Supernatural (One Direction love story)

Chapter 3

I attempt to remember anything remotely connected to Simon or of any mention of him before but I can't. I arrive to the same damned blank as always.
I hate this, I think. I hate that I don't remember nearly anything of my childhood, that I have no fucking family to my name. That I don't know who Simon, the only person who seems to know anything about me or who I was is. That I'm all alone and have always been since that dreadful morning when I awoke in....
No Ellie stop, I think, growing agitated. I stand from the couch and leave the brown box and note there, slowly making my way back to the kitchen to pour myself a glass of water before I lose it. I cant crumble now. I cant, my thoughts will only get the best of me until I end up crying more about the excruciating pain flooding my head at the attempt of recollecting my memory rather than the actual reason I should weep for, that my life is a bloody mess.

I recall almost nothing of my childhood except the soft outlines of a woman's face and the feel of smooth hands holding my little frame as they laid me down me to sleep, singing to me a song so soothing I often now wonder if the owner of the heavenly voice was indeed an angel, and if I will ever feel at such utter peace again. I remember the feel of fingers gently running through my chocolate curly locks and the heat of a haste kiss on my temple as I was falling asleep followed by a whispered declaration of love and what I believe to be the words "my sweet baby, you're so special. If only you knew," before my eyes shut and the gentle touch and song ceased and what feels like mere minutes later, chaos arose.

I remember awaking to the sound of thundering steps, the mingled screams of a man and woman, two gunshots, and the metallic smell of blood flooding my nostrils before finding myself what I believed then to be a few days later in bed at an orphanage heavily bruised and with no memory of who I was, nothing to my name or any explanation as to my identity or presence there except a handwritten note with information as to my first name and age (12) and a silver heart necklace wrapped around my neck with the word Overcome and the number 13 underneath it and of course the terrifying single memory of gentle fingers, a sweet voice, and the metallic smell of blood.

I am close to the age of 19 now, and have been out of the orphanage for nearly 10 months. I count every day that passes in which I am allowed to enjoy the blissful pleasure of space to myself and the occasional silence granted to me by the quietness of my thoughts when I don't suffer from nightmares or have an anxiety episode. So yeah, occasional, and it's all thanks to Simon, whoever he is.

Simon the mysterious rich stranger who sends me a great amount of money every half year to live by. The only person who seems to know anything about me, the reason behind most of my questions and a possible key to my answers.