by Mary Martel
I’d been dead to the world for weeks, or so they tell me, and Anna May had been out of her mind with worry not knowing where I was. I had freshly healed scars on my body that I’ve got no recollection of receiving in the first damn place, not to mention what feels like a tear in my heart. No one could explain what had happened to me. I’d been told by the hospital staff that someone had found me like that by the side of the highway. Funny, no one seemed to know who the stranger was.
Nothing added up to me. The people around me went on acting as though everything that that’d happened to me (whatever the hell that actually was) was perfectly normal.
And nothing for me was normal. Absolutely nothing. Not one damn thing.
My world had been flipped upside down, and the kicker was that I’ve got no idea as to why. Or, how?
I used to wake up in the middle of the night filled with terror because I dreamed of my sick Aunt and a depraved priest. Now I dream of darkness and a different kind of pain, this one in my chest. In my chest exactly where my scar is. A scar whose origin I have no idea of. A pain in my face where I have another, albeit significantly smaller, scar.
But, I’m sure I dream of it. I know I do, I just can’t seem to remember what it is that I’m dreaming of. Or what. Or why. Or who. Or, freaking any damn thing for that matter.
The situation left me feeling extremely frustrated. And scared And a whole myriad of other not so good feelings.
“Maybe going out will be good for you. Maybe you’ll even meet a hot guy who’ll flirt shamelessly with your pretty ass and buy your drinks for the night. That’d perk me up. Hell, that’d probably perk any single girl in your situation up.”
Leave it to boy crazy Anna May to think that would be just the thing to drag me out of what she calls my funk.
For some unknown reason the thought of a strange man hitting on me and shamelessly flirting with me was not a pleasant thought. As a matter of fact, I find it downright repulsive. Which, if I’m being honest scares me even more. And I have no idea as to why.
Why would this repulse me so?
What had really happened to me and why can’t I remember?
I know I hadn’t been attacked by an animal. I don’t know how I know this, I just know that I do. I know it down to my bones.
If only I could just remember. This not knowing drives me crazy, it consumes my every waking thought.
“Shay?”
“I don’t want to go out,” I tell her honestly.
Normally my beloved roommate is a whole lot less persistent when it comes to me. Since my return from the hospital it’s like a switch has been flipped on her personality and I have no idea who this Anna May is. And, honestly, as much as I love her (and I do love her. A whole lot.) I don’t care much for this new development in her personality.
She’s never pushed me to do things I didn’t want to do before. Going out has never really been my thing. I’m not anti-social exactly, I just don’t make friends as easily as she does. And the meager friends I do have are ones I’ve made through her friendship with theme first. I’ve gone out to bars with them on the weekends, mostly Lush since it’s always been a favorite, and I’ve hung out with them when they’ve camped out in our living room to watch whatever crap tv show Anna May was obsessed with at the time.
But, I’ve never been able to form any lasting bonds with anyone other than Anna May. Mostly I never even tried because I’ve never really felt like I’ve fit in with anyone, or anywhere. Whenever the errant thoughts of one of our mutual friends’ creeps into my head it always serves as a reminder – I’m an outsider, different from them, and I’ll never be the same. No matter how hard I try to pretend to be normal, to pretend I’m like everyone else, I’m not and I never will be.
“Shay,” Anna May snaps at me from the doorway.
Sighing heavily I give in and agree to go out with her if for no other reason than to get her off my back.
I watch my beautiful, blonde bombshell of a best friend grin at me happily before she turns and strolls out of my room in triumph.
Seeing her walk away, so happy at bending me to her will, something inside me snaps, breaking apart and crumbling at the seams.
I’ve outgrown this place, outgrown her.
I don’t belong here. I belong somewhere else, with someone else.
You belong with him.
That thought, not my own, slithers through my mind for what seems to be the hundredth time since coming home from the hospital.
If only I knew who the thought belonged too, or who it is I’m supposed to belong with.
Who are you, mystery man, and why do I feel so lost without you when I have no idea who you are in the first place?
Left with a whole slew of questions and no answers to them I sigh in frustration before getting up off my bed and head towards the bathroom to take a shower.
*****
“Let’s dance,” Anna May yells in my ear loud enough to be heard over the music and the room full of drunk, obnoxiously loud people.
This had been a monumentally bad idea, and wherever it is my backbone had run off to I needed to locate it immediately so I can scrape off my BFF, get the heck out of here, and go home to my quiet apartment.
“Shay, are you even listening to me?”
Great, now she’s annoyed with me. Just what I need right now.
“I don’t want to dance so I’m not going to. As a matter of fact, I think it’s time for me to head home.”
Ah, there it is, my backbone. Finally.
I never wanted to dance, which is why I never did it. Men always came along and ruined it by touching me and trying to rub their bodies up against mine.
Just thinking about it is enough to make my skin crawl. I hate it when people I don’t know touch me. Hell, I don’t much care for it when people I do know touch me. It makes me uncomfortable.
Anna May is very well aware of my feelings on the matter because she’s the only person I never hesitate to share my feelings with when it comes to all things.
