Sarah (h.s)

Chapter Four

Sarah

My muscles are slowly unclenching, mind slowing, but racing with curiosity. My emotions run a little wild as he leaves me to explore the house. I can tell he's being apprehensive, but I am glad of his fear. Besides, his fear will never match mine. I am terrified. I can't remember anything. Sarah. What an odd notion. I take my first steps outside the bedroom after a good fifteen minutes after Harry left me to process.

The house is big. Doll-like. Picture perfect rooms and a sweet air. Pastel and off whites cover the walls. Not a stain. Not a sign of life, but certainly no cobwebs. Simply, perfect. Picturesque. Something you would see in a magazine.

... A magazine?

What is in a magazine? Pain runs through my head as I start thinking too hard again. I recognise objects. I remember how to talk, walk and function; how to be human. But what kind of human. I don't even think Sarah fits. I don't know who I am. How is it possible that I remember nothing? I wonder how old I am.

I take small and timid steps down the hallway of the house I seem to be drowning in. Does he live here alone? He said I lived here too, but even then, how could only 2 live here? The house is swallowing me as I stand.

I continue my nervous footsteps through the house. I begin to feel exposed. I can feel eyes on me. I don't turn around though. Everywhere I look is storing new memories into a blank space in my head. I can't look into his eyes. Not yet.

My hand travels against the walls as I walk, the texture smooth, yet still running shivers up my spine. I turn around a corner and into a bathroom and I freeze.

The mirror.

I can see myself. Light brown hair. Young. Blue eyes. But as if something was missing from them. The girl staring back at me isn't who I thought it would be. But then again who do I have to compare to? My head is a clean slate. I feel so empty.

A tear as lonely as my mind rolls down my cheek as I stare hard enough into the mirror it may crack. I acknowledge the eyes again. His eyes. The man, Harry, is standing behind me, against the wall of the corridor outside the bathroom door. His face is an open book of pain. His muscles are tensing as if he wants to punch something, or open my head in an attempt to stuff memories inside.

I walk toward the mirror until I hit the bench in front of me. My fingers slide over the bench until they find the corner. And I grip the bench with every piece of energy as more tears follow the first. I want to scream. I sense Harry is closer. I look up to see the mirror opposing my tear stained face, until they focus out to see Harry is now standing against the wall of the bathroom. Staring until he can no longer, his eyes weakening. I can feel his pain.

I continue staring. But it's like a piece is missing. Something still isn't being put into place. No matter how blank, something is missing. I'm lost. I hear Harry's footsteps softly patting against the tiles on the bathroom floor. I just want my memories back. I hate being in the lost space, not knowing what's going on or who I am. I need to know who I am.

"How old am I?" I whisper. His hands gently rise toward my arms and he slowly and ever so lightly glides his fingers down them.

"19." Harry's voice even quieter than mine. I was ready to here a pin drop. I don't look 19. Perhaps 17. Young. I take a sharp deep breath as I my body reminded me it needed air. It shook Harry as well as he retracted his hand very swiftly from my arm.

"You must be hungry. I'll get you something toeat. The kitchen is downstairs bab- uh, I mean Sarah." He tenses as he almostlet's the name fall. I am glad for it though. Before I figured us out, I needto figure out me first.    

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~ Littlethingss11