My Happiest Memory - Boyf Riends AU -

1.1 How to forget who you are

Jeremy Heere. Twenty one.  Male.

That was all that I could remember.

I am Jeremy Heere, aged twenty one and born too Paul Heere and Lucy Heere, who divorced while I was younger. Paul, my father, died of cancer two years ago. Lucy, my mother, left me our family long before that - back when I was a child.

That's the information that was given to me by the doctors when I woke up.

That as well as the information that the reason I couldn't remember anything was because I had amnesia. Why I had amnesia? Because of a car crash.

When I asked for more information about myself, they couldn't give me any.

Simply because they themselves did not know who I was either, except that I had always lived in the area. They could find out things about me though, if I wanted, but it would take time.

I accepted, but until they managed to get the information for me - I had to go home and continue living my life. The only problem was, I didn't know where home was exactly. Which is why the doctors also told me my address - and gave me my few belongings back.

My belongings showed no key to my identity either - my phone had been broken in the crash and I my wallet only had the information the doctors had already told me (including my phone number, but that was useless now, wasn't it?).

I had to continue living my life - and that meant I had to start from scratch.

Going to my 'home' was a very surreal experience. I walked inside the house and was surrounded by unfamiliar things, yet, strangely familiar at the same time.

I clicked my tongue as I thought this, realising my life had literally become a oxymoron.

I set about searching my house for any clues on what I had been doing before I lost my memories and who exactly I was.

I didn't find anything immediately, a lot of things were still in boxes seemingly waiting to be unpacked - which I assumed meant that I had probably just moved into the house. This was confirmed when I found a mountain of paper work tucked away in a drawer. 

I kept looking around. There was no pictures, no diaries, nothing. No tell-tale clues that would give away everything about me.

I did search the boxes as well of course, but it seemed as though I had brought as little things as possible with me, as only the essentials were in the boxes.

Things were online nowadays anyway, the old me probably just saved everything on there and assumed I'd be able to print out old photos anyway. Though, for current day me - this wasn't the best choice old me had ever made.

Though who knows, it could be one of the better ones considering I had no idea what choices I've made before. Because - as I can't stress it enough - I don't have the slightest clue who I am. Not even a rough idea.

If I did have any hobbies, I must've either abandoned them or thrown any evidence of them away because I found nothing interesting at all in my bedroom or in the packed boxes.

As the day drew to a close, I had at least managed to get to know my house a little. 

Though, I still was no closer to finding out anything about me.

I sighed, collapsing down on my bed. Then, it hit me. A shocking realisation that shook me too the core. One that really settled in the fact that I had forgotten who I was.

I didn't know what I looked like.

I slowly sat up, my hand clutching the side of my face. What did I look like? I ruffled my hair. It was messy, a strange mixture of curly and straight from what I could tell. I flipped a piece in front of my eyes so I could see the colour. Brown, okay, well, that was a start.

The empty feeling of not knowing who I was or what I looked like settled in my chest, a horrible, gut-wrenching panic that I really had no idea who I was.

My breathing rapidly increased, raising alongside my ever-growing panic that I didn't know who I was.

I jumped to my feet, I couldn't take this. I had to find out more about me. I had to try and start to remember.

I raced into the bathroom, knowing that there was a mirror above the sink. I slammed the door of the bathroom behind me, nearly slipping over on the floor in my socks.

I stared at myself. I stared at me. I stared at Jeremy Heere. I stared at twenty one year old Jeremy Heere who's father was dead and who's mother had left him as a child.

He had messy brown hair, with misty blue eyes. He had large purple bags under his eyes, eyes that looked empty. He was pale, freckles covered his cheeks. Lips chapped, expression unreadable - He, no, I looked exhausted. 

I stared at Jeremy Heere.

I stared at me.

I stared at a stranger.