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

𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 48: 𝐵𝑜𝒾𝓁𝑒𝓇𝓂𝒶𝓀𝑒𝓇𝓈

Hope sucks sometimes. It gnaws at your energy until you're left drained. It takes and it takes and it takes—a parasite leaving you empty.

I should've known my mother didn't call. I should've known I wouldn't meet her today.

Not ever.

Henry's plan was a desperate grasp at something too good to be true. I should've known it wouldn't work. I should've listened to Mary Margaret and David. They tried to talk me out of it, but I wouldn't budge. I was too blind. Blinded by the thought of meeting my parents. My mother.

Who's living in the fantasy world now?

I hike the flight of steps up to the apartment. Each lift of my feet—each movement I make weighs the rest of me down, dragging me further into a realm of desolation. All I want is to sink into a puddle on the floor and cascade down the stairs as a waterfall of never-ending tears.

The moment I enter the apartment, I want to take a long, hot shower to erase the mud from my body. I won't look in the mirror when I get to the bathroom. I don't want to see the God-forsaken mess life made me. I must look like a missing camper who's finally found her way out of the woods.

With a twist of the knob, the door creaks open to reveal Emma shoving my belongings into my duffel bag on the dining table. Before she makes another trip to my room, she stops short, as if struck by an unseen force, and shoots me a piercing scowl—one I haven't seen from her yet.

She storms into my room in a hot fury.

"What are you doing with my stuff?" I demand, following her, my skin smoking from the unexpected violation.

Emma fumes out before I reach the room and passes me, a bundle of my clothes clenched in her hand. "I should have you charged for negligent and underage driving," she says, stuffing my new sweaters into the duffel bag without worrying about snagging them.

"We talked about the car chase. You said you'd leave me off with a—"

"I'm not talking about the car chase," she retorts, pivoting to face me. "I'm talking about when you drove Henry in your getaway car."

"Getaway car? I don't know what you think of me, but I'm not a criminal."

"I have witnesses who'd argue otherwise."

"What is going on here?" I ask, though it's as much a question to myself as to her.

"You intentionally crashed your car with my kid in the front seat. He could've been killed."

"You're overreacting, okay? I backed the car up. It was a rear-end collision. Your son is fine." Why does this keep happening? Emma's my friend one moment, and the next, she hates my guts. I understand the maternal worrying, but she needs to learn to let go a bit. Henry wasn't injured. Why is this such a big deal? And how does she know?

"Are you fucking kidding me? I don't care which part of your car got hit. The fact is—it crashed. With you behind the wheel." She storms past me, retreating back to my room, and reemerges with my guitar—my baby—clutched in her fist. The sight of her gripping its neck ignites a match within me, and that match bursts into raging flames that tickle my insides.

"You want to talk about negligence? Fine. How about when you were so negligent your son skipped town to find me?"

Emma's eyes blaze with a vengeance.

"Tell me. How long did it take for you to realize he was gone?"

She extends the guitar toward me. "Pack up the rest of your things, get out of this apartment, and don't ever come back. And stay away from my son." Her words plunge a dagger into my heart.