Forgetting You, Forgetting Me (Memories from Yesterday Book 1)

by Monica James

  “What?” I shriek breathlessly when I see Saxon standing in the hallway, pacing furiously.

  “He took my fucking keys! That son of a bitch,” he pushes out through clenched teeth.

  A sense of dread passes over me when I realize Sam has no idea where he is. He may be able to distinguish some familiar places, but overall, he’s literally driving blind. “Saxon, he doesn’t know where he is! He’ll get lost.”

  “I know,” he barks, shaking his head. “This is so typical of him. This—this is Sam. This vindictive, selfish behavior is exactly who he is.” He points towards the door as if to prove his earlier point that this current a-hole Sam is the true Sam.

  But I refuse to believe it. He may have been that way with Saxon, but he never was with me. He treated me like a princess, like I was the only thing that mattered.

  My sorrow is reflected on my face because Saxon’s demeanor instantly changes and he takes a deep breath. “Let him blow off some steam,” he states. “I’m sure he’ll be fine. If he’s not back soon, I’ll call my father and go look for him.”

  “What set him off?” I ask, as his episode was definitely brought on by something. I see the change on Saxon’s face immediately.

  I follow as he walks into the living room, stopping in the center of the room. His eyes are riveted to the TV, suggesting my answer lies within what is paused on the screen. When I see the still image of Sam at graduation, draped in his cap and gown, I understand why he had the outburst.

  Sam remembered Paulo’s and then in turn, he remembered being the captain of the basketball team. Is it possible he remembered he was offered a basketball scholarship, but was forced to turn it down because his future was mapped out for him by his parents? Does he remember the disappointment and regret?

  Yes, he graduated from college, but in marketing, a course he enrolled in to help grow his father’s business. He told me it didn’t matter, that this was his future, but I know that it did. I know turning down that scholarship was like turning his back on his dreams.

  “He remembers,” I gasp, unable to tear my gaze from the screen.

  “It appears so.”

  I should be happy that memories are floating to the surface, but what if those memories are ones he wished stayed submerged?

  * * * * *

  It’s now 11:30 p.m., and there’s still no sign of Samuel.

  Saxon is sitting calmly in the rocking chair, sipping his beer, while I’m pacing the deck, about certain I’ve worn a hole in the ground. Everyone has decided to be unreachable tonight, as I haven’t been able to get a hold of anyone. Perhaps they’re all trying to give us our space, but little do they know how much space is literally between us, seeing as I have no idea where Sam is.

  “Should we call the police?” I ask for the tenth time.

  “And tell them what? He’s a grown man,” Saxon responds, the same reply as five minutes ago.

  “He’s a grown man with amnesia,” I correct, mid-pace. “I bet if I told them that they’d see how important this is.”

  Saxon doesn’t reply.

  I’m riddled with guilt for playing those stupid movies. It was too much, too fast. It was too overwhelming. Saxon said so himself. Sam feels as if he’s drowning. And what do I do—throw him in the deep end.

  “What do you do for work?”

  I stop pacing and turn to look at Saxon, confused. “What?”

  He smirks, a laidback, carefree smile as he rocks in his chair. “You said you were over in Bali for work. What do you do?”

  Is he really trying to make conversation? When he continues staring at me, waiting for a response, I know the answer is yes. “Human aid,” I reply. “Well, I actually graduated with a masters in human rights. I work for PFP—People for People. My role is to advise on human rights and enforce international humanitarian law and protection of civilians.”

  “In English, please,” Saxon teases, sipping his beer.

  Looking at the empty chair next to him, I give in. Taking a seat, I explain, “For my internship, I went to Ghana. I also went to Sudan for six weeks. My experiences have given me knowledge of the history of conflicts, and those presently arising within African countries. The time away was remarkable, as I met so many wonderful people. I made friends with many international militaries and UN peacekeeping operators. PFP works alongside WFP. WFP is the largest humanitarian agency fighting hunger worldwide. In a year, we reach ninety million people with food assistance in eighty countries. It’s unbelievable.”

