The Broken Circle

The boy was in tears. His eyes locked on to his master's perfect form, memorizing each line, each strand of hair. His distress clearly visable. Kristian's hand reached out, gently caressing Kenneth's wet, tear swept cheek. "Relax, sweet boy. It's not the end of the world. We will be together again, you know. Just do your job, and do it well. I know you can do it. And after that, a night of endless pleasure awaits you. And after that, Immortality, and power like none other".
Kenneth straightened his back, wiping his eyes on his sleeves. Parting was taking it's toll on him. With a shaky smile he looked up at his master's deep, beautiful red eyes with nothing but love and longing. "I will not fail you" he said, his voice slightly cracking as he did. "I know you won't, my boy. I could not have found a more perfect tool for this job. Go, prove yourself to your master. And above all keep safe, and come back to me".
Finding within him a strength he did not know he possessed, Kenneth turned his back to the center of his being, and slowly, steadily, walked away. Each step taking him further away from his master. Closer and closer to the task that stood before him. As his thoughts turned to the future, his spirits started to rise. "I will make you proud, sir. I will. I swear". Still, when he reached the street corner, he could not contain the urge to turn around and take one last look. But master was already gone, and the street behind him stood empty. Kenneth turned back around, marching further down in to town, his heart as heavy as the wad of cash in his pocket. "It's showtime", he thought. "Let's make it a good one".

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The walls were all wrong. Every morning, when he opened his eyes, it was the first thing that went through his mind. Then, while stretching, he sat up. The brightness of the ceiling light hurting his eyes. The pure white walls were creepy. They made him feel out of place, alone. But then again, so did everything else these days. But there was nothing he could do about it. Not that he really knew what to do anyway. He felt lost, as if the world moved on and left him floating on a raft with no oars.
As he was contemplating this new analogy, the outside bolts on the door creaked, and the heavy door swung open. "Good morning! And how are we doing this fine day?"
Unwillingly, he cringed a little. Even in the best of days he found the doctor's cheerfulness a little hard to handle. And he wasn't having one of his best days today. "Thank you, Doctor Hayden.", he meekly replied. "I'm doing very well this morning".
"Very good! I'm glad to hear it! You look well too. Now, just for the record, please tell me your name again". There it was. He knew it was coming. The innocent question with everything it subtly means. Cautiously, very deliberately, he started to answer. " You know the answer to that, Doctor. It's Jayden. Same as it was yesterday, and the day before that, and every day before those". Though he tried to put on a straight face for the doctor's sake, his mind was screaming. Alarm bells ringing all over his wounded psyche. WRONG, said his inner self. You are SLAVE. You have no other name.
Jayden swallowed hard. For the last few weeks? Months? He'd been working hard with the doctor's steady guidance, and was now able to force that part of himself back down into the darkness of his mind. It was never easy, but he could see a light at the end of the tunnel. Or at least so they kept telling him. The experts here were quite convinced that given some more time, he would be "a productive member of society again" as they kept on assuring him. So he kept on trying, kept on making small steps, making progress, each day pushing it a little further back, a little harder down.

Doctor Hayden seemed semi-convinced. "Oh, well. Looks like we still have work to do together, my friend. But then again, progress is progress". He chuckled, and opened the door wide. Together, they went into the yard for some fresh air and exercises. He was a big man, and it was always important to him to keep up his physique. Even before... well... before.
Under the watchful eye of his nurses, he went through his morning routine, using every piece of gym equipment this facility had to offer. It wasn't an ideal gym, but somehow he managed, sheer tenacity keeping his body in top shape. Many of the same nurses had clear difficulties hiding the real reason they were watching him, and not the other patients. A part of his brain registered that as a compliment. He made a mental note to mention that to the doctor later. I'm sure he will find that to be progress as well, the fact that I can notice things that are not connected with... well... with HIM. He quickly shook that thought away, forcing himself to once again concentrate on exercise. The fresh air did him good, and he was always happy to be out in the yard. Unfortunately, he knew what was coming next. Group therapy was not his favorite thing, at all. Yet, it was expected that he participate. So he did. Sharing his thoughts and feelings, making small strides, and even helping others to make small breakthroughs of their own. Yes, he had come a long way since his first few days here, shouting at the walls, crying and begging to go back to... well... to go back.
His dreams have been changing too. The doctor called them repressed memories, saying that it is good he started remembering things from his past. And so, after group therapy, they added a daily meeting with his dream analyst, trying to delve back and compare his records to his dreams. He was quite surprised to learn he had a family, a wife and daughter. He remembered the blood bag... (his FATHER, he immediately corrected himself)... but his wife and daughter were news to him. And he felt true shock and grief when the doctor informed him of his wife's passing, a few years back. His conscience couldn't help but feel guilt for not being at her side, in her last hour of need. He did not remember this woman, of course, but he knew that any decent man would feel that way, and so he felt that way as well.