summer

eight- loss

"Baby, nothing's wrong with you, you're just-"

"No, Mom, you don't understand!" Dylan interrupted, pulling back to meet her eyes. "When- when me and Sawyer were in the park, he was talking about when we were friends as kids. Is that true? Did I know him when we were little?"

"Yes, of course. I told you about that earlier," she said, confusion painting her expression.

"I thought you meant I'd met him once or twice at some point when I was tiny! He was saying he lived around here, and you worked with his mom, and we were best friends! Did that really happen?"

"Of course it did, Dy- I don't..." she trailed off, her confusion turning into worry. His fears confirmed, Dylan felt a new wave of tears threaten to overpower him.

"Mom, I don't-" he hiccuped, rubbing his eyes. "I don't remember anything! I didn't- I didn't realize it- but I can hardly remember anything from when I was a kid! It's all patchy, and I don't-" he closed his mouth and covered his face with his hands.

"Dy, are you..?" His mother started. "I don't- you weren't in a car crash or anything. You never got any head injuries. I don't understand how that could happen," she said, lost. "Are you being serious?"

"Of course I am!" Dylan cried. "Are you sure that I didn't get any physical head injuries? Are you sure?" He pushed, eyes wide.

"I'm definite. Dylan, I don't-" anxiety filled her large brown eyes, a perfect match of Dylan's. "I mean, you hit your head once or twice, but nothing serious enough for us to even go to the doctor," she said, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I'll call Dr. Nussbaum, okay? We'll figure this out."

"Okay," Dylan replied, lower lip trembling. "Okay."

>><<

Dylan collapsed onto his bed once again, burying his face in his pillow. He felt tears coming back but tried his hardest to hold them in, he didn't want to cry. He never cried. He'd started believing he couldn't anymore, but now knew different. Closing his eyes as tightly as he could, he pressed and hand over his mouth to keep from sobbing.

"Can I come in?" Asked someone from the other side of the door.

"Go away, Sawyer," groaned Dylan, rubbing his eyes and rolling onto his back.

"You know I won't do that," said Sawyer, opening the door slightly.

"Whatever," sighed Dylan, facing the other wall so Sawyer couldn't see his face. He heard the door click as Sawyer sat on the bed next to him, feeling it tilt slightly under his weight.

"Are you okay? I heard yelling," Sawyer asked.

"Yeah. Just arguing with my mom," he shortly replied.

"About?" Dylan rolled his eyes, trying to steady his voice.

"My brother," he replied, lying. Opening up to Sawyer about this mysterious missing memory thing more than he already had seemed a horrific feat.

"What about your brother?"

"She wants me to be like him." Though his story wasn't the whole truth, it definitely held facts.

"Well, I like you the way you are," Sawyer gently spoke.

"You've never met Eric. He's the star of the football team, all good grades, sweet and charismatic, popular, everything I'm not," Dylan said with a dry laugh. Sawyer was quiet for a bit, but then sighed.

"Dylan. I can hear your voice shaking." Dylan bit his lip, squeezing his eyes shut. "Look at me," Sawyer whispered, scooting closer to him as Dylan shook his head. "Dylan, it's okay. Look at me." He rolled onto his back but kept his eyes staring up at the ceiling, refusing to look at Sawyer despite the obvious tears staining his pale face. "Oh, man. That whole brother thing really bothered you, huh? I meant what I said, I like-"

"Sawyer, that's not it," Dylan added, his voice shaking even more badly now.

"What do you mean?"

"Sawyer, my mom- I talked with her. About it. The memory thing, I mean," he said, his words coming out a mess. Pushing himself into a sitting position, he turned to look at Sawyer, who met his eyes with expectant worry. "She- she said that I never got a head injury as a kid. I wasn't concussed or anything."

"So..?"

"So that means that this memory thing isn't physical!" He cried, bursting into tears again.

"Hey-" Sawyer started, moving towards him, but Dylan pulled away.

"I was researching memory loss last night, and Sawyer, a cause of it is severe childhood trauma." Dylan looked up at his eyes, tears pouring down his cheeks. "What if- what if something happened to me? What if someone did something to me? I can't- I can't even fucking remember it!" He hiccuped, holding the sides of his head and staring off at nothing. "I can't remember."

"Dylan," Sawyer said, placing his hands on his knees. "Oh, Dylan. I'm so sorry. I'm so so sorry. It's okay. We will figure this out, I promise. It's okay."

>><<

After at least an hour of awkward silence- Dylan trying to sleep, Sawyer doing nothing- Dylan was quite confused.

      "Why are you still here?" Asked Dylan, glancing over at Sawyer. They sat on opposite sides of the bed, Sawyer fiddling with his hands while Dylan attempted and failed to fall asleep.

       "I don't want to leave you alone right now." Dylan snorted and rolled his eyes.

      "I'm fine, Sawyer. It's whatever," he sighed, pinching his nose like his mother always did.

       "Dylan, you were sobbing earlier."

      "I'm fine," he spat, growing angry. Sawyer sighed, pulling his knees to his chest.

       "I just don't want to leave you alone, Dy."

       "Whatever."

      "Is that okay?"

        "Whatever."

       "Stop saying whatever."

      "Whatever." Sawyer sighed at Dylan's responses, his mouth a thin line.

      "Do you want me to leave?"

       "Yes."

      "Okay, then," he said, sliding off of Dylan's bed. "Just- if you need me, I'm-"

      "Yeah, Sawyer, I know," Dylan groaned, exhausted. He was so drained of everything that even speaking seemed a Herculean task.

       "Okay," Sawyer mumbled. "Bye."

Dylan didn't respond.