“Don’t worry; you won’t remember by morning…” Ryan said, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands in his lap.

“That’s it?” the therapist asked.

Ryan nodded slowly. “I told you. I really can’t remember what happened that night,” he said, sighing as he sat forward.

“And yet, it still traumatizes you?” the therapist asked.

Ryan stood up, walked around the chair, then turned back to his therapist. “You wake up in the hospital, suffering from a head injury, and the last thing you remember are those words. Who wouldn’t be traumatized?” he asked, obviously tired of the session already.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

His therapist nodded. “Yes, yes, I see. You really can’t remember anything at all? Nothing else?”

“Are you really sure that you are a therapist?” Ryan asked, cocking his head.

“You saw my license. Has doubt and distrust been a common issue lately?” the therapist asked.

“Only since I walked into this room… May I see that license again?” Ryan replied, sitting down in the chair.

The therapist nodded, but didn’t make eye contact with him. She looked over his head. “Don’t worry; you won’t remember by morning,” the therapist said.

Ryan’s eyes widened, and he turned his head.

He awoke in a hospital bed, feeling as though he’d done this before.