“What’s your problem, Shayne?” She slurs at me.
Shit. Not good.
An intoxicated Anna May could be highly unpredictable. This one, the one with a brand new personality seems to be even more so. Still… enough is enough. She’d been extra pushy with me for damn near a month. And I’d let her be. I’d been lost inside my head, searching for something just outside of my grasp, completely consumed by memories lost to me. I’d done nothing, not one single freaking thing, to warrant her over the top aggressive behavior.
And, frankly, I’ve had more than enough of it.
“Right now you’re my problem.”
Her clear blue eyes frost into hard chips of ice before she snarls at me, “Excuse me?”
I desperately want to explain it to her. All of it. The disquiet I feel over not being able to remember what happened to me. The insane longing I feel whenever I see the scars on my neck and inside my thigh. Sometimes before I can stop my fingers, as if they have a mind of their own, I find myself gently tracing the outline of the scar on my neck. Gently and lovingly. Then I will catch sight of the scar running between my breasts and it has a polar opposite effect on me. A cold so bitter it’s bone numbing seeps into my skin, leaving me momentarily paralyzed and terrified.
I want to tell her how empty I feel, almost as if a huge part of me is missing and now that it’s gone I’m damaged beyond repair.
I want to tell her about my telepathy…
My telepathy.
Wait, my what?
I had never, not once, referred to it as telepathy before, never even considered it to be the same thing. Yet, when I think about it it’s almost natural for me to call it telepathy. Natural. Normal. Fucking bizarre.
No way can I tell her any of this, she’ll have me committed and when I get out I will go home to find she’s got boxes filled with all my shit waiting on the curb for me and all the locks will be changed.
“Forget about it,” I mutter. “I
’m going to call it a night and head home.”
Maybe with her Debby Downer ass no longer at my side I will get laid tonight. God, Shayne, when did she become so freaking pathetic?
I flinch at her unspoken words. I can’t help it. They freaking hurt.
Without a word I climb off my barstool and walk away. She calls out after me and I quickly increase my pace.
When had I become so freaking pathetic?
Christ, the nerve of her.
I’m not the one who dropped out of school a year shy of graduation. I’m not the one relying on Mommy and Daddy to pay my bills while I go out to the bar every weekend to pick up strangers to have sex with. And the only reason she doesn’t go out and find random men to hook up with on the weekdays is because she recently started sleeping with her shit hot boss after she’s off the clock.
Up until this point I’ve never once judged her decisions. Worried about her, absolutely. But judged her for them, never. I’ve always, but always, accepted her with an open mind and an open heart.
And now, for what it’s been worth, she finds me pathetic.
Hell, maybe she’s right. Maybe I am pathetic.
I’ve spent the last month wallowing in a grief I don’t understand. I leave my apartment to go to work and that’s about it. And when I’m not working I lock myself up in my bedroom. I’ve lost weight. I’ve got dark circles under my eyes. I’m moody and I don’t even understand why because I can’t fucking remember.
If only I could remember. I know if I could just remember what had happened to me I would feel better about everything. Absolutely everything.
I wouldn’t feel so damn empty if I could just remember. I wouldn’t feel so lost, so bereft. Maybe knowing would make me feel whole again.
I want that. To feel whole. To feel like I’m not missing pieces of myself.
I make it to where I parked my Jeep and head home. Screw Anna May, she can find her own damn ride home. Maybe she can even find one with someone who’s not as pathetic as I am.
My own thoughts cause unease to fill me. I’m not a spiteful person. I’m not a mean person. I’m not a judgmental person. I’m not a bad person. I do not want to be this hatful person who thinks this way about their best friend.
I’ve heard her thoughts before a million times and they haven’t always been nice but I’ve always powered though it. Her private thoughts weren’t mine to have and even if I did not like hearing what she had to think I never once held it against her. I let it go and moved on. I never allowed myself to feel spiteful before, it would have been an unfair reaction from me when she doesn’t even know what I’m capable of. If she did she would probably be a whole lot more guarded around me. To say the least.
So why, all of a sudden, am I acting out on things I’ve always kept a tight hold on?
Not having an answer to my many questions and no longer wishing to speculate it I park my Jeep at the curb in front of my apartment building and climb out.
An orange and white U-Haul truck takes up most of the driveway. It had been there earlier when we left for the night but I’d been so lost in my own head I hadn’t paid it any notice.
We must be getting new neighbors.
The two other apartments in the old building besides our apartment are vacant and had been for some time. Guess one’s not anymore.
No, they haven’t. You have to remember.
Yes, they have.
Haven’t they?
No, wait. What?
Dammit.
Why would I think that? What’s wrong with me? Am I going crazy? What the hell is wrong with me?
No matter how much time passes, if you remember, you must return to him – to us. It could be days, weeks, years – if you remember you return. He’ll be waiting for you and we’ll all be praying for your return. Without you he will spend the rest of his life alone and mateless. Please, you must –
I freeze and a shiver races down my spine. Those thoughts are most definitely not my own. My body comes unstuck and I whirl around on the front steps searching for the person who the thoughts belong to.
