Forget Me Not

Chapter 9

As we drive back into town, I watch out of the window. I didn't quite know what to say to everyone other than I'm sorry. I feel bad. I lost my memory and I am seeming to be losing my mind in the process. It sucks, you know? It sucks real hard not knowing who to trust or who you were and weren't close with. I look up to the front seat where Liz is sitting. She has a map in her hands and is shuffling through it.

"Cam, I am almost positive we passed this place at least twenty-two times now." She states. He inhales, his head shaking and his eyes fixed tightly on the road.

"Liz, I know where we are and where we are going." He replies.

"Okay, but that white house on the left hand side of the street with the church right in front of it says otherwise." Her tongue clicks to the back of her mouth as she continues to try to find our position on the map. She probably could if she even knew where we were in the first place. We ran through woods and stayed over night in a haunted house. Shoot, I'd be lost if I even could remember anything.

We passed the white house Liz described two more times before Cameron stopped at a gas station. Liz's lips were pursed tightly together as she looks to Cameron. Her thin eyebrows are raised up onto her forehead.

"Okay," he says defensively. "We're lost."

"Thank you Sherlock," The sarcasm hung in the air as if all proper responses left the building along with Elvis and his Pelvis.

Cameron looks towards Liz, sighing in defeat.

"Why don't we go ask for help?" I speak up which causes the two heads up front to whip back and look at me. "What?" I ask. "I'm just saying.. I-I'm sorry," I look down. I notice a hand on my thigh soon after as if it were to comfort me. I need my pills, and a lot of them. There was a ringing in the air. High pitched and annoying.

"I need to get gas anyways," A voice said through the ringing. Lip reaches back and hands me some money, asking me of all of us to go inside and buy some food and get directions back into town. My body shuffled out of the car without protest and my legs walk one after the other into the gas station. I can swear my body is moving yet I feel like I'm floating through the clouds - like I'm on a boat rocking back and fourth. I walk over to the counter and lean my small body over it, my arms wrapping against my upper body.

The ringing is still there.

"That ringing is so annoying," I say. The guy behind the counter turn back to me and chuckles.

"What ringing?" He asks as his muscular body walks over to me. He leans forward in front of me. He tilts his head to the side. "What can I help you with?"

"Candy bars and directions," I respond plainly.

"Okay, I'll give you the directions first," he says sweetly. "Are you okay though ma'am?"

"No, I have really bad memory," I say. It wasn't like I was lying - I did lose my memory. "Yearn yeah.. I'm fine."

He walks away, for a moment my world fades to black and there's a loud thud that shocks me out of my day dream. Except, I'm on the ground. I try to imagine how I got on the ground when I was just standing up. Then realization hits me: I am actually on the ground with the cashier guy hovering over me. I just passed out. For a moment, the ringing was still there and my head was fuzzy. I feel sick to my stomach and want to be home now more than ever.

Then, as if on cue, it stopped and I was back on my feet.

"Are you sure you're okay?" He asks. My eyes shift to his name tag. Greg. When I don't respond, cashier boy wraps his arm around my waist and sits me down on a chair nearby. He hands me a water and opens it, then buys a small pack of Advil and hands me them. "Take some of these, it'll help," his voice remained soft.

Chivalry does exist. I swallow the blue, liquid pill and finish the rest of the water then inhale. "Thanks," I murmur. After an hour or so, we got directions and made our way back into town. Hopefully, we don't get lost again.

"What happened back there?" Liz asks, her eyes shifting back to me. I passed out from all of the stress you seem to be putting me under. I say. To myself, of course. I sigh, looking back to her. I couldn't say what happened. I was standing and then I was just not.

"Maybe she's not eating correctly," Cameron interjects. "Or her brain injury is more severe than we knew."

Let's go with not eating. Sounds less harmful. Then again, so does remembering but we all can't get what we want.

Shut up, Megan, you know you're hungry.

Did I just have a conversation with myself in my own head? I sigh again and look out the window. My arms wrapped around my stomach as it growls in hunger. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Cameron's grin in the rear view mirror.

----

Once we finally got back home, I step out of the car. The door slams shut behind me as my feet trudge up the steep slope.

The key unlocks the front door and instantly, I feel relaxed. Liz is behind me, yapping on about how Cameron should've just listened to her from the start. I tuned her out about three miles back. I go over to the leather sofa and fall back into it - a knitted blanket wrapping around me and surrounding me in warmth. Liz went to go clean herself up and fix us up a cup of hot chocolate and ginger snap cookies. I look through my phone again - picture number 314.

There's a new sensation coming over me. A warm, fuzzy and kind one. Much like the one I felt when I first saw the photo. Obviously, we were in love. I can tell by the way he's holding my waist and the way my arms are around his neck. I can tell by the way I'm on my tiptoes to reach his height. I can tell by the faint, but there, smile that's on his face. I longed for this - and I don't even remember him. I don't remember his likes or his dislikes. I don't remember what he sounds like or if he can play guitar, piano or drums. I don't know what he sounds like in the morning and I don't know what he sounds like before bed. I don't know him angry, sad or when he's full of remorse or when he's as happy as can be. I don't know if he's happy or miserable. I don't know his favorite color or favorite food or what he likes to do. There's so much I don't know about him and about me and about us.

Yet, I feel like I know him. I feel like I know every single part of him. I can almost feel his arms around my waist.

I look up when I hear Liz set the glass down on the wooden table in front of me. I lean forward and grab the cup, taking a sip and leaning back in my position.

"I know I probably ask this way too much," Liz speaks, looking to me as her rosy lips pull back from the Rudolph coffee mug. "But are you okay?"

I pause for a moment. Am I okay? I can't tell. Other than my head being foggy from passing out earlier to looking at stupid photo 314 and my heart racing about thirty miles per hour, I feel fine. But fine is always my answer. I am fine. I am fine, I am fine. Never anything different or new, just fine.

But I'm not fine. I've repeated this lie for over three months. Hell, even when I was in the hospital I repeated this lie. Everyone knows i'm not fine, everyone knows this.

My head is now spinning in oceans of thoughts and confusion, fishing for an answer almost as if I were a fisherman looking for the best catch.

"I want to see him," I hear myself say out of nowhere. My eyes widen as it clicks in my brain that I spoke without thinking. Liz's face went from dormant to soft in a moment.

"Who?"

Well, might as well get this over with. "Ryan," I say. "I want to see Ryan."