Hello everyone! Hope you're all having a lovely December!
Break is coming up for me, but first there's finals. Ew... So, yeah, that's happening in my life right now...
I dunno, but about the story, I actually really like this chapter. It's really interesting and I think I wrote it half-decently, so yay for that. If you didn't see my broadcast message, when Wattpad was having glitches, it deleted most of the comments from the last chapter. So sorry, I would've responded otherwise though!
As usual, please vote and/or leave a comment! I love to hear feedback, it means the world to me! Thank you all and happy December! :)
Dana
Even driving to my damn session with Emma is tense.
Zayn and I seem completely unable to look at each other the same way as before. Every time I even slightly turn my head he tenses up and avoids eye contact, and same vise versa.
I just wish things could go back to the way they were before I made that awful mistake. Before everything went to hell.
“Your hand fits in mine, like it’s made just for me.“
Zayn’s grip on the steering wheel tightens as Little Things begins to play on the radio.
Last time we listened to this song, we were in the exact same position we are now, only we were much happier. Now the song seems almost bitter, yet neither of us makes a move to stop it.
“I know you’ve never loved, the crinkles by your eyes…”
I don’t know if I can do this, sit here and just listen to this beautiful, yet torturous, song play, with Zayn sitting right next to me.
“I’m in love with yo-“
Suddenly, Zayn’s arm reaches out and he forcefully hits the power button on the radio, causing an uneasy silence to take over.
He exhales slowly, and seems to relax a bit.
I have to admit I feel the same way, though you think the silence would be worse, it’s actually much better. It doesn’t seem to make either of us think about what once was anymore.
By the time we pull up, go inside, and enter into Emma’s office, the tension is stretched to a barely measurable amount. Zayn sits down stiffly beside me on the couch, and I can see the muscles in his jaw clenching and unclenching.
“How’s everything going?” Emma questions, smiling across from us.
Her smile is strained though, and I can tell she senses something’s wrong, she’s just too afraid to ask.
“Fine,” Zayn and I say at the same time. Our eyes meet for a brief moment afterwards, but immediately flick away.
Emma licks her lips before clearing her throat. “So!” She tries to sound cheery as she picks up my Memory Jar, turning it in her hands. “You seem to be doing positively brilliant, Dana. Your jar is close to full now!”
I can only nod and force a smile.
“You know,” she continues brightly. “As long as you keep doing your exercises like I assume you are, I think your complete memory may come back any day now!”
I can’t help but let my jaw drop in surprise and my eyes widen. This is what I’ve been dreaming about for these last couple months, for everything to come back and be the way it was before. This is it, I can finally be myself again, not just a broken puzzle of a person.
As I spare a glance over at Zayn, I see he also looks surprised… yet scared at the same time, terrified even. When he notices me looking he instantly puts on the emotionless mask again, but I saw it there, I know it.
I don’t know what he’s so afraid of, maybe that things will get even more awkward between us if I remember completely. That’s believable, but something in my gut says it’s something else, something unexplainable.
He’s been a lot better lately, Zayn, in terms of his sanity level. He hasn’t been snapping at anyone as much or biting his nails as often (though the band-aids on his fingers help that). He’s just been Zayn, happy and angry and funny and moody all at once.
At least when I’m not there. Whenever I walk into a room now the mood instantly changes. Like if Zayn’s smiling, it vanishes so quickly I almost think it wasn’t there at all. I’ve affected everyone for the worse now; just my presence alone changes everything.
“It’s really excellent news, isn’t it?” Emma breaks me out of my thoughts, still doing her best to grin widely.
I can only clear my throat for a moment as Zayn sinks further back into the couch, almost as if he wants it to just swallow him whole.
“Fantastic news.”
~
A bolt of pain shoots through my head as my eyes fly open.
“Holy-“ I groan, sitting up and pressing a hand to my temple. It feels as if someone took a hammer and swung at my skull, and sitting up so quickly sure didn’t help it.
I’m not sure if I should move, but then I remember Zayn saying that there’re different pills in the bathroom for pain. He always did go there when he was in one of his moods, and even more frequently lately, seeing as his attitude has become all but a moody tornado when I’m around.
Slowly, I swing my legs over the edge of the bed, wincing as the movement causes another little burst of pain.
Just breathe through the pain, I mentally coach myself. The sooner you get to those pills, the sooner you’ll feel better.
Taking deep breaths and focusing on where I’m headed, I rise from the bed and pad slowly down the hall to the bathroom. I try to close the door while making as little noise as possible, so as not to wake any of the boys, before opening the medicine cabinet.
I have to admit, I’m slightly surprised how many bottles there are. I never realized the boys have so many medical needs, especially to stay energized and maintain their physical image all the time.
Slowly, I pick up bottle after bottle, squinting at the labels. But the longer I seem to try to read the bottles, the worse my headache gets, and the more I feel like I’m going to all but pass out from the pain.
Finally, much to my relief, I pick up a bottle and turn the label to see ‘Ibuprofen’ printed on it in bold letters.
It’s only for mild to moderate pain, but it’ll have to do for now, I don’t have time to stand here and pick out something better.
Once I’ve taken the pills and closed the cabinet, I stare at myself in the mirror. I try to smile at my image, but it’s forced and only turns out looking like a scowl.
How long has it been now? A month? Two? Three even? Somewhere in between?
I definitely look better than the last time I carefully checked my image like this. Last time I still looked a bit pretty sickly without anything to cover up the scratches and bruises, now I look pretty close to normal, just tired.
