The Good-For-Nothing Society | Completed

Chapter Twenty-Six

A month after my return and my memory still isn't back. There are dregs of it, bits and pieces. Sometimes I'll be doing the most mundane thing and my brain will be flooded with flashes, images and sounds. When that happens, it feels as though my head is spinning on an endless axis.

I remember most of my time before I was taken, but up until that night in the foyer, it's mostly blank.

There's one vivid memory that comes back to me, and it's the other boy, the one who didn't laugh at me, pulling me up and telling me to run, worry etched on his face. I can't be sure it's real though, it's so hazy I'm not sure I made it up for comfort.

I can't explain how unnerving it is not to trust your own mind, not to know what is real or if your memories happened at all. I know now, that my mum and dad really are dead. I often dream of mums blood soaked face, that memory was one of the first to come back.

Elijah has been the same as he was when I first arrived here, training me, trying to get me back to full health. There is something unspoken between us now, a trust that I broke for leaving him.

I think, I am angry at him for not finding me sooner. I know that I worked tirelessly to leave clues, I was constantly contacting him, and still it took him six months to get to me.

Ultimately, and the hardest part of this all, is the truth that I did this to myself by handing myself over. There might have been another way, but I was so sure it was the right thing to do, I know I wouldn't have changed anything. Not even in this state.

"Come on, Amelia!" Elijah spits, we're in the ring, fighting. "You used to be able to run rings around me."

"I'm sorry," I breathe, "But my ribs aren't even healed yet!"

"If they come again, you need to be ready."

I snort, knowing the obvious and pointing it out, "They know where I am, they're not coming for me."

He launches himself at me, but he doesn't land a blow. He stops just before he reaches me, his chest pressed against mine. Both our breathing hitched. We stare at each other, all the things we haven't yet said causing all this space between us. I take a step away first, muttering "I'm tired."

"You always are," He snaps, spinning away from me.

I deflate, "Are you always going to be this angry with me?"

"Yes," He snarls, his back to me. "Every time I look at you, I can only see how badly I failed."

"Elijah," I breathe, taking a step towards him. "You didn't fail."

"I don't want to talk about it," He barks, then he storms off and out the building, not looking back.

It's rare that he leaves me alone. I seldom get any space. If it's not for him or Grace, sometimes Stan, there's always someone else by my side, keeping an eye on me. No one whispers about me anymore. They did when I first got back, but with respect. I suppose coming within an inch of your life, sacrificing yourself, getting tortured, it's seen as heroic to some people.

Others don't share the same sentiment. I caught Lily in the library whispering "but how do we know they haven't done anything to her? How do we know she hasn't come back to hurt us?" Which, I don't think is unfair. Especially given I did knock her out before my departure.

But I'm yet to do anything dangerous unexpectedly. The most dangerous thing I do is sleep walk. Everyone is patiently waiting for my memory to come back. They don't badger me, or demand I give them answers I don't yet know.

I know, from Stan, that they were given some folders pertaining to my dad. He was working on a classified weapon, something that would change the face of war as we know it. That's all we know. That's all we're allowed to know, but interestlingly Stan let slip that many of the trustee's of the school have asked for daily reports about me; and my memory loss.