I wake up at 7:00, dazed and confused. I don't recognize the room I'm in, and it takes me a minute to realize that I'm not in the hospital anymore. I have to physically tell myself, "I'm home.", but I still don't believe it- I'm not sure if I ever will.
As I lay against the bed-board, I take notice of the posters and pictures that hang on the walls. Posters of bands I've never heard of before, and pictures of people I've never seen before. I feel like I'm living in a stranger's home- I don't belong here. I don't know who I am, or who I was.
I jump out of bed, before I have a break down. I'm still dressed in the clothes that I wore yesterday, that I received from the hospital. The jeans inch their way down my waist with every step, and the shirt irritates my skin. Since no one's here, I strip down to just my bra and underwear.
My apartment, alone, is still a big, vast maze to me. I should have taken the time yesterday to become accustomed to the apartment, but I ended up falling asleep at seven, having not eaten dinner.
Once I find the bathroom, again, I take a minute to actually study myself in the mirror. I'm so grown up, compared to the Kennedy at seventeen. I've gained weight in the right areas; I've surely gone up a cup size, to my delight; my hair reaches mid-back and has some wave to it; I'm at least three inches taller; and, I look more mature. I remember wishing to grow up, but at this moment, I just want to be seventeen again; I want my parents; I want to be in Detroit, a city I actually know my way around. I don't want to be confused, grown up, and lost- I don't want any of this.
Before I burst into tears, I turn around from the mirror and lean against the counter. My arms are folded to my chest, and my bottom lip is jutted out in a pout. My eyes roam the bathroom, and I see a door in the corner of my bathroom. As I walk to the door, I pray it's my closet, since I don't have one in my room.
I open the door, to be greeted by darkness. My hand rubs the wall, until I find the switch. Once the room is illuminated, my eyes get wide at the abundance of clothes I have. I step in further, and I just stare at the clothes. I feel like a child in their mother's closet, in awe of everything.
My hands brush against the garment, and I scan through shirt after shirt, looking for something comfortable to put on. I stop at a white tee, and I yank it off the hanger. I slip it on over my head, and the hem stops at mid-thigh. I'm a bit confused as to why I would have bought such a big shirt, but maybe I liked big, comfortable shirts?
I search through all the piles of clothes folded in stacks on the shelves for a pair of shorts and stop, when I see a pair of black shorts. I pull them from the stack and put them on. They're tight against my butt, and I feel uncomfortable. I pull the material down to cover my legs more, because I feel so exposed.
My stomach grumbles as the thought of breakfast crosses my mind. I turn the light off and head to the kitchen.
The kitchen looks untouched and too clean. I open the refrigerator and see that I barely have any food. The only food that I do have consists of rotten eggs and chunky milk. I quickly dispose of them and mentally tell myself to go grocery shopping.
Giving up on breakfast, I return to my closet, where I noticed a few purses, and search for any money I might have. In one purse, I find a wallet with fifty dollars, a credit card, and a few gift-cards. I take the wallet and place it in a different, small purse.
Thirty minutes later, I leave my apartment for the first time, and hope I don't get lost.
_____
"Excuse me? Do you know where the nearest market is?" I ask a mom, with her two children. She happily told me how to get there and wished me best luck. I turn back around and head the same way I was coming from.
A soft, yet frustrated sigh leaves my mouth, and I just want to cry. I bite my lip to prevent myself from weeping. Lately, the only thing I know how to do is cry. I can't remember the past seven years, but I know I can cry away the pain of not remembering.
I keep walking down the ongoing street, until I see a sign that reads "Publix" twenty feet ahead. I pick my pace up, and I'm there. Taking a deep breath, I mentally prepare myself for the frustrating experience I'm about to endure.
Soft music is playing, when I step inside. Families are shopping for the things they need, and employees are everywhere. I'm not exactly sure where anything is, so I have to use the signs above the aisles to direct me places.
Unaware of what I'm looking to buy, I go down the first aisle I come across, which happens to be pastas. With no knowledge of what I like now, I begin to buy what I liked at seventeen. I dump multiple boxes of spaghetti noodles and cans of spaghetti sauce into the cart. It's the only food I really like, and the only food I can actually make, without burning it.
I continue on throughout the store, grabbing what I need and want. Shopping for groceries is possibly the funnest thing I've done, since I woke up. The feeling of independence is something I haven't had in what feels like forever, and I'm not taking it for granted this time.
As I'm on my way to the check-out line, I hear someone say my name. I turn around slowly, to see a guy walking towards me. I remind myself to not freak out because this guy probably actually knows me, I just don't know him.
The guys goes in for a hug, and I stand there, stiff.
"How have you been, Kenn?" He asks me, unfazed about my confusion.
"Uh, I'm doing good. How about you...?" I return the question.
"Great, thanks! I haven't seen you around lately. I thought you fell off the earth! I've missed you!" He jokes, but stopped laughing, when he noticed my blank expression.
"Yeah. I've missed you, too. Hey, I'm sorry, but I really need to go." I say, before I rush off, leaving him standing all alone.
The stress of my forty minute "trip" has me dying to get back to my apartment. The whole "get-out-and-get-familiar-with-the-city" plan was a total blow up.
Once I pay for my things, I leave the store as fast as I can and attempt to navigate my way back home.
A/N
I updated!! I actually updated. You guys should be proud of me. (Not really, haha.) I hope you guys like this chapter, because I've been writing and re-writing this chapter numerous times to make it like perfect. Let me know what y'all think! xx
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Dear Kennedy
FanfictionHe wrote her thirty-one letters. Thirty-one letters telling her of their story. How they met, when they began dating, their first fight, spending holidays with each other.. Can Sawyer repair her memory with his words, or will she forever be lost in...
