There's nothing you're forced to trust more than your own mind. You're dependent on it, it stores the memories that make up your world.
But what if it could be stolen from you?
Aspen's world is growing, from the boundaries of her country farm to...
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Isaac's eyes were the trait that had first lured me in. Maybe it was the depth, or the astonishing crystal blue contrasting to his dark lashes. Maybe it was the way they'd almost begged to meet my own.
Now they were doubtful. Above them, thick brows pulled together, creasing his skin where they met.
"Please don't think I'm crazy," I whispered.
Although I was sure I wouldn't be able to do it, the moment I had his focus the words had slid through easily. It would have been so easy to take them back. To feed him more excuses about homesickness or stress. But I didn't, I couldn't, it was lured out of me with the selfish desire to free myself from isolation.
"Wait," Isaac said, rubbing his hands over his eyes. The food in the kitchen was long forgotten, the small television on the wall muted and the wooden table between us growing smaller. "Aspen, this is-"
"Crazy. Crazy, I know." My tone wasn't weak, or tentative. It was understanding. Again, I was reminded of the nervous wreck I was with him only weeks ago, but something in me had awakened. Or maybe something in me had grown up, become old and wise with the terrors I'd experienced.
But I needed him to believe me. Even if it was only for a second.
"I don't know what to say," he said, and I realised that he almost looked scared. Maybe he was holding back, not wanting to offend me by laughing in my face.
"You haven't seen Evan, have you?" I pressed, willing him to see the evidence. Though I'd left out the most gruesome parts of my experience with Professor Blackwood, the fate of his friend was what I knew would strike him most.
Isaac narrowed his eyes and pressed his fingertips to his temples. "I haven't. But that doesn't mean he's captured by our psychology teacher."
My teeth gritted together. It made sense, it was only logical that he found flaws in my explanation. He needed to grapple with it, to really believe it.
"What about our lessons?" I asked, "What about that first day we met, when you came to the lecture. What do you remember?"
I was hoping he'd say he didn't remember. That he was like me. But he stared at me blankly.
"What do you remember?" I repeated hoarsely, my shoulders slumping in defeat.
"It was a normal lesson, Aspen," he said, his tone filled with sympathy.
"No it wasn't," I said, desperation lacing my tone. "It wasn't, Isaac. You can remember it, you can, you just have to push through it and remember-"
"There's nothing to remember," he said, cutting me off. "What you're saying is crazy. You think he cast some magical spell that made all of us forget?"
