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

𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 19: 𝒮𝓊𝓇𝓋𝒾𝓋𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝐼𝓈𝓃'𝓉 𝐿𝒾𝓋𝒾𝓃𝑔

I had another strange dream. One of the little girls got lost in the woods, and the dark-haired man appeared again. I can never remember his face. It's like he doesn't have one. But I don't think it's Killian because the girl was scared. Me, too, dreaming about it. That's how I know it isn't him. In the other dreams, I was happy and safe. I'm not sure what this one is supposed to mean.

Sometimes, it seems my sleeping life is better than my waking life. There's adventure, love, freedom, happiness, comfort, magic, family, and friends. Everything I don't have. Why did that feel like a lie? I don't have those things—Again. It's like a buzzer inside, signaling my brain to pause.

Adventure.

Not much, unless being chased by a flying monkey and a sheriff while on a quest to find my parents counts.

Love.

Nope. But I do love this room and Granny's. And the library. And the docks. But is it love? Or is it a strong like?

Freedom.

No foster home! Whoo! No Diane. No Agatha. No Curt. No abuse. I can do anything.

Happiness.

Not sure if that's what I'd call it, but I'm less glum than how I usually am.

Comfort.

This bed's definition. Emma's arm around me at the docks. Granny's food. Shopping with Mary Margaret. Walking in Storybrooke with Henry. Talking with Killian.

Magic.

Doesn't exist. Next.

Family.

Still trying to find that. Next.

Friends.

Killian. Maybe Henry. Maybe, just maybe, Mary Margaret.

Adventure, freedom, comfort, friends.

Four out of eight. Half.

I have adventure, freedom, comfort, and friends. Friends. How bizarre? The impossible is becoming possible. Killian was right.

A dove perched outside my window coos and peers in. It angles its head, then flies away, its wing flapping against the glass before taking off.

I'm about to roll on my other side and try to fall asleep again when music plays from behind my door. I recognize the song—"Only You" by Yazoo. My body fills with delight and is no longer willing for extra sleep. I'm up and out of bed, scurrying to the living room.

Mary Margaret adjusts the volume of a record player. A Lenco L 78 SE 1980 record player.

"Don't turn it down," I say, standing outside my room.

"Bella, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

"No, you didn't. I've been up for hours," I fib.

I shuffle over to her by the loft stairs and look down at the record player. How many vinyls does she have?

"Do you like the song?" she asks.

"Yes. I love old songs."

"I play it every morning. It helps set the mood for my day."

"Emma and David don't mind?"

"Not entirely," David says, walking into the kitchen. "It depends on the day." He opens a cabinet and takes out three mugs.

"Well, I'd love to wake up like this every day," I say to Mary Margaret.

"Would you like to see my other records?"