**Disclaimer** I do not own Teen Wolf or any of it's characters or plot lines. Everything else was created in my crazy little mind and belongs to me. So there's that.
Chapter 1 - Losing Your Memory
I really wish I could stop disappointing all these people. I have no idea who any of them are, but I still feel like I'm letting them all down. I understand that I'm supposed to know them, remember them, but I don't. I don't remember anything -- memory wise at least. All I know is that I woke up in the forest in the arms of somebody named Stiles. He's been outside of my hospital room all weekend. I'm not sure what to make of that.
There are two other men who claim to be my father and brother. I believe them. My father was crying when I woke up. I wish he hadn't been. It only made me feel worse about not recognizing him. I mean, what could it possibly be like to stare into the eyes of your child and have them not remember a single memory you have with them?
I've been trying to remember, but I just can't. It started making me panicky after awhile, so the doctors made me stop. They won't let my father or my brother, Eric I believe is his name, bring in pictures anymore. They thought seeing the memories would trigger them, but nothing came of it. It is so strange, seeing photos of yourself doing things you cannot recall. It's as though I've lived my entire life in a blackout.
I finally got the nerve to ask the question that was tugging at the back of my mind. I asked my supposed father where my mother was. I had seen her in many of the pictures. A mother would usually refuse to leave her daughter's bedside if she were burdened to a hospital room, but no such woman had come to visit me.
My father sighed when I asked, sitting himself down on the chair next to my bed. I felt an instant worry. People only sit down when they have bad news. Even I know that.
Then, he proceeded to tell me all about the mother and sister I once had. He told me how they died in a car accident over three years ago. I survived, but they didn't. It felt like some kind of sick joke. I didn't even know them, but I still cried as my heart twisted in pain. I had a mother and a sister. Now I have nothing. I can't even remember them.
My feelings were so confused, they still are. I don't know whether or not I should mourn them, or had I already done enough? I don't remember them, yet I still feel sad. I feel guilty for not being able to be sad for them properly.
It is so strange, to know I have lived a full sixteen years of life, but to not be able to recall a single moment. I don't know how to act, or whether I'm still the same girl I once was. I don't know who I am or who to be. I'm just lost.
Multiple people have stopped by to visit me since I've been here. I recognize some of them from when I woke up in the forest. One was an olive-skinned boy named Scott. He said he and I were good friends. I believed him, because there was a pain in his voice when he said it.
Yesterday a dark-haired girl named Allison came to talk to me. She said that we sat next to each other in class and were friends. I've come to the assumption that anyone who would waste an hour of their day to visit me must be a friend. She was sad when we talked, but it was a distant kind of sad. I knew it wasn't because of me.
"Are you okay?" I asked her.
I think I caught her off guard with my question because she shifted and became antsy. I doubt she expected the girl laying in the hospital bed to ask her if she was okay. She nodded her head, but I noticed her eyes glazing over and knew that she was lying.
"No you're not," I said. I sat up, feeling fine and tired of being on bed-rest.
She sighed and wiped a tear that escaped her eye before it could fall into her lap. She gave me a forced smile, as if to pretend that whatever was bothering her didn't actually hurt. I may not have any memories, but that doesn't mean I can't feel compassion towards others, that I can't feel their pain.
"My aunt died," she finally admitted. I felt a pang in my chest.
I reached over my hand to place it on the back of hers in comfort. I trusted her in this moment. She was just as vulnerable as I. "I'm so sorry," I said.
I'm sure she's heard that phrase plenty of time already, but I didn't know what else to say. Any personal moments or memories I had with Allison have been lost or forgotten. I don't know what to say that would make her feel better. Though I trust that she is my friend, she is still a stranger. They're all strangers.
"Did I know her?" I hesitated, but asked none the less. I thought that maybe I could make it more personal, and I just wanted to know whether or not I should mourn her death.
Allison's eyes studied her hands, which were folded together in front of her. She seemed nervous and uneasy. It made me afraid that I had once been close with her aunt. I didn't want to lose anymore people I never got the chance to meet, at least not that I can remember.
