Conflict of Interest: A Naturals Fanfiction

Unanswered Questions

~ Ashlynn

My signature at the bottom causes me to jolt, and I'm pulled out of that memory. I've only read the first three pages of the notebook, but I'm already nervous about what I'm about to learn on the following pages.

Namely, the fact that I never went to live with Judd after my memory was wiped. And maybe I'm too scared to find out whether I even wrote that down, because I close the notebook.

By now I can guess that I found Dean in that neighborhood. Same tan skin, same blonde hair, although both are a little darker now that five years have passed. Even the eye color was the same, if my mind isn't just making things up to fit the puzzle. I groan. I don't feel like remembering more about my childhood, not if it won't serve me some purpose now. But I can't help but wonder why I never went to live with Judd, which is why I grab the notebook and flip it open, back to where I left off.

Thirty minutes later, I cast the notebook aside again. One thing is clear: little me did not know how to cut out the fluff. The past half hour I've read about the dog I had as a little kid, some of my favorite memories of my parents and I playing board games or staying up late. I've read about no less than three birthdays, two weddings, and a funeral, which I'm starting to suspect they had a lot more to do with than being colleagues of the man. I read about a best friend named Celine, who I honestly can't put a face to, but I wouldn't be able to recognize her anymore either way.

I'd skim-read through the whole notebook, and now I'm frustrated, because somehow it was supposed to connect Michael to my past. Maybe he wasn't important enough for an eleven-year-old to mention, even if he is now.

I stand up and stretch before moving over to the window. Even though I've seen how massive this house is from the outside, I still haven't gotten used to the fact that there is a swimming pool, tennis court, and garden. I've gotten used to houses that didn't have a foot of space between the next house, or where the yard was solid dirt, so to see such a big, green yard still blows me away. It's been getting cooler outside, and even though we're in Virginia the weather is only about seventy degrees. I see Cassie outside weeding the garden while Michael push-mows the yard.

I guess I'll probably get roped into yard work soon enough.

I open my window as Michael starts to approach it and wave wildly at him. After a second I catch his eye, and an amused grin makes its way across his face as he turns off the lawn mower. "Do you need something?" He calls up.

I notice Cassie look up at us. So much for us staying out of each other's business. Even if that wasn't exactly what we had agreed, it still feels like a violation. "Can you come inside?" I ask.

Michael pretends to think for a second. "Can and will have two very different meanings, as Sloane would tell you." I look around the yard, afraid that she'll join in the conversation, when all I want is to have a private conversation with Michael. The blonde isn't here, but Michael grins anyway. "Fine, but you have to make it worth my while." He walks toward the patio before I can respond, and when he closes the door behind him I begin to panic.

The door to my room opens before I can find something to give him, and he comes and flops on my bed. "You wouldn't by any chance have any lemonade, do you?"

"Is that how I'd make this worth your while?"

"No, but it would be nice." I can see a circle of sweat on the front of his t-shirt. Michael doesn't have a toned body like Dean, probably because he doesn't release his anger at himself, but that doesn't mean he doesn't fill out the shirt nicely. "My eyes are up here, April," he says. I glare at him.

"I'm just trying to figure out why you don't take your shirt off like any other guy would do when they get hot," I admit.

"You don't need an excuse to check out my body," Michael says with all seriousness, but I can tell he's teasing me.

Since when can I read him so easily?

That thought makes me frown. He must mistake my frown for disappointment from lack of a better answer, because he grabs the hem of his shirt and pulls it up over his chest.

I raise a hand to my mouth, but I still hear myself gasp. His chest is pale, which makes the scabs on his shoulder and torso stand out even more. "You'd think getting shot would mean I'd get out of doing chores," he says, laughing, trying to diffuse the tension. I ignore him. He watches me as I make my way toward him. Never had I imagined having a boy on my bed, much less in this situation. I stop when I'm in front of him. He looks up at me, and I realize he's waiting for my response.

"The day you came to the library, you were limping," I remember. He nods. "You were shot three times, or more?"

"Three."

I reach my fingers out and gently brush them over the scab on his shoulder. He grimaces but doesn't push me away as I touch the raw pink skin around the wound. "How long?"

"Hmm?"

"How long ago did this happen?"

"A few months ago," he admits. I move my hand down to the second scar, amazed that it didn't hit any vital organs, and he catches my hand. "Don't look at me like that."

I look back up at him. At his hazel eyes. "Like what?"

"Like you're pitying me."

I shake my head, even though that's exactly what I'm doing. I slip my wrist out of his grasp. I see him reaching out to grab my hand again before stopping, but I turn away and pretend I didn't see.

"What do you remember about me?" I finally ask him, turning back around to find him with his shirt back on.

"I figured this is what you wanted to know." He smiles, and I know the serious moment has officially passed, and that he forgives me. He leans back on the bed. "You were a wild child," he admits, grinning. "Not in front of our parents, of course, but when it was just me and you, you were always getting me to do things I'd get in trouble for. And somehow, you always convinced me to take the fall." I grimace, but he doesn't look at me. "In some ways, it was refreshing to hang out with someone who wasn't prim and proper. Not like Celine, even though her and I were very close too."

"I remember Celine," I say.

He turns his head to look at me. "Really? What about her?"

"Just that we were best friends. At least, that's what I thought when I wrote it in my notebook."

He reaches for the notebook on my nightstand, and I quickly reach over him to grab it before he does, being careful not to hurt him. He pauses our struggle for a second and catches my wrist. "You know I'm not a breakable doll, right?"

"Of course."

"Okay then," he says, and then he uses his body to flip us so that I'm trapped underneath. Using his leverage, he grabs the notebook out of my hand.

"No, wait!" I reach for the notebook, but he's already found something that makes him pause. I hold my breath, waiting for him to tell me what he's found that has him so confused, when the worst thing happens.

Lia comes into the room. "Dinnerti-" She cuts off when she sees the position Michael and I are in. She glares at the two of us and abruptly turns out the door, slamming it behind her.

I groan, dropping my head onto the mattress. I'm embarrassed, even though I have no reason to be. I look at Michael. He barely looks phased. A little guilty, maybe, but that's it. I push at his chest gently, despite his words, despite the fact that I'm annoyed and possibly a little angry with him for making me a threat to Lia. "Get off me," I demand, and I make no effort to make my tone gentle.

"As you wish, Ashlynn," he whispers in my ear. I wince at the name, but he just watches my reaction with interest as he gets off me. "Let's go eat." He walks out the door, and I have no choice but to follow him. I curse myself for getting so distracted when all I needed were some answers to my past.

All I know is that I haven't found any favor in this house.

This dinner is going to be all sorts of awkward.