Nikita

[PRESENT DAY]

Without so much as a warning, I wake up seven hours later, my brain still in shock from what happened in my nightmare. They keep getting frequent like I'm supposed to have been there and saved them, but as usual, I convince myself I can do it.

I am Mykolajki Pavlenko, and a nightmare really shouldn't be something for me to get all worked up about, no?

You'd think that after all the time that had passed and with me having nightmares almost every time I lay my head on the pillow, I would be familiar with all this and get used to it, but then nothing about loneliness and losing my family over and over.

Disgruntled, I lay a little longer on the bed, trying to think of everything that happened three days ago. I know I have a memory card to watch and see what happened. It's so hard being me at this moment.

On one end, the director doesn't want me to resign; on the other, the woman I've trusted all this while betrayed me, and me, I'm not sure what I'm supposed to make of myself.

It hurts to be going through all this, but I can't do shit about it anyway, so I get up to lock the door electronically, blocking any messages coming in and going out.

I don't need any disturbances.

I know I have no other surgery because if I did, I would have gotten the message, and that is how I spend the next seven hours resting in bed, not sleeping, just contemplating and trying to make sense of everything.

I want to get out and check the footage, the black box, everything that happened. I wonder whether Yuri is doing okay or maybe because of he's suffering. I know I can't focus on my brother right now, but it hurts.

Being in my own zone for thirteen hours should have been interesting, considering I have no link to the outside; I'm just myself, plain old Mykolajki without a hint of what's about to happen. It should have given me peace, but then peace was gone long before I even went to the family cemetery and placed the flowers.

Maybe I could trace the source of the kill switch, but then, the police haven't even tried reaching out to me about it. I find it weird because I was there, everyone saw me at the hospital, and I was the closest to him even after his death.

Why does my phone have no notifications from the police? I'm very sure they found my fingerprints, so why haven't they tried to reach out? It seems like there really is more to this than I imagined, but that's okay.

What is there to lose anyway.

I know wallowing on this bed won't do me any good; maybe a shower will make my pathetic state better. It doesn't take long for me to shower and dress up, of course, casually because what in the world would I be doing play dress-up in a darn hospital anyway.

With my coffee in my hand, I turn on the television, ready to indulge myself in a world that only has me, and pretend like it's fuċkɨnġ Christmas again; God, I really hate that time of the year. It seems like I'll be haunted by it anyway because Raisa isn't here to drag my grown-ass to the parties and kid gatherings.

How did I get here?

I want to stay and think of what to do, but for now, maybe the fuċkɨnġ tv will give me insights. The darn thing doesn't disappoint because even though it had literally been four days since the death of Liam, he's still on the news, and right there with him, my face sits like it's supposed to be there.

There is chaos in the outside world with people wondering who the pink pajama guy is. I'm tempted to yell at them and tell them I'm the guy who has been saving their lives across the country but also the guy they have failed.

I know getting emotional will not help me here,e so I watch them hopelessly until I get bored and decide to face my greatest fear. I am watching the contents of the memory card. It's lying on my desk, calling onto me, telling me to pick it up and get to know what's in there.

What if the moment I watch this, it will be shared with the whole world?

I sigh defeatedly; my trust issues weigh me down, but then the more I contemplate, the more I try to find an excuse for not doing anything, the more time passes, and the more I'm reminded of a career that I picked myself.

The hospital is not my suite, but it's been more of a home than the estate. I try to think of the woman who had laid with me in the name of not knowing me. She was good in bed, I must admit, but she and her mother may have something to do with what happened to my family.

I wish I could do anything to them. I wish I could blast them into oblivion. I wish for many things until my subconscious tells me I can't buy any more time. I am a doctor, and my work is to save lives.

My subconscious reminds me of the hopeless state I am currently in as if it's a sport for it. With one last sigh, I take my card reader and put the darn thing in. I'm curious about the contents, but I am also not.

What if this implicates my family? What if this is the reason they were killed? What if this is a threat? What if we were in billions of debt? What if? At this point, I believe my coffee machine hates me because why the hell would it appreciate being used after every ten minutes?

It's almost like I'm a dumping place for coffee, but I can't com, pain. It will just have to bear with me, the doctor with ghosts, the man who saves lives but can't even save himself—the man who has been living with a traitor all these years.

What is trust if the closest people to us find it so easy to betray us? What use is living if we can't even be dependent on each other? All of this shit sucks. I plug in the card reader on TV and wait while it loads, my anxiety spiking and my blood pressure playing with me like I'm a joke to it.

My body feels numb, and my brain seems to have stopped functioning. Time stops, and then it's just me and the contents of the memory card.

Well, I genuinely hope so, though my hopes make a run for the wild when the video begins playing.

Goddamnit.