Broken Memories

Chapter 11

                                                                                           Chrissy

"Okay, you'll be the first person I go to when I figure it out then." I huff to myself then go walk to class.

Daniel sits next to me in art. The whole lesson we're drawing an apple. I have no clue how to draw, I swear I don't but when I put my pencil on the paper it's like I've unlocked something in me that just knows what to do.

Maybe I should try to draw more, it's therapeutic and could help with my memories. In the meantime.

But I want my memories now. I want them all back.

I will do anything to have them back, even if it means confronting Nathan.

After art I wave goodbye to Daniel, then I walk up to Nathan. He's standing next to Alisha and some of his football friends.

I tell him, "We need to talk."

He doesn't move. Instead, he raises a singular eyebrow and says, "Talk."

"In private." I amend.

"Pretend they're not here." He shrugs.

I take a deep breath and lie through my teeth. "Someone showed me a video, of you forcing me to kiss you. Why?"

His friends make noises and shout, "Ooooh!"

Alisha stays quiet.

Nathan laughs.

Alisha stays quiet.

Nathan says, "because I wanted to."

Alisha stays quiet.

"That's not an answer," I tell him hopelessly.

"It's an answer," Nathan smirks. "Just not one you want to hear."

I give up. Just like with Eric, this was a bad idea.
But I'm grasping at loose threads, I'm like a cat blindly chasing a string. Until eventually I'll find out what's pulling it.

I breathe heavily. I roll my eyes. And I pivot around marching off to history class.

***

Once history was over I rushed towards my locker, my dad would be picking me up any second.
I open my locker, ready to quickly grab the books I need for homework.

What I wasn't expecting was a folded-up piece of lined paper.

Chrissy, if you know what's good for you, you should stop asking questions. But you've always been stubborn so go to this address . . .

I skim over the address, my heart pounding.

Miles.

Should I trust this ominous letter? No.
Am I going to go and ask for Miles? Yes.

I keep telling myself it's a dumb decision but, sadly, that doesn't deter me and so when getting in the car where my dad sits next to me.

I tell him, "I'm going to go for a run when we get home."

                                                                                      Eric

I feel guilty about my decision. The whole not telling anyone about what I saw in the supermarket.

And my guilt makes me enraged at everything.

My dad has noticed this over the past couple of days, my anger gradually getting worse and worse over small things.

I lose my car keys; I go on a rampage. I forget a book for a lesson I don't even listen to I can't stop procrastinating over it for the rest of the day. It's like my mind can't stop, it doesn't want to stop. It wants to be angry, I want to carry on being angry. And my dad has noticed.

He slowly walks up to me, like he's trying to tame a wild lion. I'm your son! I want to scream. I want to shout everything on my mind, I want to hurt. I deserve to be hurt.

I've never worked for anything. I want to cry out through my unshed tears.

I've never given up anything.

But things have been taken from me. People, objects, and futures. Stuff I never worked for and never deserved and maybe, just maybe that's why it's all being ripped away from me. Maybe the only reason I'm mad at Chrissy, so mad is because I don't know who else to be mad at.

Myself.

I could be mad at myself but I won't; I can't. That is not how I want to live my life. I will be selfish and I will choose to direct my anger at things. Other people.

"Okay, son." My dad starts, putting a hand gently on my shoulder, "We're heading out."

***

A car drive, an elevator, and a set of stairs. It took all of that to get to this rooftop, on a building my dad owns, on a building I will inherit, on a building I won't deserve. 

"When you were little we came here all the time." My dad informs me. " Even when it rained, that's why it has a canopy that can come out. And we used to light the candles over there."

"I remember," I whisper. An unwanted tear slipped down, down, down my face, and onto the cold floor. 

"I want you to be happy, son." My dad whispers as he turns to look at me, a sad, broken smile on his face.

"I know, Dad," I tell him, nodding the pain away. Ignoring the look in his eyes, the knowing look, his knowing look. That says, I already know how much pain you're going through. Your pain is my pain. Whatever you go through, I also go through. We go through it together, father and son.

I look up, unable to stop myself any longer. And I see it. In his eyes, I see what he's trying to convey.

"I love you, dad." I cry. Ugly sobs broke through my thin already broken wall.

Everything is broken it's all broken. My heart; was broken. My life; was broken. My once joy-filled memories; were broken.

And that's how I know, whilst my dad hugs me, protecting me from everything gnawing away at my soul, I know I have to fix this. Fix me.

And maybe the only way to do this is to forgive myself, forgive the future I lost, forgive that I haven't tried enough in the past months, forgive Chrissy.

Because that's in the past. It hurt, she made my heart hurt but it's not my future, my new future. And to forgive her, to forgive myself, I have to help her.

Help her remember, help her remember herself. The good, the bad, the horrible. 

I'm going to help her. So we can move on with our new lives.