Our Last Dance

Chapter 18

I tossed the tablet out of the car window and sped off to college. Maybe my parents had good intentions with those tablets, but I couldn't care less. They couldn't dictate what's best for me based on their assumptions. That's not who I am. I had a past, relationships, people I've lost, and they had no damn right to erase that.

Elijah's name flashed on my phone screen, and I sighed before answering. "Where are you, Layla? Skipping college today?" Typical Elijah, no formalities.

"Nope. Just parked. Be there in a minute," I replied briskly, ending the call before he could say anything else.

Resting my head against the headrest, I took a moment to collect myself.

What was even happening in my life? Who was I, really? How much of my life was missing from my memory?

I felt it in my gut—there had to be more to the story than just a head injury. My parents wouldn't tell the truth. Esha's as tight-lipped as they came. And my sister Emily? She was a vault, just like Mom and Dad. What was I supposed to do? Why couldn't my life be like a movie where the answers were handed to me on a silver platter?

And speaking of friends, I didn't even have their numbers. The ones who graduated and disappeared into the abyss. Great. Just great.

Wait.

Esha probably has their numbers, but knowing her, she won't hand them over easily. Still, it's worth a shot.

Stepping out of the car, I made my way towards the building, scanning the area. Then, I spotted him—a guy standing on his toes, searching for someone. When his gaze met mine, he raised his hand in a wave, a warm smile spreading across his face, his dimple accentuating his left cheek.

A small smile tugged at my lips. Somehow, Elijah always manages to distract me, if only for a moment.

As I approached him, his smile widened, and he fell into step beside me. "Hey there lov-" He stopped abruptly, his expression faltering as he glanced at me with a strained smile.

Love. The same endearment the guy in my dreams often used.

"Sorry. I forgot, I'll be careful from now on," Elijah said, his voice softening as he bit his lip nervously.

I chuckled lightly, "It's okay Elijah, you don't have to be on guard around me." I nudged him. "I mean, yes, I've asked you not to call me that, but slip-ups happen, and that's okay, you lame ass."

He looked relieved, a smirk playing on his lips. "Thanks for the validation, Layla. You're not so bad yourself, you know, for someone with amnesia and all." He winked, his eyes sparkling.

"You motherf-" I gasped before delivering a solid blow to his back.

"Owww." He winced, rubbing the spot where I had hit him. "Ow, ow!" He protested, spinning around to find the right angle to ease the discomfort.

I didn't feel an ounce of remorse. He had it coming.

"This is payback for being annoying," I retorted, striding ahead and leaving him to nurse his sore spot. He followed close behind, still massaging the area.

"Has anyone ever told you that you're a mean ass?" he called after me.

"Has anyone ever told you that you have a talent for annoying people?" I shot back with a grin, quickening my pace.

"Yes, you," he replied, catching up and swiftly intertwining our fingers as we walked.

I halted, taken aback. Was this a normal thing for friends to do? Esha's words echoed in my mind: "Elijah really likes you." But was it true?