I moved away after my rehabilitation, I had to. Although when I looked at Marcus and Jenny and the others and felt nothing, I could no longer stand the repeated questions. Who rejected me? Who put me in that coma? I refused to answer anyone. I did not care if they knew, really, but I also no longer cared to think about it either. It was over. I was done.

I spent a year in that coma. That ruined all my plans for my own future and even then I found I felt nothing, as if it did not matter to me. I could have reentered education, taken my A-Levels, gotten myself a degree, but with my vision altered, I didn't feel qualified to continue pursuit of my dream. Just like a person with red and green colourblindness should probably think twice before becoming an electrician, how could I diagnose people if I could not see the tone of their skin, the difference between a graze beneath the skin or a bruise and then what age was that bruise? Everything was in shades of grey, not a drop of colour existed in my new universe.

The doctors could not explain this and after my initial panic, I decided that it did not actually bother me.

I moved at least three towns over, anonymous, no one knew who I was here and I found I preferred it that way. I no longer needed people to surround me. I no longer felt that imagined link to a pack. I felt... nothing.

And I moved on with my life. I tried several jobs, but working in a cafe did not work out, I couldn't smile warmly at all of the patrons and make small talk. And working in retail shop with clothing also was a fail, when I mixed up the black and 'brown' jumpers of the same knit because I really could not tell the difference. In the end, I turned to my roots; a hospital. I was just a cleaner there, mopping the corridors and cleaning toilets until they sparkled, but I felt comfortable there.

I lived in a small apartment in a high rise, I was on the fourth floor. My parents bought the place for me, they would have preferred to find something bigger, something in a better area, but I didn't want to stand out, I wanted to hide and mediocrity was perfect for that. Not that it was a flawless solution. I was solicited upon the street a couple of times, something about having the looks and height to become a model. I wasn't interested.

My home had two bedrooms, in case my parents came to visit, and a small bathroom, kitchen and living area. It was warm and cosy and would have been more so, if everything was not so grey. I left decorating to my mother, otherwise the place could have ended up a hot mess and I never would have been able to tell. I already had to label all of my clothes as 'blue' 'red' 'actually black' so I looked somewhat presentable when I left the place.

Not that I had anywhere to go. I went to work, stayed at home or visited the library. Books were already printed in black and white, I didn't have to worry about colour when reading them. Admittedly, I tended to read medical texts. I couldn't summon the emotional capacity required of me for fictional books and I wasn't interested in the lives of others.

I am painting my life as being very dull and frankly it was. I can only describe it as it was if a part of my soul was missing, that part that had loved Marcus and felt as if it was a part of the pack. That part that would have let the arsehole David become my mate, had he not rejected me. That part that he killed or stole away with his rejection. I was empty without it, the rest of my soul was frozen, unable to even flounder as it tried to figure out what to do.

And now I am waffling.

Sorry.

I did sometimes smile without it being fake and I did sometimes feel warmth within me no matter that it was muted. At the hospital, just before my shift began, I would often sneak down to the renal unit and say hello to Jemima, a feisty old biddy, who would tell me that flirting with me made her day. She was on dialysis. She would not receive a kidney, her age and the fact that her body had rejected her first implant after ten years had ended that chance. However, she was so full of life despite everything. In her presence, I would actually feel shame, but it would fade the moment I left her room and began my rounds.

She was not the only patient to 'adopt' me. I was mostly assigned to clean the state of the art geriatric wing, which was fine by me. The elderly women there were all happy to talk to this grandmama's boy. And there was Clover. She was 64, a ward nurse with a life time of experience working throughout the hospital and looking forward to her retirement. She looked out for me and tried to share her cookies with me during breaks.

All in all, even if I could not say I was happy and loving life, I also could not say I was sad or longing for something more. I just was.

After another fairly long shift, where I had just finished making the urinals actually not smell of bad aim and had disinfected the bathroom top to bottom, I looked at my watch and saw that I had just five minutes left. I stretched my spine until it practically popped and rolled my shoulders before collecting the equipment to return to the janitors room. That was a good few minutes walk away in this section of the hospital so I gathered it all up, hoping to make it in one bout, my cleaning trolley had lost its wheel and I was waiting for maintenance to fix it. I was successful and cleaned myself up in the janitors wide sink, removing my rubber gloves and washing my hands and arms in anti-bacterial soap.

I wiped the sweat from my brow, before adjusting my cap. I should probably get my hair cut again, it was falling into my eyes at every opportunity. The hairdresser I last used had asked me if I wanted to dye it and I had given her an odd look. Why would I do that when I couldn't even see my natural colour anymore? I won't be using that hairdresser anymore. It's not totally her fault, I am not a talkative person anymore and hairdressers are often expected to engage clients in conversation. I just want to get my hair cut.

I was still thinking about this when Clover caught my eye and waved me over. "Hi, Clover," I greeted her and she smiled excitedly as she hooped her arm through mine.

"I haven't heard any updates about your lovelife," she said to me as she guided me down the corridor to the nurses station. That was where she kept her stash of biscuits.

"What love life?" I asked, as if she did not already know the answer. "Have you decided to go on a date with me?"

She slapped my arm as I offered her a small smile. I felt a little more myself when I was in the company of her or our elderly patients. I could joke again, even if I could not laugh. "I should really introduce you to my nephew's son," Clover said. "Except his preference is for a small, petite male. So fussy, refusing to look below the surface. It's unsurprising that he is still single!" Clover knew that I was not gender specific, but that I had once loved a man. She would often point out new nurses and doctors, male and female and ask me how I felt. As usual, there was nothing, but it did not stop her from trying.

"I am not sure I want another muscle man anyway." The way Clover has described the man was basically as a meathead, just like Marcus and his friends. That ship had sailed in more ways than one.

"Anyway, I have a new crop for you to inspect," Clover told me causing me to groan. She just wished to torment me, I swear. There was always a teeny, tiny part of me deep down inside that wanted to feel again, that wanted to know emotion again, but it had not happened so far, so I was already beginning to doubt that it ever would. "Now, now. This might be it! The new doctor, you haven't met him yet, it will be his first night shift on geriatrics and there are two nurses, one young man and a woman."

"Okay, I will look over them," I said, reluctantly. "And then I am calling it a night, agreed?"

"Of course!" Clover replied, too quickly.

"You owe me for this," I warned.

"Chocolate or lemon drizzle?" Clover asked.

"I don't eat cake," I reminded her. Just like my sense of sight, my taste buds were also muted. I ate lightly, because I had to eat though most things were tasteless to me. I never touched steak.

"You need to eat more," she told me, poking at my ribs. I just nodded, half-heartedly agreeing with her, without making any plains to change my diet.

She sat me down beside her and soon pointed to a petite, male nurse. He was kind of cute, but there was no attraction. "Your grand nephew would love him," I said dryly. She rolled her eyes and indicated the tall, lithe nurse. She looked haughty and full of herself. She was beautiful and she knew it and I really was not interested. I told Clover this, but the woman was still holding out for number three.

After ten minutes, when the good doctor did not show, I told Clover that I really needed to leave and said I would meet him another day. She was disappointed to the point I felt a little bad, but I didn't want to stick around any longer. I headed for the elevator and waited for it to arrive on my floor. It opened revealing a broad shouldered man, not much taller than me, in a white, doctor's coat. He seemed to sniff the air and his eyes widened brightly, I quickly nodded my head and brushed past him as he left the elevator and I entered. As the doors closed between us, I really tried not to stare at him, he who was openly staring back. His eyes were really blue.