  When Saxon nods, remaining mute and picking at the label on his beer, I figure I’m probably boring him to death. I know Sam could only take so much before the subject was changed. “Sorry to bore you.” I tuck my leg beneath me, rocking gently on the wooden chair.

  But Saxon surprises me as he shakes his head. “You’re not. I’m happy to hear you’ve stuck to what you love.”

  I purse my lips, not following.

  “When you were like sixteen,” he says, as if recalling the memory, “you kept talking about the Japanese hunting whales. You gave me that flyer with all that gruesome shit they do. Made me turn vegetarian for a month. I always thought I’d see you on the news, hijacking one of those ships. Looks like I wasn’t too far off the mark.” He smirks playfully.

  “I can’t believe you remember that,” I disclose, unable to keep the surprise from my voice. Thanks to Sam’s temper tantrums, and being stuck at the hospital for hours, Saxon and I haven’t really had the chance to have normal a conversation.

  “Yeah, I do. I remember a lot of things.” He scratches the back of his neck uncomfortably. Did he reveal something he wasn’t supposed to?

  “I remember too.” I want him to know that even though we didn’t share many moments together growing up, I recall fondly the few times we did. “I remember the time you took the blame for drinking your mom’s last Diet Coke.”

  He chuckles, leaning back in his seat. “Never mess with Kellie’s Diet Cokes.”

  “I’d just started dating Sam and I didn’t know the protocols. Who knew she felt so passionately about soda.” Saxon’s gruff laugh shoots a tingle down my spine. “I don’t think I ever thanked you properly.”

  “It’s fine.” He waves me off. “Annoying her is a favorite pastime of mine, so it’s my pleasure.”

  Talks of Kellie give me the in I’ve been looking for. “Has she always been…”

  “A bitch?” He fills in the blanks while I bite my lip. “Yes, she has. I learned early on that Samuel was the favorite. He was always the obedient one, while I—” he pauses, gauging the right word to use “—I’ve just been me. Too bad that was never good enough for Kellie.”

  I suddenly feel sorry for him, but I don’t let it show, as I know that’s not the reason why he shared this snippet of information with me. “I’m sorry I was so…absorbed with Sam,” I settle with, thinking back to the video of Sam’s basketball finals. I didn’t even acknowledge his presence.

  The twenty-six-year-old me is kicking my seventeen-year-old butt.

  “Don’t worry about it. You were in love,” he quips, drawing out the word love. But I sense he’s hiding beneath his humor.

  “Maybe we can make up for lost time now?” I suggest, nervously tugging at the loose strands of my hair draped over my shoulder. I have no idea why I’m so nervy, so I stop fiddling.

  When he shakes his head, I feel disheartened—like he’s snapping my olive branch once again. However, I’m relieved moments later. “How about we just start fresh?”

  “I’d like that.” Feeling a surge of confidence sweep over me, I lean over the armrest and extend my hand. “Hi.” Saxon looks down at the gesture, curling his lip in humor. I ignore him and continue. “My name is Lucy. Lucy Tucker.”

  “Nice to meet you. I’m Saxon Stone.” When his warm palm swallows mine whole, an unforeseen, invisible charge coils around my arm and doesn’t let go. The zap is so unexpected, I yank my hand away, a startled gasp escaping me.

  I know Saxon
felt it too because the hand I just shook sits bunched in a fist by his side. I suddenly feel my cheeks heat and I don’t know why. I’m embarrassed, confused, and I think, a little flustered.

  Saxon lifts the bottle to his lips, throwing back the contents quickly.

  Before I have time to process what the hell just happened, red and blue lights flash across my front yard. It appears this night has just gone from bad to worse.

  Saxon stands, shaking his head. “Looks like we know where Sam is.” Offering me his hand, I accept, afraid my jelly legs won’t hold me up without the support.

  I want to run down there, hug, scream, and slap him, but I don’t. Both Saxon and I watch the burly police officer get out of the patrol car and open the door for Sam. Sam exits, and the way he wavers on his feet hints that he’s drunk. He looks dirty and disheveled.

  “Great,” I mumble under my breath. “His first day out of the hospital and he gets wasted.” Saxon sighs. He takes the stairs and meets the officer in the middle of the yard.

