My skull feels like someone's been using it as a drum set all night. I crack my eyes open, big mistake. The light stabs straight through to my brain, making the pounding worse. I'm sporting the unholy trinity, a killer headache, desert-dry throat, and the kind of morning wood that's practically geometric.
"Nngh," I groan eloquently, squinting at unfamiliar surroundings. This isn't my room. Not even close.
Everything is white. Not off-white or eggshell or whatever fancy paint colors exist, just pure, clinical white. The bed I'm in has sheets so crisp they could probably cut paper. The walls are seamless, almost glowing. There's a desk, a chair, and absolutely nothing else. No personality. No clues.
"What the fuck?" My voice comes out as a croak. I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, wincing as my bladder screams for attention. Whatever mystery this is, it's going to have to wait until after I pee.
I shamble toward what looks like a door, no handle, just a sleek panel beside it. When I approach, it slides open with a soft pneumatic hiss. I'd be impressed if I wasn't so disoriented.
The hallway beyond is the same sterile white as the room, but what catches my attention is the view through floor-to-ceiling windows lining one side. I shield my eyes against the glare and stare out at a cityscape that doesn't make any sense. Towering white spires reach toward a perfect blue sky, interspersed with patches of the most vibrant green I've ever seen. It's like someone took a futuristic utopia and cranked the saturation to eleven.
"Where am I?" I mutter, squinting at the impossible view while doing an awkward shuffle-walk that anyone familiar with urgent bladder situations would recognize. My eyes dart around, searching for anything resembling a bathroom sign.
"Tyler?"
The voice behind me is so startlingly familiar that I freeze mid-shuffle. My heart does a weird little stutter-step in my chest as I slowly turn around, bladder temporarily forgotten.
Standing there in a pristine white dress is Ms. Flynn. My neighbor. The woman whose garden I've helped tend every weekend for the past year, whose smile makes my knees weak, whose voice I hear in my dreams. My first ever crush. But she looks different here, more polished, more professional, and somehow even more beautiful than I remember.
"Ms. Flynn?" I croak, my voice a mixture of relief and confusion.
Her green eyes widen as she approaches, her tall frame moving with that graceful confidence that always makes my stomach flip. She looks absolutely stunned, scanning me from head to toe like I'm some kind of hallucination.
"Tyler, you left your room? By yourself?" The disbelief in her voice makes it sound like I've performed some impossible feat.
"Ms. Flynn, I'm really confused right now," I admit, the pressure in my bladder returning with a vengeance. "I don't know where I am, and I really, really need to find a bathroom before I have an accident."
Her eyes drift downward for a split second, and I realize with mortifying clarity that my morning situation is still very much present. Her expression shifts, surprise giving way to something else, something that makes my cheeks burn hot enough to fry an egg. Is that... interest? No, can't be. My hormone-addled brain must be playing tricks on me.
"There's a bathroom in your room," she says, her voice softening. "Come on, let's get you back."
She places her hand between my shoulder blades, and I swear electricity shoots through every nerve in my body. I have to stop myself from leaning into her graze like a touch-starved cat as she guides me back toward the white room I woke up in.
"Your bathroom is right there," she points to a door in the far corner that I somehow missed in my confusion.
"Oh, thank you, Ms. Flynn," I manage, trying not to sprint for the door. "I, uh... I have a lot of questions."
She smiles, and it's that same warm smile that's had me volunteering to mow her lawn in the middle of July. "I'm sure you do. Take care of your needs first, and I'll be waiting right here to explain everything."
I nod gratefully and make a beeline for the bathroom, wondering what kind of explanation could possibly make sense of this sterile white world and why Ms. Flynn is here, looking at me like I'm both a miracle and a mystery at the same time.
The door slides open with that same pneumatic hiss, and I shuffle in awkwardly. I aim carefully, focusing on the pristine white bowl rather than my persistent erection, but it's a struggle that requires Olympic-level concentration.
After what feels like an eternity, I finally manage to empty my bladder. The relief is almost spiritual. I wash my hands in the sleek, handleless sink that activates with a wave, watching the water disappear down an invisible drain. Everything in this place seems designed to be as minimalist as possible.
When I exit the bathroom, the door whispers shut behind me. Ms. Flynn has made herself comfortable on a chair near my bed, her posture perfect but somehow still relaxed. She's crossed her legs at the ankle, hands folded neatly in her lap.
"Tyler, come sit," she says, her voice gentle but commanding. She motions toward my bed with a graceful sweep of her hand.
I swallow hard, suddenly aware of how thin this white robe actually is. Ms. Flynn has always been kind to me, always been beautiful in that mature, untouchable way. But here, in this strange white room, her beauty is almost painful to look at. The neckline of her sleeved dress reveals a constellation of freckles across her chest. I force my eyes upward, heat flooding my face.
