My Baby (Sun/Moon x Reader)

Vendetta

-x-

Your heart is racing, and so are your thoughts. You are fueled by the feeling of impending doom—of something that would go so horribly wrong so quickly. You have to act, to move, to do something before it's too late.

And what should you do? You aren't sure, and that part is what's making you so frustrated.

How could you solve something when most of the story is missing? When the important information isn't where it should be. You try to remember, your siblings try to spark your memory, but you come back plank.

You remember nothing and no one. No one named Sun and no one named Moon and no one even named Roxanne.

Your phone sits heavy in your grip. You scroll through the photos in the album when your phone helpfully suggests to 'look back in time'. It is finally a possibility to look at the screen and not feel like your eyes would burn. It is finally time to see what others remember. You have been itching to open the album since you were in the hospital, and now you are out.

It has never felt both relieving and nerve-wracking to be out of the hospital.

It has taken you forever (though not that long) to convince everyone you are good enough to leave.

You wanted to leave from the day you awoke, but that was impossible. You were too dizzy and far too unstable on your feet to be any help, and so, you had to stay. Your nerves burned with anxiety, but you had to rest. You are no good if your body can't stay up for long.

You are discharged sooner than you should have, and the headache lingers and the pain too, even with the painkillers described. It makes it hard to think, to plan, to concentrate. There is a fuzziness to the edges of your sight. You are absolutely exhausted.

But you still endure. You still go back home. Still gawk at the 'new' room beside yours that used to belong to the two aliens dwelling in this place. Gaze at the box of arts and crafts and the few school books that you don't know what grade they belong to resting on the coffee table. Your eyes flicker to look at tucked-away shoes that aren't yours nor your size.

There is an extra pillow that belongs to the other room resting on your bed with an unfamiliar blanket draped over the edge.

Someone had lived here with you, and not just in your home but heart too.

This place, spacious and empty, had never felt as lonely as it does now. You were used to the life here, even if it was sometimes under-stimulating and boring, but it never was lonely.

Almost creepy, even.

The house hangs the memories over your head and out of your reach.

The moment you are aware enough of how bad things are, you start to search. Try and spark something in your pained head.

You run around like a madman going through withdrawal.

You open cabinets. You open doors. You see and hear and even smell.

Your memory is still missing. Their face is haunting. You cannot sleep. The feeling of something missing lingers like a sour taste.

But after you open your phone, after reading old texts... seeing photos...

You see yourself—selfies taken with smiles. You do things that you do not remember. And you see them. You see two of a kind that never appear in one picture. They're in the same body, you confirm your siblings' words.

The first picture that you do not remember is of medicine, and a quick search showed what they were for—burn ointment and one for bruises. Your whole body hurts (though numbed with painkillers) so you cannot tell if you have had a bruise before or not, and if it has healed in the last few months.