No one.
Nothing but an empty, quiet street greets me.
No one.
I’m all alone and going fucking crazy.
No matter how much time passes, if you remember, you must return to him – to us.
Yes, definitely crazy.
There’s no one out here but me.
Something occurs to me. Just because it’s not the thoughts of a person right now doesn’t mean it wasn’t at some point in time. Like, say, a month ago perhaps. Maybe the shit filling my head that’s not my own is really part of my missing memories.
That would mean… that would mean I hadn’t really been attacked by an animal. If not an animal then where had my scars come from? A person? Could a person have caused them?
With trembling fingers I feel along the base of my neck.
Yes, I think. Absolutely.
Again, I shiver. This time for an entirely different reason.
Deep down inside I knew, I freaking knew, I had not been attacked by an animal. No way, no how. It never felt right to me. But thinking I’d been with people for weeks and I don’t remember is a whole lot worse than thinking I’d been attacked by an animal and don’t remember it. A whole lot worse.
What people? Who? How? And what the hell had really happened to me? Did they do… things to me? Do they know where I am right now, where I live?
On this horrifying thought I snap out of my trance and quickly move through the front door. Unlocked, as always.
Half way up the stairs to my apartment the door to the main floor apartment bursts open. A man leans out staring directly up at me.
“Hey,” he softly calls out.
I don’t want to but I stop. It would be rude of me to blatantly ignore the man and continue on my way. And I don’t want to come off as rude if this man is my new neighbor.
“Hey,” I reply just as softly as he had.
“I’m Raylen.”
I nod, not bothering to give him my name in return.
“And you’re Shayne.”
My body locks in place to keep me from bolting up the stairs. I don’t like the way he says my name, like he’s familiar with me.
Something about the man reminds me of someone else, but for the life of me I can’t place who. I know I’ve never seen this man before because if I had I would remember him. He’s by far the shortest man I’ve ever laid eyes on, and yet somehow the burliest. Wide shoulders with a thick chest that reminds me of a tree trunk, thick and sturdy. His body seems at odds with his short stature. Shiny bald head. Warm eyes the color of chocolate. He’s dressed in a well-worn flannel button up, dark jeans, and scuffed up work boots.
The warmth in his eyes has an odd soothing effect on my body. I find myself relaxing when moments before I had been ready to bolt up the stairs.
“How do you know my name?” I find myself asking.
He shrugs and a steel door slams down over his eyes hiding their warmth from me.
I don’t know how but I know whatever answer he gives me will be a lie.
“The landlord told me when I filled out my rental agreement. He thought I should know who my neighbors are.”
Plausible. Absolutely. I might have even believed him if it weren’t for that guard he’d brought down over his eyes.
“Right,” I mutter disbelievingly.
He shrugs it off, stating, “Lovely to have finally met you.”
Something about this strikes me as odd as well. What does he mean by finally? The man just moved in. It’s an innocent enough sentence and perhaps I’m reading too much into his choice of words, but for some reason it does not seem right to me.
“Be sure to lock up after you get safely inside your apartment, Shayne.”
My body jolts at his words and immediately I start moving back up the stairs. I want to ask him why he’d say such a thing to me but his eyes are glued to the front door and he looks to be c
oncentrating hard on something I cannot see.
“Will do, Raylen,” I call out. “Have a lovely night.”
Then I do just as he told me to do and lock up after me once I’m safely behind my closed door.
Those words coming from someone else would have creeped me right out. For whatever reason I cannot understand I feel like he meant them in a way where he was looking out for my wellbeing, wanting nothing more than for me to have a care and be safe.
Though, I would have done it anyway without him telling me to do so.
Exhaustion hits me like a slap in the face. The past month of nights filled with restless sleep chasing dreams I don’t remember, my night out with Anna May ending disastrously, just life in general, has left me profoundly tired.
All of it will still be here waiting for me to deal with when I wake up, I tell myself and get ready for bed.
*****
I jolt upright in bed and look around my room in confusion. I was having the most wonderful dream about sleeping next to someone with strong, powerful arms wrapped lovingly and protectively around me. I’d felt safe, happy, whole. Then all of a sudden the arms were forcefully torn away from me and I’d woken up. When those arms were torn from my body I had felt something awful tear through my heart, something heart wrenchingly devastating. Almost as if that’s the cause of the absolute emptiness I feel.
He’ll be waiting for you and we’ll all be praying for your return. Without you he will spend the rest of his life alone and mateless.
He’ll be waiting for me.
But, he who?
The man whose arms had been around me in my dream? A dream or a memory? Real or some kind of fantasy?
Loud moaning fills my room snapping me out of it. From the sound of it Anna May had no trouble finding a man to bring home with her after me and my Debbie Downer ass left the bar. No surprise there. Even blind men are attracted to her.
Her bed starts squeaking in earnest and the headboard bangs against the wall.
Ugh.