I sit on the edge of the bed, hands clasped tightly in my lap, focusing intensely on a spot on the wall just past her shoulder.
"Since Eliza's... incident," Ms. Flynn begins, her voice taking on a more formal tone, "it has been decided that I will be your guardian from now on."
"What?" The word escapes me before I can stop it. Guardian? I'm not a child. I'm eighteen, for God's sake. And who the hell is Eliza?
Ms. Flynn tilts her head, concern etching fine lines between her brows. "The unfortunate assault on you by your former guardian, Eliza?" She says it like she's trying to jog my memory, like I'm supposed to know exactly what she's talking about.
Before I can respond, she leans forward, her fingers reaching toward my face. I freeze as her cool fingertips trace a line across my right eye, from forehead to cheekbone.
"Your face is healing nicely," she whispers, her touch feather-light.
Panic surges through me as I mirror her movement with my own hand. Under my fingertips, I feel it, a thick, raised line of tissue, rough with scabs. A massive cut running directly over my right eye.
"I was cut?" My voice comes out small and frightened, like a child's. I don't remember any cut. I don't remember any Eliza. The last thing I remember is falling asleep in my own bed last night after making sure Dad fell asleep on the couch on his side in case he throws up from drinking too much.
"Ms. Flynn, I don't understand what's happening," I say, my voice cracking. "Where's my dad? Why am I in this white tower? Why does everything look so... futuristic?" My hands are shaking now. "And I don't know any Eliza."
Ms. Flynn's expression shifts, her eyes narrowing with concern. She leans forward, cupping my face between her hands with such tenderness that my breath catches in my throat. Her touch is irresistible, soothing, intoxicating all at once. It feels like heaven, like coming home to something I never knew I was missing.
Her thumbs gently trace the edges of my scar as she studies my face, searching for something. I don't pull away. Can't pull away. Don't want to pull away.
"Oh dear," she whispers, her voice barely audible. "It seems you might have been a lot more traumatized by Eliza than we thought."
"What?" I manage to say, my brain struggling to process what's happening.
Ms. Flynn's eyes widen slightly, a new realization dawning on her face. "Tyler, you've never let any woman I've ever heard of touch you, but you seem to have no trouble at all right now."
The significance of her words slowly penetrates my confusion. I blink, suddenly self-conscious about how I'm leaning into her touch like a cat seeking affection. Reluctantly, I pull away, immediately missing the warmth of her hands.
"No, no," she says quickly, reaching for me again. "It's more than okay to enjoy my touch. I'm just trying to understand."
A wild thought suddenly crashes into my brain. The pristine white buildings. The strange technology. My missing memories. Ms. Flynn acting like she's my appointed guardian. It's like I've fallen straight into the pages of those isekai manga I used to read, where the protagonist wakes up in another world with no idea how they got there.
"Ms. Flynn," I ask hesitantly, my voice barely above a whisper, "are we... neighbors?"
She tilts her head, auburn braid swinging slightly with the movement. "I guess you could describe us like that," she says with a small smile. "As your guardian, my quarters are now one room over from yours."
My brain struggles to make sense of this. "But we don't live in a cul-de-sac," I say, confusion evident in my voice. "And don't I come over sometimes to work on your garden?"
A soft laugh escapes her lips, musical and light. It's a sound I've heard before, on sunny weekend mornings when I'd make some awkward joke while pruning her rosebushes. But there's something different about it now, a hint of concern beneath the amusement.
"No, Tyler," she says gently. "I've worked here for twenty years. When you were born, you were taken in by the state, as all males are."
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to process this bombshell. All males are taken by the state? What kind of dystopian world did I wake up in?
Opening my eyes, I decide my best strategy is to play into my apparent amnesia. No point fighting against a reality I don't understand yet.
"Okay," I say simply.
Ms. Flynn's expression softens. "And please, don't call me Ms. Flynn. Kate is perfectly fine."
My heart does a somersault in my chest. Kate. Her first name feels intimate, forbidden. Something I've always wanted to say but never dared did. I've spent years daydreaming about this gorgeous older woman, and now she's asking me to call her by her first name while sitting inches away from me on my bed.
"Kate Flynn," I say, testing the name on my tongue. "It's such a beautiful name..."
Her eyes widen, genuine surprise flickering across her face. Her gaze drops to my lips for a moment, lingering there before returning to my eyes. Something in her expression shifts, like she's seeing me for the first time.
"You're acting very different today, Tyler," she says, studying me with newfound intensity.
"I'm sorry," I mumble, suddenly self-conscious.
"No," she says quickly, reaching out to touch my hand. "This might be great news."