The Girl With Lost Memories - Parts 1 & 2 (An OUAT Fanfiction)

𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 7: 𝒲𝑒𝓁𝒸𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝒯𝑜 𝒮𝓉𝑜𝓇𝓎𝒷𝓇𝑜𝑜𝓀𝑒

Am I ready for a family? Sure. I've been waiting for this all my life. Of course, I'm ready. But this sensation in my chest is strange. It's somewhere between elated and gassy. I don't know. All I know is that when I get to Storybrooke, I'll no longer be alone. I'll have my parents—hopefully... Hopefully, Henry's right about this. I need him to be.

Five hours in, and my car runs out of fuel. I leave my window down at the gas station to keep an eye on Henry. I open the tank door and insert the pump nozzle, which drips leftover raindrops. The air's refreshing after being cooped up in the car, and it's good to see the sun after the downpour. Clouds are grey but softer.

Somehow, the world seems joyous. Hopeful. I haven't seen that in ages. Everything seemed so bleak. Now, there's hope. I will find my parents. They're only an hour away. One hour. I've waited sixteen years, yet an hour feels like an eternity.

"How much longer?" Henry calls from inside.

I don't get him. He remained silent for most of the ride, which surprised me. I thought he'd go on and on about how I'm supposed to be a made-up character, but all he did was turn pages of his book.

"We just got here," I say.

"Well, hurry up. The sooner we get there, the sooner you can accept your true identity."

How stupid does he think I am? Probably a lot since I agreed to drive him to a strange town no one knows about. But I need to get used to it if that strange town is going to be my home. I'll see Henry often if we live in the same neighborhood, so I should get to know him and figure out why he's insane. His book could be a suitable topic. It intrigues me since he'd rather pay more attention to it than me, someone he traveled so far to find.

"That's a strange textbook. What is that? English?" The book sits wide open on his lap and has large, colorful pictures resembling concept drawings for stained glass windows. It looks like something I'd find at a thrift store or antique shop, not in a crazy kid's backpack.

"It's not a textbook. It's a storybook."

"Wow, kid. Aren't you too old for that?" I say with a subtle, fake chuckle.

"No. No one's too old for anything," he says with irritation. "Also, everything in this book happened. So, no, not English. It's History."

I look over my shoulder to ensure the person across us didn't hear him. All good. "Whatever, kid. Are you sure you're mentally stable?" This is going to be harder than I thought.

"I'm serious. You'll believe me later."

My eyes shift to the digital clock on the dash. "We still have an hour. Are you hungry?"

"I'll eat when we get there," he says, turning a page.

"I'm starving."

"You'll eat when we get there, too. So, who were those kids inside your house? Are they your family?" Now, he wants to strike up conversation? Five hours in? And it has to be that question?

"It's a foster home. None of us have a family." I shift my sights to the meter. So far, I can afford it.

"Why was that little girl injured?" Chrys. How could I leave her behind? I should've taken her with me. She doesn't deserve to stay back there. I should've helped her yesterday. It's all my fault. "Bella?" he says, looking at me. I must've been silent for too long.

I quietly say, "The mother attacked her," so the person doesn't hear.

"You must be glad you get to leave that place for a while."