I don't know how to explain the feeling. My mind feels empty, not just due to the lack of memory. But also due to me trying to fend off any train of thought. Maybe if I don't think about anything, it will all go away.
I don't want to hear or see anyone else. It'll just remind me that I'm not who they remember me as. That they're trying to comfort me when they need to be comforted as well.
Clarin sits behind my door all day, continuously begging me to let her inside. I know she's crying.
I've been sitting here in the corner of my room, staring at the door for at least two hours. I haven't moved, spoken, done anything but breathe.
"Please," Clarin says again. "Please unlock the door."
I don't reply. I can't take it.
"Let her have some time, Clarin," a different voice says. Probably my mother. My mother that I don't know. My mother that knew who I used to be and is probably mourning over her loss.
"Brinley," Clarin says. "I just want you to know one thing."
When I don't reply, she continues.
"You're not anyone else just because of this. You're still you. And we all love you."
But she's wrong. I'm not the same person. I don't even know who I was, what my past is! How can I possibly be the same girl they all claim to have loved? I'm not.
"Please go, Clarin," I say quietly. "I can't take this."
"No, I can't leave you-"
"Go! Please, hearing your voice is wrecking me to pieces!" I yell in the direction of the door. Then I throw the closest thing to me at the door, which just so happens to be a picture on the dresser.
Clarin shakes the doorknob, trying to unlock it. I can't see her face, her tearstained face. The face that I used to know, but I don't recognize anymore. I'll never really know what she looked like as a child.
I can't let her inside. I drag my table to the door and leave it in front of it. She can't move that, even if she tries.
"Let me inside, Brinley, please," she says.
"I..." I push the table back more. "I can't do that. I need you to leave."
"No, I need to help you-"
"Nothing can help me, Clarin! Can't you see? There is nothing in this world that can save me from what I am. Not the doctors. Not my mother. Not you. Nobody. My life's no longer in my control and it sure as heck isn't in yours either. Help isn't available," I scream across the wall.
Then I break.
Every word is true.
I've been holding in these tears the entire day. I've convinced myself I don't need them. But letting them out feels great. A release, even if small, of the pain I've endured.
I sink to my knees, face in my hands. My arms shake, and I'm trying not to think about what's happening. But I can't help it.
I'm basically a stranger to myself. Memories make a person who they are, and I have none. Who I was as a child, my first years in elementary school, anything. I don't have a clue.
Not only does this suck for me, but it sucks for anyone else who knew who I was before the accident. They will never have their best friend, their sister, their daughter, their girlfriend back.
And them trying to comfort me is only making it worse because they're the ones that need it more than I do.
"Brinley, it's okay, it doesn't have to be a bad thing-"
"It will always be a bad thing," I reply with a firm tone, until my voice cracks. "I'm sorry you don't get your sister back, Clarin. Don't get your hopes up because I'm not her anymore."
<•>•<•>
I don't know how long I've sat here. Maybe a few hours. Now people have mostly left me alone, thankfully.
Even though I'm not being bugged by people outside my door, my phone's been vibrating like crazy. I ended up throwing it across the room too. I'm not quite sure if it's broken or not. To be honest, I don't even care.
I can't help my curiosity. I'm at my dresser, where all my old photos are set up. In some, I look to be about five or six, all the way up to how I am recently.
I pick up one in particular, the one I threw at the door earlier. It's of Owen and I. It's the same one that is set as my wallpaper on my phone. I wonder how he's handling all this right now.
A noise to my right makes me jump, dropping the picture frame in the process. I look over in the direction of the window. Somebody has lifted it open, and is climbing through. Owen.
I stare, eyes wide, as he pulls himself inside. He lets out a few breaths, then smiles slightly at me.
"That's how I used to come in here all the time," Owen says, looking back at the window.
I don't reply, still shocked by the sudden entrance.
Then he pulls something from his pocket. A bundle of papers, from the looks of it. He walks over and hands them to me. I look down, confused.
"I figured you might want to know a little bit about yourself," he says. Then he nods to the papers. "These are some things we did as kids. Letters, pictures, coloring pages, etc."
