no savior.

nobody

Layne's POV

I open the notebook and look at the date on the entry. It's the January before we moved into the city. I flip forward. That summer of us moving. Starting school. Everything begins to fill in in my head. I remember moving. My mom's sickness. The new house.

Momma....

I check the date. Others didn't start like that did they? Nope. I check the date again. August. Right about when we'd finished moving the openings switched for "Dear Nobody" to "Dear Momma." I pick an entry from right after Thanksgiving, where my memories become untrustworthy.

Dear Momma,

Kaylie Jane Parker is possibly the best and the worst fucking person to ever walk the Earth. Because how can you play so many games? How can you be so oblivious? How can you fuck with a girl's feelings that much? And then stroll into her damn kitchen on any given Sunday and sit down and eat dinner with her mom like it's nothing?

How fucked up do you have to be to do that?

I flip back a little. Kaylie Jane Parker. A part of my brain gets excited. I sort of remember that. But not really. I find the first entry that mentions her.

Dear Momma,

The girl from down the street has a name. Kaylie Jane Parker.

I go back a few more entries, seeing what I first say about "the girl from down the street."

Dear Momma,

One day I'm gonna fuck the shit out of the girl from down the street. This is not up for debate.

I hear the lock jingle and jump off the couch. Even though I've only read my own thoughts, I feel like I've done something wrong. Like this is cheating. When I was released, Dr. Kang had said that eventually my memory would heal, and I might gain a few back, but otherwise not to dwell in the past. Focus on recovering and moving forward.

But here I was, reading the thoughts of my seventeen year old self. Full of life. Youth. With friends. Possibly a love interest.

"Layne?" I hurry back into my room and throw the book into my nightstand.

"Hey," Dil peeks in and I fake a yawn, as if waking up from a nap.

"Hey," I stretch, "You just get in?"

"Yeah," He pulls out a brown paper bag, "Hungry?

"Sure," I exhale a long held breath and check to see if the notebook is still where I left it, as if it could've disappeared from my life just as quickly as it appeared.

I head into the kitchen where Dil is setting up in the kitchen. I grab a seat just as the boy toy known as Druett-- or Dru-- walks in.

"Hey," he greets us, and takes a seat next to me, "Hey Sunshine."

"Hey, short stop," I reply.

He ruffles the top of my head, messing it up in the process. Dil serves everyone a cheese steak and sits down himself, still towering over us at the table. I glance at the two men in front of me, whispering to each other about how the other's day went. I look at the my brother, caramel skin and neatly style curls, interacting with his lover, Dru. Long golden hair pulled into a messy man bun. Dil absent mindedly reaches out to brush hair from his face before they both return to eating.

At some point, that was me with somebody. Maybe?

"Did people like me before?" I ask, breaking their moment.

They both jump and exchange a look, "Did you remember something?"

Dil kicks Dru under the table, before speaking himself, "Why are you asking?"

"I don't know," I shrug. Because I found a notebook chronically my life before my coma and it says I was in love and had friends and now I feel like you're lying to me.

"When I was in the hospital you and Dr. Kang kept bragging about how much I was loved and how funny and smart I am and yet nobody talks to me but you, Aunt Saf and the fucking dog. I was in school for a little. Why didn't anyone text me to see if I was okay? Why didn't I get flowers? Cards? I get I was in the coma awhile but damn. I didn't have one person who cared enough to check on me?"

They exchange another look and I continue, "I was in school. I didn't have any classmates?"

"You got in a fight and were put out before you made many friends," Dil responds.

"Okay but who was I fighting? Like for what? Obviously someone had me agitated about something? There should be a paper trail, right? Angry texts? Facebook statuses? I mean I was seventeen I should've had social media, right?"

"How am I supposed to know I wasn't at your school?" he snaps, "I was busy with school at the time I don't know how you expect me to know!"

I recoil and stuff my questions back into my pocket, "Okay sorry, shit. Sorry to bother you with my memory loss."

He exhales, "Layne, wait--"

I stand up, excusing myself from the table, leaving my food mostly untouched. I head back to my room and close the door before grabbing the notebook back out and going to analyze it again. 

Dear Mama,

I wish Dil didn't act so strong sometimes-- Like it's his duty to save everybody. He's allowed to be sad and hurt but I don't think he knows that. When he comes off  as strong he's actually coming off as a  big doche-bag and next time he pulls that bullshit I'm gonna shoot him.

There's a sound of scratches at the door and I go to open it. It's Dil, featuring Max whimpering to be put down, clearly feeling as played as I am.

"I didn't think you'd answer to a human knocking," he shrugs, "Can we talk?"

I roll my eyes, attitude flaring, "Why? So you can not tell me anything? As always?"

"I'm not trying to be mean but--"

"But what? You act like I'll die if I find out about my past. Like what's the worst that can happen?"

He pauses and I scoff, "Okay, wow brother... Dismissed."

I close the door in his face and resume my spot on the bed. If Dil isn't gonna talk to me about my past-- I'll just have to talk to myself about it.