The Girl He Forgot (Book 2)

Chapter 5 - Know Me

"Where are we going?" he asked as we rounded the corner.

"My house." I replied back to the boy in tow behind me. Of course, he probably didn't know where 'my house' was anymore...

We reached the steps, our boots clattering on the hollow wood of the porch as we approached the door. Carl was looking at its grey paintwork, taking in the pots of daisies I kept and the singular chair in the corner that I never used. He was seeing it all for the first time again...

"You live alone?" he asked as I shut my front door behind us, his voice echoing in the sparsely furnished interior of my house. 

I nodded, getting an overwhelming sense of De Ja Vu. 

"Aren't you my age? How'd you manage that?" he questioned, turning to face me in the middle of the hallway, his eye squinting suspiciously at me. I was about to reply with the exact same thing as I had done the first time he'd asked me this question. That was before I realised that I had a small bone to pick with him.

"If I were to tell you that I'd lied about my age in order to get a place of my own, are you going to run off and tell everyone again?" I said, smirking slyly back at him.

Carl frowned and shot me a questioning look; it was quite adorable, and I couldn't keep the interrogatory act up.

"You've asked me that question before... I'd confessed to you that I'd told Deanna I was older so I could live alone... and then you went and snitched to the rest of your group"; my tone wasn't all accusatory, partly playful as well.

Carl was nodding whilst appearing completely unfazed. He hung his thumbs from the pockets of his jeans.

"Can't have been me, I don't remember doing that at all..." was all he replied, his face so straight I was sure I was only imagining the tiny crease of a smile on the corner of his lips.

"Carl..." I warned, raising an eyebrow at the nonchalant figure before me. 

He only shrugged his shoulders, as if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. So maybe he didn't remember, he didn't remember a lot of things, doesn't mean they didn't happen.

"Really, you've got the wrong guy" he protested and this time I was confident that smirk on his face was real. It was almost as if he got a kick out of riling me... it was kind of endearing, though... and if he truly didn't remember, I could hardly scold him... I decided to let him off.

"Fine, play it that way, Grimes" I said, walking past him towards the stairs. "I hope you won't be able to use that excuse forever, though".

"Me too..." he replied as he fell into step behind me.

As we climbed, we were silent. The last time he'd followed me up these stairs we'd been discussing Ron's comic book collection, among other things... I wondered if he remembered any of that yet...

We reached the door to my studio. I didn't mention that that's what I called this room – last time he'd taken the piss out of me for it. It was almost like saving and reloading a video game; I knew what his response would be to things before I said them, it was surreal.

There was no hesitation, now, when I opened the door for Carl to walk through. I remember the first time I'd allowed him into my studio, I'd felt incredibly vulnerable; as if I'd kept a journal my entire life and I were handing it over for him read every thought I'd ever had. It was akin, I'd imagine, to standing naked in front of a crowd – embarrassing and terrifying and I remember wanting to run and hide and pretend it wasn't happening... now, however, I felt only desperation; a deep yearning for him to remember and perhaps a small amount of anticipation at the prospect that he may soon know me again...