I look down again to the stack in my hands. It doesn't just seem like paper anymore. It seems like a special gift, that if I let go of it, I'll never see it again. This is amazing.
"Thank you," I say quietly.
I keep my gaze on the materials, as if afraid to move.
"You can look at them," Owen says, amused. He sits down beside me on the couch.
I pull out the first one, dated 2003. I was six years old at this point. It's a picture I guess I drew for Owen, and it looks a little bit like a cat but I'm not quite sure.
The next is a photo of the two of us at what I guess to be age eight. We're standing in a river, clothes totally soaked through. Clarin's in it too, and I can only tell us apart because I'm guessing I'm the one holding Owen's hand.
Then there's a letter. It says:
Owen:
Happy birthday! You're so old. What is this, twelve? Yeah, well that's only one older than me. You're not that cool. Anyways, hope you have a good year. And a good life. Oh yeah, and I wanted to remind you that you owe me ten dollars from when I paid for that movie ticket. So, your birthday present is a release from that debt. You're welcome, I'm sure you were really worried about that. Happy 12!
-Brinley
I look up at him, eyebrows raises, and let out a chuckle. He shakes his head, grinning.
"You were hilarious, Brinley," he says.
I look back down at the paper.
"And you still are," he says. "You're still the same you. You might not remember who you were, but I promise you I will never think anything different of you."
"Thank you again," I say. "For these."
He only smiles. He looks conflicted. "Brinley," he says, "I owe you an explanation."
"An explanation...?" I trail off, realizing what he means. Why he never brought up the fact that we were dating until I confronted him.
"It's only fair," Owen tells me. He leans back. I do as well. "Where do I even start this?" He asks, mostly for himself, I assume. "I told you about Jonathan, yes?"
"Scary ex-boyfriend Jonathan?" I ask.
"That's the one. Well, I guess he was bothering you again. Texting you, calling you, trying to get back in touch," he says, "and you must know how much I dislike that guy. And that's not the worst of what I found out. You had been texting him back."
"About what?" I ask.
"I'm not sure," he sighs. "But you came over later one day and said you had met up with him again. And I was already mad enough about the texting. Now, you meeting up with that idiot who ruined your entire life for a year? I blew up in your face, taking out all the anger meant for him on you."
I think back to the one time I remember getting into an argument. How could I let this happen again? Those were his words.
"You kept telling me to stop yelling, to listen to you. But I wouldn't. I couldn't stop trying to read to you how stupid it was, how stupid you were acting. How stupid you were. I wasn't even thinking."
"You called me stupid?" I ask, eyebrows raised.
"I did," Owen nods, looking at his hands. "I regret it, so much. And you were furious, I could tell. You got sick of me yelling and not giving you a chance to talk. And do you know what you yelled at me? You said, 'The only stupid thing I've ever done was love you.' And then you walked out."
I stare at him, reading the pained expression on his face easily. He's making no effort to hide it.
"I'll never forget those words," he says quietly.
"Wait, how'd the accident happen?" I ask, confused.
"I got that part of the story from Clarin, later on," Owen says, finally looking at me. "She said that you called her and told her to come get you. You were hysterical, crying and shaking. You got in the car and wouldn't answer her questions and suddenly you got this crazy look in your eye." He pauses, closing his eyes, wincing. "And you opened the door of the moving car and just jumped out."
I blink once. Again.
"What?" I ask, shocked.
"You jumped out of a moving car because of what I yelled at you, Brinley," Owen says, voice hoarse.
"I don't... Why would I do that?" I ask him, shaking my head.
"I don't know," he sighs. "I wish I did. But I don't."
I let out a sigh, looking down at my hands.
"I couldn't tell you that we were together," Owen continues, "because when the accident happened, we technically weren't."
I look up into his eyes now. His dark blue, beautiful eyes. And I know exactly why the past me fell for him. He's kind, honest with me, funny, extremely attractive, and not afraid to express his feelings. Not many guys can do that.
"Are we together now?" I ask quietly.
"I guess that's up to you," he says. "I would take you back in a heartbeat. I still love you, Brinley. But it's your decision now."