Time After Time

1

|Chapter 1|

≡ Mackenzie Ryder ≡

Even after three freaking months, I still find myself saying it. Not mine. Not mine.

The hair's the same, though. Board-straight and tied into a tight ponytail that swishes against the back of my bare neck. I recognize my thin frame too, and that little burn scar on my left wrist from when I was six years old. I recognize the tattoo on the inside of my right arm. But-goddamn it-I can't recognize my own face. The almond-shaped hazel eyes, the pointed nose, the small round mouth, which is currently twisted into a grimace. It's not mine, it's not mine at all. I'm not supposed to look like this. But then again, I haven't a faintest idea what the hell I'm supposed to look like.

Still, just to make sure, I tentatively raise my hand and press it against the glass. My reflection mimics me, staring back at me passively, and I sigh, looking down and away from myself before turning on the tap and washing my hands quickly, then I snatch a paper towel, wiping my hands dry and tossing it out. I leave just as some old lady enters.

And I keep thinking that maybe I'll get used to it, that I just haven't even after all this time. The doctors say I won't, though. That no known cure for this exists. That I'll always look into the mirror and wonder who the hell is the girl staring back at me who has the same body proportions, markings and hair but a stranger's face. That I'll always look at my parents, my siblings, my friends and wonder how these people know me, because I don't recognize them.

Jacket thrown over my forearm, I leisurely stroll back over to the counter, checking the time on my cell phone. Hmm, I've been out long enough. I'll just grab something real quick for my little brother Quentin and walk back home. So I step into the line and wait patiently.

And I keep thinking that maybe this is just a joke, as if God is spitting on me. But I remember that night so clearly, even if I don't remember people's faces anymore. The lingering smell of a mixture of alcohol and Dolce and Gabbana Light Blue hanging in the air. Wading through the throngs of dancing, drunk people who want nothing to do but make out with complete strangers. Stumbling up the stairwells, pretty tipsy myself. The world slips and slides. Lights dance in my eyes, but it probably wasn't my imagination. Dubstep played from the speakers, so loud that the heavy bass seemed to thud and resonate in my chest. Leaning against a wall for support, I staggered down the somewhat-deserted hall, yelling things. I forgot what. Going to the first door I saw. Even before I opened it, there was this sick feeling in my stomach. Like a bizarre twisting. It kind of hurt.

"Back for some more, aren't you?" a cute blond boy behind the counter asks, giving a little smile. I return it, even though I don't know who the hell he is and what the hell he's talking about. I can't even recall when we had last seen each other, though since this is my first time here, I must have bought my coffee from him twenty minutes ago.

"Yeah," I say lamely. It's not like I don't enjoy talking to people-in fact, I don't mean to brag, but I used to be a terrific conversationalist back at my old town-but ever since that accident, well, having a nice little chat with people isn't the same. It's not that the people here are different, because I've learned quickly that they can carry on a pleasant conversation just as terrifically as the people over there, but I just want it to end now. Because honestly, it's a small town, and if someone I've talked to on the street or something comes across me again-which isn't unlikely-well, I wouldn't even know who the fuck they are. And I don't want to offend anyone. It's awful, it really is.

The boy doesn't meet my eyes, looking a bit sheepish. Shy boys are adorable; the old Mackenzie would have brazenly removed the pen in my pocket and written my number onto his arm. Well-giving him my number and talking to him on the phone wouldn't be a problem even now, but I'd hate to go on a date with him-if we would ever gotten that far-and then ask him who he is. Needless to say it would be embarrassing on my part as well. I can't trust myself anymore.