"Panic is not a good idea at the moment. If you panic, the pain will only last longer."
It was quite late in the morning when Connor got up. Luckily it was Saturday, so he didn't have work. Sleepily he dressed in a pair of jeans and a red t-shirt. He didn't bother putting on any kind of jacket; it was incredibly sunny outside and even through the window he could feel how hot it was. Entering the bathroom, Connor suddenly noticed how terrible he looked. Huge purple bags hung under his eyes and his hair was all over the place. Leaning closer to the mirror, he could almost see some stubble on his chin. With a sigh he picked up a brush and lazily brushed his hair. When he finished there was no distinct style to it, but at least it was straight. With one last fringe adjustment with his hand, he left the bathroom.
To Connor's surprise there was no greeting from Ingrid. She wasn't in the kitchen, and there was no wafting smell of breakfast. Feeling a little offended, Connor made his way into the living room. He smiled at what he saw.
Ingrid was stood at her easel, pencil in hand, a determined look on her face. Her hair was put back in a high ponytail, though a few strands still hung freely. She wore a baggy t-shirt, a knee length blue skirt and on her face, a pair of glasses that she didn't actually need. She held her photo from last night in her free hand. Connor could see her studying it carefully, trying to figure out where to start. He stood and watched in silence; she was in her "zone", as she liked to call it. He knew that she didn't like to be interrupted.
As quietly as he could manage, Connor made his way back into the kitchen. The fridge was open slightly, as if someone hadn't quite closed it right. He pulled it open and saw one of the milk cartons put in the wrong place. With an amused sigh he put it where it belonged. He was very particular when it came to things like this, but somehow he didn't mind his desk being littered with unorganised piles of paper. Ingrid was quite the opposite. She could only work in clean spaces, but in everyday life was nothing less than a slob.
"Sorry. I was in a hurry to start my painting. I had an idea for it, and I didn't want it to go away."
Connor jumped. He turned towards Ingrid, his face already beginning to go red with embarrassment. He opened his mouth to say something, but he hadn't yet thought of what it was he wanted to. There was an awkward pause before either of them spoke again.
"It's nothing. I've gotten used to correcting it every morning," he said with a joking smile.
Ingrid snorted with laughter, covering her mouth instantly after. There was a flicker of humiliation on her face, but then she began to laugh again.
"If that's the case, why don't you just leave it as it is?"
"Yeah, I guess it would make more sense that way," replied Connor, laughing along with her.
When the joke had passed, Connor realised how hungry he was. Turning his back to Ingrid, he crouched down on the kitchen floor and opened one of the cupboards. From inside he pulled a box of cereal. He could feel Ingrid's gaze burn into him, but he didn't look at her. He suddenly felt as if she were an invading stranger, and with an acute awareness he felt his heart begin to pound. Quickly he got to his feet, placing the box on the counter. For a moment he didn't move. He knew exactly what was happening, but that didn't calm him one bit. His breath quickened and he had to put his hands on the counter to steady himself.
"Connor? Is it a panic attack?" asked Ingrid.
Her calm tone was clearly forced as she tried to hide her worry. Connor nodded, unable to speak. He felt Ingrid's gentle grasp pull him down until he was sat on the floor.
"It's ok. It'll pass in a second. They always do, remember?" assured Ingrid, kneeling beside him.
Connor nodded again, though he still felt unsafe in her company. He had had moments of feeling this way ever since regaining his memory. He knew that it was probably just a side effect of Carrie's machine, but in the moment itself all his experiences didn't matter. It was all just emotion and the struggle to control it.
YOU ARE READING
The Memory Machine 2
Horror*Sequel to The Memory Machine***** It has been months since Connor regained his memory, and it seems like Carrie's threats were nothing but a bluff. But as the days go by, Connor can't help but notice that something isn't right. His friends act like...