  I walk towards the railing and lean on it, watching rather than interfering. I seem to make things worse, so I decide standing this one out may be best for everyone. Samuel tries to high five Saxon, but Saxon doesn’t humor him one iota.

  “It would be pointless asking if you know this man because I can see that you do,” the officer says to Saxon. “He was up at the Pink Cat causing trouble with the girls. They aren’t going to press any charges.”

  My stomach turns for so many reasons. At the forefront is the fact my fiancé was at a strip club. I’m not uptight, and under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t care, but what I’m faced with is so far from normal that I do care—very much.

  “Thank you for bringing him home, Officer.” Saxon makes no excuse for Samuel’s lewd behavior. “Did you happen to see a silver Jeep at the premises?”

  “No, I did not.” The officer passes Saxon Sam’s wallet. “Your parents are good folks, son. If this were anyone else’s son, I would have hauled his ass in and let him sleep off his drunkenness in a cell. You,” the officer turns to look at Sam, who is peering up into the night sky, stumbling on his feet. “Don’t let it happen again.”

  “Look at the Big Dipper!” Samuel cries, pointing to the heavens. He obviously doesn’t appreciate the seriousness of the situation. The officer and Saxon shake hands, while Sam ambles off, oblivious to how lucky he is.

  He wanders around the yard with his arms outstretched, his fingers brushing against theshrubbery as he chuckles happily. He stops occasionally to smell the flowers. Once the police car is down the driveway, Saxon storms over and yanks him around to face him. I push off the railing and stand at the top step, watching anxiously.

  “Are you fucking high?” He doesn’t remove his hand from Sam’s forearm.

  Samuel laughs manically. “Yes, I am. And very, very drunk,” he slurs.

  High? Samuel never smoked weed. But it appears I’m wrong. How did I miss this? Saxon’s comment about Samuel fooling his parents sounds loudly in my ears.

  “There was a time when you liked to smoke with Jonno and me. Remember?”

  Jonno? As in Jonathan Whelan, his best friend from high school?

  “We were sixteen, Sam. We were kids. We’re now adults. How about you start acting like one?”

  “Fuck you, man,” Sam scowls, jerking his arm out from Saxon’s grip.

  “You can’t just take off like that. Lucy was freaking out.” He points at me. I appreciate his concern.

  “What about you, Sax? Were you freaking out?” he asks disdainfully. Jealousy seeps from Sam whenever Saxon comes to my aid. That could be another reason why he sees me as the enemy.

  The rage emanates off Saxon. “I couldn’t give a rat’s ass where you go. Your temper tantrums are old news to me. Get inside.”

  Sam sneers. “You’re not Dad. You can’t tell me what to do.”

  “No one can tell you what to do, Sam, that’s the problem.” Saxon’s tone is resolute, but Samuel doesn’t seem to care.

  “What happened to you? You used to be so fun. I hardly recognize you anymore.” He shakes his head, appearing disgusted.

  Saxon glares at him. “I grew up. Unlike you, Sam, I left this shithole and made a life for myself outside Mom’s pussy!”

  “Fuck you, you asshole! You’re just jealous that Mom likes me better than you.” Sam shoves at Saxon’s chest, but thanks to his drunken state, he almost falls on his ass.

  I run down the stairs, sensing a fight about to erupt. “Stop!” My demand is ignored.

  Saxon snickers. “Jealous? Please. I like that my balls aren’t rolling around in her purse.”

  Samuel’s eyes narrow and he attempts to lunge at Saxon once again. He’s too fast however, and Samuel ends up tripping over and falling face first.

  Saxon laughs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Maybe Mommy can help you up.”

  “Stop it! Both of you!” I attempt to help Sam up, but he shrugs me off and stands on his own.

  He’s still unsteady on his feet, but his anger appears to have sobered him up some. “Fuck you both.”

  “Sam,” I gasp, not understanding his constant anger towards me. “Stop being such a fucking jerk!” I’m seconds away from bellowing out in rage, but keep my cool.

  “I’ll be sleeping in the barn,” he declares, staggering towards it.

  “What? Why?” I chase after him, demanding answers.