She finally met my eyes, but only for a moment. "No," she choked out. I couldn't decide whether or not she was lying. Hell, all of these people could be lying to me and I would have no idea. It all terrifies me.
"I should be going," she said, getting up with haste. I hardly got the chance to say goodbye before she left the room. I laid back in my bed, just wishing I knew something about myself. I'm tired of not knowing.
The doctors keep running tests on me to make sure that there's nothing physically wrong with my brain. They said I hit it pretty hard when I fell and that's how I got the amnesia. It's embarrassing, to be honest. How clumsy do you have to be for one fall to knock all of the memories out of you?
They did tell me that I get to go home tonight, wherever home is. I've been thinking a lot about what kind of house I live in, whether it's big or small. I wonder what my bedroom looks like, what kind of clothes I have in my closet. I'm really tired of wearing hospital gowns. They make me feel like a mental patient. Then again, maybe I do belong in an asylum.
As I counted the hours until my release, I couldn't help but overhear a conversation going on outside my door. I perked up in my bed to get a glance at the two who were raising their voices at one another. One I recognized as my supposed brother, Eric. The other was tall with dark hair and stubble, as well as extremely muscular. He looked a few years older than Eric.
"You have to tell her some time!" The dark-haired one hissed.
"I know that, but we need to wait. She's not ready," said Eric.
There was a beat of silence, allowing me to wonder what they could possibly be talking about. I was sure it had something to do with me. What do they need to tell me, and why would I not be ready to hear it? I've already had it broken to me that I had a mother and a sister who were both killed in a car accident that I survived. How much worse could it get?
"I need to see her," said the dark-haired one. He moved towards the door, but Eric stepped in front of him and pushed him back with force. Based on that display of protectiveness, he's definitely my brother.
"I don't think so," he said. "It's your fault she's like this. I don't want you around her."
"Are you kidding me?" The man folded his arms and furthered the scowl that seemed to be permanently etched onto his face. "I had no idea this would happen. I never meant for her to get hurt."
"I warned you, Derek," said Eric in a low voice. He took a step towards the man whom I have gathered is named Derek. "I warned you, but you ignored me. Now look at what has happened! She didn't even know her own last name. All of her memories are gone. All because you wanted a little power."
I was beyond curious at this point as to what they were talking about. What did Eric mean about Derek wanting power? How do I have anything to do with that? All I did was fall, hit my head, and forget every last memory about my life.
"I didn't know it would affect her like this," said Derek, his eyes narrowing at Eric.
"Or you just didn't care?" Eric raised his eyebrows, challenging him to prove otherwise.
Derek's thick stature straightened him, putting him a good two inches above Eric. He flexed his arms, still folded across his chest. "I do care about her, Eric. She's always been like a sister to me."
"Well, I thought family meant more to you than that." Eric scoffed. "She was all I had left, Derek. My mother and sister are dead, and my dad pretty much hates my guts for what I did. We were finally getting close again, and now she doesn't even remember my name."
"I'm sorry," said Derek.
Eric shook his head. He then glanced through the window and saw me watching them. He expression was defeated, and it made me feel terrible. "She's awake, you should go."
Derek took a deep breath and I met his eyes as he followed Eric's gaze through the window. His features were bold and his eyes a pale green. I couldn't decide whether or not to trust him. He said I was like a sister to him, yet he's supposedly the reason I'm in this stupid hospital bed. This whole not knowing thing is getting far too confusing.
I wanted Eric to come into my room and shed some light on whatever is was they were talking about, but he left with Derek. I was overcome with a feeling of frustration. I flopped back onto my bed. I hate not knowing who anyone is. I feel like I've been thrown into someone else's life and I'm supposed to know who is who, but I don't. I don't know anything.
I took my glasses off for a moment to rub my eyes. Maybe this is all some kind of bad dream and I will wake up myself again. I will open my eyes and be in my bed at home, my head plum full of all my memories. I should know to stop wishing by now.
