgettable. A ring forever burnt into his memory, of the things and people he would never have at his side once again. A reminder of the falsehoods that life had told him and others who wanted to believe in something better—people like his father.