  All I get is indifference. “Because the farm animals don’t talk back.” He storms off.

  I stop chasing someone who doesn’t want to be caught. “You know what, fine, go! Screw you!” My temper finally boils over.

  I feel Saxon at my back moments later. I shouldn’t be upset at him, but I am. “Lucy…”

  “No, don’t.” I spin around, glaring at him. “Thanks for making a messed up situation even worse.”

  “How am I the bad guy?” he rebukes heatedly, but he tersely backs down. “I’m sorry, all right?”

  “Save your apologies, Saxon. I’m not the one who needs to hear them.” My anger is misdirected, but he’s the only one here. He’s the only one who can handle it. “Samuel needs you right now. How about you stop being such an asshole and be the big brother he needs?”

  “He needs a good slap in the face. How can you defend him right now?” He runs his fingers through his hair, pulling at the roots.

  “Because that’s not Sam!” I reply, feeling like a broken record. “He needs us to support him. To show him who he is. And you being a sarcastic jerk is not helping. I can’t give up on him because he’s never given up on me!”

  He huffs, his chest expanding. This fight is one I feel has only just begun.

  “I’m going to bed. Goodnight.” I push past him, a swirl of emotions rattling inside my head. I’m thankful when he doesn’t follow, as I need time to digest what just went down.

  As I stomp down the hallway, I’m saddened that the happiness and laughs that once reflected off these walls are now replaced with anger and tears. My happy place has just turned to shit.

  Closing the door behind me, I crawl onto the duvet and tuck myself into a ball as I lay on my side. Things were going well this morning and I thought that maybe the old Sam was slowly reemerging—but it was premature.

  I refuse to believe Saxon. This new Sam is not my fiancé. I know Sam, and he would never speak to me the way he has. I’m trying to put myself in his shoes, endeavoring to understand how frustrating and scary it must be for him to only remember pieces of who he was.

  Anyone looking in would probably think I’m a fool for staying with Sam after the way he’s treated me, but love, it isn’t easy. What kind of a person would that make me, what would it say about my character and my love for Sam, if I deserted him when he needed me the most?

  Love hurts.

  Reaching out, I search the nightstand blindly, retrieving the journal from the top of the pile. I need these memories to help me remember. But most importantly, I need these memories to make
me forget.

  * * * * *

  February 14th 2005

  Dear diary,

  I feel stupid.

  Today is Valentine’s Day and I totally screwed it up.

  Samuel and I have been dating for about five months. He’s been a complete gentleman, but tonight when things got a little heated in his pickup, I freaked out.

  We were making out and it was nice. I love kissing Sam—I’d even go so far to say that he’s the best kisser in the world. Not that I have anything to compare it to. But either way, I never feel more cherished than I do when I’m in his arms.

  He had his hand up my top and down my pants, which was okay, but when he tried slipping off my t-shirt, that’s when things were no longer okay. I haven’t told Sam about my scars. I’m embarrassed he’ll stop looking at me like I’m the most beautiful girl in the world.

  I know that’s silly—Sam isn’t superficial that way, but I guess in a way, I am. I hate that those scars still have an impact on me. They remind me of everything I’m trying so hard to forget.

  11:46 p.m.

  I’m utterly in love with Samuel Stone. And it’s now official!

  I’ve just crept back upstairs after Sam texted me and asked I meet him around the corner from my house. Mom and Dad were asleep, so I snuck out, risking them waking, as opposed to me wondering why Sam wanted to meet in the dead of night.

  I was so frightened he was going to call it off, but he surprised me when he pulled me into his arms and apologized for being so pushy. I explained there were things about my past which I wasn’t ready to deal with, and he didn’t push. He told me that whenever I was ready to talk, he was ready to listen.

  A surge of confidence enveloped me and I reached for Sam’s hand, allowing him to feel, rather than me telling him why I was so afraid. His eyes widened and for a moment, I was terrified he was repulsed by my deformity. But seconds later, as his fingers rubbed over the ridges, he declared, “I love you, Lucy, scars and all.”

  It was the first time he told me he loved me, and it was the best feeling in the world.