I grew restless and was tired of just laying in this bed, so I got up and walked over to the mirror that hung on the bathroom wall. How strange it is to not even recognize the person staring back at you, to not know who she is or why you are in her body. My brown hair was tied back in a dishevelled ponytail. I layer of grease occupied the roots. I couldn't wait to shower when I got home. A pair of thick-rimmed glasses covered a pair of blue eyes. I do recall not being able to see when I first woke up, my sight was blurry. Eric told me I had broken my glasses when I fell.
Another face joined my reflection in the mirror. They boy named Stiles was standing a few feet behind me, his hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket. His eyes were bloodshot from the lack of sleep I'm sure he's had from staying here all weekend.
"How are you?" He asked.
I turned to face him. I spoke as I strode past him to plop back onto my bed, "Other than not knowing who I or anyone around me is...peachy."
"What about your head?" He asks. "You uh...you hit it pretty hard."
They had taken my stitches out a few hours ago. Apparently the only brain damage I have is the amnesia. How convenient. I didn't knock my brain hard enough for it to hit my skull and give me a concussion, but I somehow managed to knock out all my memories. How is that even possible?
"It doesn't hurt," I told him. I smoothed out my gown across my thighs. "It's strange, really. I never even felt a headache,"
I gave Stiles a moment to ponder this. I'd already had plenty of time to think about it. I've come to the conclusion that I must have forgotten how to feel pain as well. It seemed fitting considering I tend to forget everything else. I drummed my fingers on my knee while he thought.
He sucked in a deep breath, causing his chest to rise and fall. Then he sat down next to me on the bed, a small creaking sounding from the force of his weight. He never broke eye contact with me, which was making me slightly nervous.
"Are you sure you're okay?"
I sighed and glanced around the room to avoid his gaze. To be perfectly honest, I have no idea how I'm supposed to feel. I was thrown into this life that I have no recollection of. I have to restart everything in an adolescent body. How do you come to terms with something like that?
"I don't know," I said with a shrug. I felt like crying for some reason. I just wanted to remember something, anything. Is that so much to ask?
Stiles shifted his position on the bed to move closer to me. His eyes were wide and his lips slightly parted. I gulped as I looked into his eyes. They were pleading with me. My heartbeat was increasing by the second.
"I'm going to help you, okay? You're going to get through this," he said. He reached for my hand, but I pulled it back into my lap.
"Look, I know you want me to remember -- so do I -- but I just can't. I'm trying so hard, looking at old pictures my supposed father brings me, but nothing seems familiar."
"Nothing?" There was a slight crack in his voice.
I shook my head. "I can remember things like that capitol of Arkansas is Little Rock and how to do the Pythagorean Theorem, but everything else is blank. It terrifies me. I don't know who I can trust, who's actually telling the truth."
"I would never lie to you, Emma."
I looked away from his caramel eyes and to my lap. "I just need time."
I want to believe all of the people who have come to visit me, I really do, but I have to look out for myself. I know nothing about any of them. That makes it hard to put your faith in someone. I understand that I can't keep up these walls forever, I have to break out eventually. I just need to get to know all of the people who call themselves my friends and family before I can actually believe them.
I couldn't bear to face Stiles again. I could feel his sadness. I wanted to believe him the most, but the fact that he hasn't left the hospital all weekend just for me is somewhat terrifying. I just don't know what to make of it.
I couldn't take the silence anymore. It was only making me feel worse about shutting him out. "I'm sorry, Stiles," I said.
Holding his breath, he gave a forced smile. "It's fine, I totally get it,"
I lowered my head and looked away from him once again. He stood up, shifting the mattress. I stared to the floor as I listened to his footsteps lead him out the door, but they stopped short. I glanced up and met his eyes as he turned around.
"You can trust me, Emma. I would never do anything to hurt you."
I didn't reply, biting the inside of my lip. My eyes shifted to the blank wall, giving him the signal that he wasn't going to get a response. He pressed his lips into a thin line and hung his head. He smacked the doorway lightly with the palm of his hand before walking out.
