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

𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 9: 𝒥𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝐵𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓉𝒽𝑒

Could this lunch be any worse? Emma keeps watching me with a Sheriff's eye and makes little effort to contribute to the conversation. Is this how mothers are when they go into "Mama Bear Mode?" It must be pleasant to be on Henry's side of it. Not so much over here. But it's not like I expected this meeting to go well. I'm the person their son and grandson ran away to find. They must think I'm dangerous or... or... a thug. Do I look like a thug? Few are female. At least, according to my experiences.

David and Mary Margaret are nice, though. I can see why Henry thinks they're Prince Charming and Snow White, especially his grandmother. Her voice isn't high-pitched, but it's bird-like because of how she smiles when she talks. What I don't understand is why they're so young. It's one thing if Emma had Henry as a teenager, but she's the same age as them. They don't have wrinkles, bags under their eyes, or grey hair. Even their clothes are what twenty to thirty-year-olds wear. So unless Mary Margaret was born pregnant, I'm not buying this.

We head out after we finish our meal and say our goodbyes. Henry walks in my direction, causing Emma to stop.

She says, "Where are you going, Henry? The apartment's this way."

"I'm going with Bella."

"No, you're not," she says, coming toward us.

"It's okay, Emma," Mary Margaret says, placing a hand on her shoulder, stopping her.

"I don't want him around her," she whispers, but I hear it.

How is it I'm already someone's target? It's been less than three hours!

"She's just a kid," David says.

"What trouble could they get into?"

"That's what scares me," Emma says, looking at me and Henry.

I'm the one who doesn't trust people. Not the other way around. People are mean to me and betray me at some point, but they trust me. That's why they do those things to me—they trust I won't do anything about it.

"We'll be fine, Mom."

"Call me if anything happens." Emma shoots me another glance and leaves with her parents. Good riddance.

"Is your mom always like that?"

"Sort of." It's still better than Diane.

The two of us walk along the sidewalk as I gaze at the library. Belle can show me town records about my parents. I'm sure there're some useful documents inside those walls.

I ask Henry if we can go in, and he says, "Sure. Why not?"

The moment I step in, a marvelous piano greets me. The finish reflects the fluorescent lights, meaning someone polished the grand instrument. I escape my sad, insignificant life through music. It'd be nice to write new songs and play again. It's been a while.

I go into the separate room, where the books are. They're all sorted and placed inside the many bookshelves that line the walls and divide the room. Stepping into an aisle, a dusty silence fills the space between the shelves. My fingers trace the spines of slender volumes and leather-bound books while I amble the warm, cozy path.

I've never seen so many books. One of them catches my eye, and I pull it off the mahogany shelf.

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone.

I flip through it. Some pages have tears and stains, but all have a rough texture. A smile creeps upon my face. The book is old. Though, I want to own it, so I can replace my burnt copy, not borrow it from a library. And it doesn't have Irene's message. My grin fades, and I put the novel back.