Shift ☆ Louis Partridge

15 | It's A Love-Hate Thing

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LOUIS

_

I DON'T REMEMBER HER NAME.

It's not my fault, entirely, but that doesn't change the fact that I have no clue what to call the girl standing beside me at the present moment. On the bus I Googled it—to which it said 'humans are unable to create faces they haven't seen' and I'm guessing that also means, I can't remember her name because I haven't met her until now—in real life.

I've got no explanation for why she was in my dreams.

We were now standing in front of an unfamiliar flower shop, an ice-pack tied to her foot, and my bike balanced loosely in my grip like I was too nervous to hold onto it. I watched as she sent me a smug look, crossing her arms across her chest.

"You're speaking to a future botanist, Mr. Partridge," she said.

It was strange how comfortable she was around me. Almost as if she's....met me before. I wanted to know more than anything, but her expression was nearly unreadable. It was killing me.

"You know what?" I said, "you remind me of someone."

She squinted her eyes. "Who?"

"Tewksbury."

I wanted to call her by her own name. I wanted to tell her that the person she reminded me of was herself, but I didn't know if she knew. So, when we entered the shop, I paid attention to every word she said. I wanted to know if she knew what I knew, or If she remembered what I remembered.

Because I remember everything.

· · ───── ·𖥸· ───── · ·

"IS IT MIND CONTROL?" Millie asked from the other end of the phone, "maybe she hypnotized you."

Currently, I was pacing my kitchen, trying not to lose my cool. I had just come back from a trip to Tesco, because Tewks—whatever her real name is—got punched trying to save my bike, and got hit pretty badly.

I remembered the exact moment I saw her fall, just like I remember the last time it happened.

She was hurt. The Jabberwocky was seconds away from taking her away from me, and seeing her fall to the ground like a dying light was too much to bear. I was too far—reaching out my hand towards her just like in the past, but being too far away. I prayed I wouldn't lose her this way. Not like last time. 

It was like dreaming all over again, except this time I knew she'd still be around when I made it to her. These memories break me, but it's like they don't exist to her. I just want to know if they were real.

"Where is she now?" Millie asked again.

I realized I never responded.

"Passed out, I think," I answered, peering down the hallway, "Illie's in the room to make sure she doesn't leave."

"Don't you want her to leave?" My friend asked, "she might have something nefarious on her mind and keeping her around could be dangerous, Louis."

"I don't think she's dangerous."

"You've known her for a day."

"Have I, though?" I asked, although I knew she wouldn't have the answers, "I feel like those dreams were too real to be imagination. Mental, I know, but if they meant nothing, then why does it hurt every time I so much as look at her?"

"Louis..."

"She doesn't remember me, Millie. I'm just 'Louis Partridge the actor' to her."

There was silence on the other end of the phone, and I could imagine my friend sighing into her pillow in annoyance. Every spare chance I had, I would send her updates on the situation, and she was probably well-past caring by now. I was the one who couldn't move on.

"Tell her you have a girlfriend then," she suggested, "maybe she'll get jealous and admit the truth."

"But what if she really doesn't know what happened?"

"Then she won't care and you can move on. It's simple, Louis."

I opened my mouth to respond, but I heard my sister's voice streaming down from the hallway—Tewks must be up. Saying a quick goodbye to my friend, I hung up the call and prepared to walk into the room.

· · ───── ·𖥸· ───── · ·

I HAVE FIVE MINUTES.

Tewks went to make me a cuppa' tea, and I'm left alone in her room as of now. I know it's morally wrong to go through someone's things, but I have an exception. I need to know the truth, and this is the best bet.

Peering around the bookshelves, I scanned the books for anything that could help (no 'mind-control' books to be found, so we can rule that option out). She had polaroids of her friends on the walls, and tiny reminders and calendars hung up, but I found nothing.

Until I saw the desk.

"Why didn't I bloody look here first?" I mumbled to myself, popping open the drawer.

To my surprise, the only thing inside was a plain notebook. Taking it out, I inspected the edges carefully, nervous to flip it open. What if it was a diary? I wasn't exactly interested in reading about school-crushes (she better not have one) or out-of-context problems.

Whatever, Louis, just open it.

Turning the page, my eyes quickly read the words lined in bold at the top: CHEEKY.

I found it.

Everything was in here. The train, the tea, the play, the feelings I felt when I looked at her for the first time. It was like reading a book on a dream that had tormented me for months. So she did remember all of it, because she's the one who wrote it.

And suddenly the love that had surrounded my heart was replaced with a newfound anger.

I felt used and lied to—waking up from those dreams was more painful than anything I've ever felt, because I lived a life, fell in love, and had it taken away from me in a matter of seconds—but that's what she wanted to happen. She wrote out these endings, and while I don't know how she sucked me into those dreams, I knew she was the reason why they happened.

I had my heart broken three times, all because of her.

Maybe this was the fourth.

I needed to show this to Millie, and I needed to find out what was happening. Why would she do this? Was it intentional? Did she mean to make me feel helpless this whole time?

Ripping out the page, I slid the notebook back into the drawer and exhaled.

Do I really love her?

Or is that just what she wanted?