For some reason, he made me feel the most guilt. I think it may be his eyes. It's like they're always searching for something in mine, but whatever it is was lost along with all of my memories. Being around him made my heart sink. I felt like I was disappointing him the most, even more so than my father. I wondered if we were close friends before I fell. I wondered if he meant what he said about trusting him.
I was beginning to feel selfish for being so guarded. I didn't want to get hurt and in return I was hurting others by shutting them out. I just don't want to be manipulated. I don't want people to think that they can use me just because I'm vulnerable without my memory. That's not fair to me.
I let out a deep breath and took my glasses off, setting them next to my bed. I rubbed my eyes, which were feeling sore from holding back all the tears I felt like shedding. I don't want people thinking that I'm weak, that I can't handle this. I'm terrified out of my mind, but no one else needs to know that. They shouldn't worry more than they already are.
I laid back in my bed, deciding to take a short nap before I'm checked out. Sleep would make the hours go by faster. I can't wait to get out of here. I'm tired of all the people coming to talk to me. I know they think that meeting with people from my past will help me remember. Instead, it's just made me feel sad about all the things and people I've lost.
I pushed all of my thoughts away, letting sleep take over. The past few days have been extremely mentally exhausting. A little nap should do me some good.
☾
I woke up in a light sweat. I had kicked the sheets off of me while I slept and they were now laying in a heap on the ground. I had seen the same images again. Ever since my first night in the hospital, my dreams have been filled with images, snippets of possible memories. There was always a car, a burning sensation, a lot of blood, and a pair of red eyes. That's all I got.
Even my dreams are taunting me to remember. Though, I'm not sure if I do want to remember what would have to do with any of that. Was it my blood? Why red eyes? It's not possible for anyone to have red eyes. I was getting a small headache from all the confusion. I'm tired of being confused. I don't know how much longer I can go on not knowing.
It's like walking into a battlefield blind. You never know how, when, where, and by whom you will be shot. But, inevitably, it will cause pain. There's no controlling it.
My vision was blurred until I replaced my glasses on the bridge of my nose. I sat up in my bed and looked around for the clock to see that I only had five minutes until I was finally allowed to leave. I couldn't wait to get home. I have hope that it will spark some kind of memory for me. The doctors said that things with a great influence on your life can trigger memories. What had a better influence on my life than the house I supposedly grew up in?
My father entered the room. He smiled at the fact that I was awake. "Ready to go?"
"You have no idea," I said. I swung my legs over the bed and stepped onto the cold linoleum floor.
"Here," he said, handing me a pile of clothes. "I brought them from home, hope you don't mind."
"Thank you," I said.
I changed in the bathroom, pulling on the skinny jeans and stripped shirt. There was a cross necklace in the stack, but I stuffed it in my jacket pocket instead. I just didn't feel like putting it on. I styled my hair into a bun at the base of my neck before exiting the bathroom and rejoining my father.
"All set?" He asked. I nodded.
I said an internal goodbye to my room as we left and shut the door behind us. My dad approached the desk as a loud bang sounded from the other end of the hallway. The receptionist and my dad both ignored the crash. They didn't seem to be phased by it, so I pushed it out of mind as well.
My dad signed the papers the receptionist handed him over the desk. I leaned against the wood, still not quite awake from my nap. Then, a shrill scream filled the hallway from a nearby room. Nurses went running towards the sound.
Stiles bolted past me shouting, "Lydia!". I followed him out of curiosity and found myself in a room filled with only nurses.
"She's gone," someone said.
The window was open and a breeze blew in from the air. A patient had escaped the confinements of this hospital. Though, from what I've gathered, the poor girl is naked.
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Thanks so much for reading!
Sorry that it's kind of short, chapters are going to be weird in this book.
This is dedicated to MarvelWorksWonders for being a pretty cool cat. Your love is much appreciated homegirl.
GIF not mine.
Thanks so much for reading!
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox
-Alyssa
Edited 4/29/14