I have four simple words for the predicament that I am in.

I made a mistake.

Plain and simple, all of this could have been avoided if I just kept my head down and just finished out my last year of college. But no of course I can’t do that.

Like my mother always said, “Ryan, why can’t you be more like your little brother?” Or “Ryan, your brother gets good grades in school. I don’t understand why you can’t.”

I’ll just tell you now that it was a fucking miracle that I graduated high school let alone went to college. Now it wasn’t for anything crazy. My ambitions were set pretty low. I wasn’t going to cure cancer. It was a simple, generic, run of the mill associates of arts degree from our local Coastline Community College. I didn’t go to a fancy private college like my brother. He ended up getting a pretty amazing scholarship to MIT. I don’t want you to think that I was harboring any sort of grudge against him. It was quite the contrary. I was proud of him. He brought a bit of honor to the Donovan clan.

Most of my family as far back as I can remember had never amounted to much of anything. So this was a big deal. Since our father was out of the picture, Pilib, my seventeen year old prodigy brother looked up to me like a kid looked up to a superhero. Most times I fell short of any resemblance of a role model. It was really Pilib who encouraged me to go to college. And sadly it was that pressure from him, to be something more than what I envisioned, that in a way got me into this shithole.

I’m telling you this all now so I don’t forget.

Do not forget Pilib.

I have to just keep remembering that phrase in my head. I can’t forget Pilib.

Alas, if for some reason I don’t remember you Pilib, I hope that you get this paper and know that I did what you always told me to do and tried my best to be a better man than I always saw my self as. Now that all the sappy stuff is out of the way, lets get down to the facts.

I, Ryan Donovan did here by knowing volunteer for a psychological study that dealt with the Hypnotic exposure treatment. And in doing so was to be compensated $1600 for two weeks of my time and acknowledgement, or kudos as they put it, for furthering this new and exciting medical advancement.

What was not to love about this? I would make a bunch of money for doing almost nothing but laying in a chair and talking about my childhood for a couple hours, everyday, for two weeks. No set hours. I would just pop in when I had the chance. “Comfy chairs and refreshments,” is the exact phrasing that they used. So being the moron that I am, I jumped in headfirst.

Not much could be said about my first impressions of the facility. First off it was pretty damn close to campus. Maybe three or more like three and a half miles away. The building itself was dull and cookie cutter. Basic brick building with tinted windows. It was like every other medical clinic building out there. The only writing on the outside of the building was the buildings address in black block letters stenciled on the side near the entrance. The doors weren’t locked. Anyone could just walk right in off the street.

The walls of the waiting room were surprisingly pleasant. They were this vibrant red color. Like someone had let the receptionist have free reign over the waiting room.

“That’s not a color you usually see in a waiting room.” I said to the Blond haired man, behind the counter, combing his hair.

“I know right, it’s fucking fabulous. The woman who hired me said before we opened up that I could add a touch of flair to the room to lighten peoples mood.” He says with a smile.

“Its definitely bright.” I say eyeing the wall.

After what seems like the longest silence either of us has had the misfortune of experiencing, I inquire about the study.

“I’m here for the medical study.” I say while trying to look like I’m still interested in the color of the wall.

“Here, take a seat and fill this out. The doctor should be with you in a bit.” He says as he hands me a clipboard with a sizeable amount of paper on it.

Taking the clipboard and sitting down I begin to peruse through the documents. It was typical paperwork about your health and family background. That part was always short for any one in our family. No known health issues or hereditary problems. Except for the fact that my mom can always get the chicken pox’s. Boring and lame, just the way I like it.

He wasn’t kidding when he said the doctor would be with me shortly. I barely had time to finish the paperwork when a man in a white doctors coat came out of the back room.

“Are you a heavy cocaine user?” The man in a doctor’s coat says without blinking an eye.

Immediately trying to catch my breath at nearly chocking to death on my own saliva, “What did you just say?”

“Yeah you know, coke, C, snow, blow?” He says brushing his nose.

I stare confused, with a slight hint of amusement.

“I only ask because the drug propranolol that I’m going to give you, and ultimately prescribe to you, should by no means be taken with any form of Benzylmethylecgonine.” He tells me.

That’s when he goes on this long rant about how kids my age are into coke and the adverse effects it has on us. And that he has to ask because he had already seen two other individuals today that either had partaken semi-recently or were known to be a frequent user. Honestly I can’t blame them. You’ll do just about anything to stay awake when finals come around.

So that’s when I learned that I wasn’t the only one that was volunteering for this study. But here’s the kicker, I can’t tell you for sure when or where I found out about this place. While writing this all down, nothing comes to mind. And here’s the really odd part. I don’t have any gaps or parts of my memory that seem out of place or missing. My memory seems sharper than ever. I can recall even the most minuscule of details dating back weeks, months or even years.

Regardless of how I got here. Here I was, sitting in this office with a doctor spitting words of advice about drug use at me. Once all the formalities were done with, he asks me to follow him.

Going past the threshold of the waiting room door, I all to expected a long hallway lined with numbered doors. Maybe off white walls with various inspirational posters scattered throughout. That was not the case. The small waiting room was so misleading. On the other side of the waiting room door was an enormous open warehouse looking room. Easily the height and width of the entire building that I had saw from the outside. No windows were visible. The only form of light was cast from several ceiling lights that reflected on the shiny concrete floor. Just to the left as we walked in was an area marked off with yellow tape. In this area was four rows of folding chairs set up to face a large projector screen. To the right, marked off in green, a make shift office. It’s one that you would see in a doctor’s office. Beyond those two sections was an area that was screened off. Shadows of people walking around could be seen projected along its white surface.

“Doc, what exactly is all this?” I inquired nervously.

Making are way towards the office set up, he motioned for me to sit down.

He says, “Please have a seat and all will be answered in do time.”