Forgotten

Chapter Four

Chapter Four

For me, there is only you.

Reading those six little words over and over again, I still can't figure out what they mean. Part of me wonders if this note is even meant for me. But, somehow, I know it is. Strangely enough- I can feel it. What I can't figure out is who would write something like this to me.

Callen?

No, I don't think so.

Whatever the words mean, they resonate within me and I know there has to be a deeper meaning behind them. I just wish I knew what it was. That, however, hasn't stopped me from carrying the little slip of paper around in the front pocket of my jeans. Almost compulsively, I take it out every few minutes to read, hoping that the meaning will suddenly click within my brain because, oddly, I feel as if it should make sense. There's a strange urgency to the words. I feel them coursing... no, pounding through my veins like the steady pulse of a drumbeat.

I don't understand it but it's as if my mind is trying to uncover something, or perhaps bring something to the surface. Like I have amnesia or something. Which is completely ridiculous. It doesn't make sense that I can remember every single detail about my life but this one thing that suddenly feels more important than anything else.

So I do the only thing I can- I continue staring with narrowed eyes trying to... I don't even know what I'm trying to do anymore. Frustrated, I fold it up once more before carefully pushing it back into the depths of my pocket.

Restlessly I drum my fingers on my desk as my AP History teacher drones on...

And on...

And then on some more...

But it's no use- I can't focus. It's like he's speaking a foreign language I've never heard before. My eyes are fastened on him but it isn't long before they're blurring and he's swimming before me once again. And then it's only a matter of minutes before my restless mind starts rehashing what happened in the woods with the boy and the connection that flowed between us.

Who is he?

The note has to be from him. Who else could it be from? Almost relentlessly I keep turning it over and over in my mind until I feel like my head could very possibly explode.

And then I'm once again pulling the folded note out of my pocket for what feels like the hundredth time today. Once my fingers touch the paper, the carefully written words, something within me stills. Calms. Even though it's only been two days, the once crisp piece of paper already feels old and worn. As I stare at it, I can't help but run my fingers slowly across each letter wondering about the person who wrote it.

Will touching each carefully made stroke somehow help me to understand why it was written to me?

Because it doesn't.

I must mean something to him.

But what?

How are we linked to one another?

And how can we possibly be connected, if I don't even know who he is?

Questions. Nothing but questions. My fingers smooth over the paper again. More frustrating than that- there are no answers. None.

Closing my eyes, I think back to the night in the woods when he stood behind me, covering my eyes. I knew something different was happening, unfolding around me.

Unfolding within me.

I told myself it was Callen.

I wanted it to be Callen.