(no subject)

Ever since he'd woken up, people kept telling him that his memories would come back to him. They assured him it would happen, in their own time, and he'd believed them. At first, it even seemed to be happening. He'd begun to pull little threads of memories out of the mist, here and there, but then they just stopped. Day after day and nothing new came to him. David is beginning to think he'll sell his soul just to start piecing together the fragments he has.

He knows he's got options. He was just hoping that he could solve his own problems. When it becomes clear that he won't be able to do this without help, he makes his way down the hall from the clinic to the psych office, knocking on the door lightly. "I'm looking for a Charlie Bartlett," he says, glancing around the office. "I was told one found me when I first got here and I've been informed he works here, too. Is that you?" he asks, of the boy in front of him.