I let out a great sigh at feeling the pain in my head lessen after a few minutes, but the bliss is short-lived. Not even a minute later, the pain shoots back like a lightning bolt, striking into the very core of my mind.
“Ben, don’t worry, it’s alright, they always fight like this.” I try and soothe my little brother, holding him tightly in my arms as he cries.
Brother? Zayn is supposed to be my brother; we only have three other sisters. This is the boy I’ve been seeing since waking up in the hospital, what’s going on?
“Mum,” I feel myself choking on tears as the woman, Jane, who fought with David packs her things into her car. “Please, don’t leave us!”
I’m breathing hard now, hands gripping the white sink for support. It’s as if someone broke the dam, and a complete flood of what can only be memories is spilling over in one big rush.
I don’t understand. Why am I calling her my mum and the boy my brother? What’s happening?
“You’re saying we have to stay here?” Ben groans as we come across an old abandoned building. “I don’t like it, Dad why can’t we just go back home?”
“This is home now,” the man from before, David, says grimly.
My heart is practically pounding out of my chest. I can only allow myself to sink to the floor, huddled in a ball as the memories continue to attack my mind.
“Are you alright?”
David only nods, but he doesn’t look it. His whole body droops and his forehead shines with sweat.
“You’re burning up Dad, you’re not okay.”
The memories are catching up with me, and as my mind brings me closer and closer to the present, I begin to realize exactly what’s happening.
I’m remembering the truth.
The pain in my body is close to unbearable as I lay on the bumpy asphalt. It seems to scurry up and down me, digging into my skin with sharp claws and a poisonous touch.
I don’t know how long it’s been since I passed out, but I can faintly hear voices, speaking rapidly above me.
“Did you call the emergency number?”
“Oh God, how did this happen?”
“Hello? Yes, we have a girl who’s looking really bad, we need an ambulance right away.”
Last, I hear a sweet, gentle voice murmuring to me, and can faintly feel a hand brush my skin. “Hang in there,” the voice whispers, and only now do I recognize it as Zayn’s. “Help is on the way.”
Tears begin to well up in my eyes as I hug my knees to my chest on the floor. My mind has finally caught up with me, but it’s not at all what I expected.
I thought I’d remember beautiful times with my family and crazy ones with my friends and the boys, but it’s the exact opposite.
Slowly, I wipe the tears from my face and stand, trying not to shake as much as I know I am.
As I move out of the bathroom, almost as mindlessly as a zombie, I can only think, my shock turning to anger.
Zayn lied this whole time, all of them did. I’m not really Zayn’s sister; I don’t even know any of them. I didn’t feel connected to his family because I’m really not, and that woman came to my house because she’s my mother, my real mother. The boy and man in my memories aren’t just family friends, but my biological brother and father.
And that also means that I didn’t kiss my brother.
That's not important Dana, I snap at myself. What is, is the fact that he completely lied about your life.
“I’m going to ki-“ My hand stops inches away from the shining knob on Zayn’s bedroom door.
My original plan was to burst in and demand an explanation, why he would rob me of my whole life, but I realize that I can’t. I don’t think I can face him after this new discovery.
As I stand there, frozen for a moment, a better idea goes off in my head.
I then turn on my heel and all but run back to my room, stripping myself of my pajamas and changing into jeans and a t-shirt.
As I shrug on a heavy coat, I turn and stop with my heart racing, staring at my Memory Jar. That thing is also a lie, and represents it all perfectly. I was given the object and told that it would contain all my memories and my mind, and the worst part is that I trusted it. None of it was real; some of the things I wrote probably weren’t even legitimate memories. It was all just a lie, just like the rest of my life is turning out to be.
This is why Zayn would get so tense whenever the suggestion of my memory returning came up. This is why he was so strange. He wasn’t just bipolar because that was him, it was because of me.
The only person who hasn’t been completely lying to me is Emma, unless she somehow was told about it too. Though I doubt it, I wouldn’t be surprised, since apparently everyone except for me seems to know.
Sucking in a breath, I walk over and pull off the lid of the jar, staring at the pieces of paper inside for a moment before plunging my hand in. I pull out paper after paper, memory after memory, stuffing them into my pockets.
For some reason, I can’t just throw them away. I can’t let my mind slip, I have to confirm that this is real, that this isn’t all just a lie too.
“I hate you so much for lying to me, every single one of you,” I mutter as I next tear another slip of paper from my notebook. I then scribble a quick note on it and drop it inside the jar, so it’s the only one that remains; yet it’s the most important.
Grabbing the money I can, I slip downstairs with my pockets stuffed of memories and the jar under my arm.
Where would they find it most easily? Where should I put it so they all see it in the morning?
Finally, I decide to put it in the middle of the dinning room table. How much more obvious does it need to be?
“Goodbye boys,” I say in a whisper with my hand on the knob to the front door, looking back at the house.
A part of me can’t help but know I’m going to miss the boys. I despise them now for lying to me, but I do have good memories of them. I think that’s the reason I can’t just wake any of them up now and demand answers, I want to preserve the good memories I have of them. I don’t want the last time I see them to be a bad one.
I finally force myself to walk out that door, out of the lives of the boys and nearly everyone I once thought I knew as family and friends. This is the end, I don’t know where to go but I can’t stay there anymore, not in that house.
So I simply walk away in a random direction, leaving one piece of me behind in the house where the boys sleep soundly, one piece sitting at the bottom of the Memory Jar.
‘Zayn is not my brother.’