Hunter (Supernatural Fanfic)

Aria's Journal- Entry 1

Dear... Sam and Kristina, I guess, seeing as those are the only two names I remember.

My name is Aria. No last name, no middle name. I don't even know if Aria is short for something. All Abbadon told me is that I'm Aria. I don't even know why I'm writing this, to be honest. I just felt compelled to write everything down. 

My head hurts. Just a constant pounding. It feels fuzzy, too, like I've been sleeping for too long. I know that something isn't right. That I don't belong here. That I'm supposed to be somewhere else. 

Abbadon says that I have to start training soon. She says that she found me alone, injured in the woods. That I was alone. She said that she knew me, who I was. She told me that I trusted her enemy, and they deceived me. I'm not sure if I believe her. I don't know what I was doing before, what I did to make them deceive me like that, but I know that I'm not a bad person. I feel like whatever I was doing, it wasn't bad.

But what do I know, right? I'm just an amnesiac. 

It's occurred to me that Abbadon, though a bit odd, must not be all that bad. She brought me in, healed my wounds, sheltered me. I was her enemy, and yet she took me in when I was down. 

I wonder what it is that we were fighting about. I hope I wasn't part of some international drug cartel or cult. 

The marking on my arm isn't normal. Sometimes, if I get frustrated, it lights up and burns. A friendly pain, but pain none the less.  

I found a tattoo the other day, on my hip. It was some kind of satanic symbol. There was a cut across it, too. It wasn't accidental- it was a clean cut, made by a smooth blade. I was wondering about it.

Sam. Kristina. I obviously loved you both, because I feel a pain in my chest every time your names float to mind. I know that  you, Sam, are a man. When I think of you, I think of a beach, and a dog, and a car. And Kristina, you must be a young girl, because I see blond hair, and dolls. But when I try to dig deeper, I get a white-hot pain in the front of my brain, momentarily blinding me. 

I hope I can squeeze something out of Abbadon tomorrow. That's my only hope of remembering.