Disorientation

Chapter Two

Entering the home—my home—felt like an intrusion. The décor was soft and modern, with neutral walls and warm furnishings. The living room was spacious, adorned with a shaggy white rug in the centre, while the chrome kitchen featured an island in the middle.

It was exactly how I imagined Mum's style to be.

"Can you walk fine?" she asked from behind, and I realised I was blocking the doorway. I shuffled to the side, allowing Mum and Riana to enter as well, lugging my bags behind them.

The drive home was pleasant enough. I was told stories of my childhood, how my mannerisms mirrored Riana's as I looked up to her (and apparently still do), and how I was the life of the party wherever I went. It was hard to believe, but I couldn't argue with facts.

I also discovered I had a dad, Jeffrey Lewis. He and Mum were going through a divorce, and he was currently living with his girlfriend in Kent. Apparently, he visited me a few times, but it wasn't enough, as far as Mum was concerned.

"Does he know I'm out now?" I'd asked.

Mum had only grimaced.

I wasn't sure what it meant, but I wanted to get to know my dad as well. Hopefully very soon.

"Welcome home, Erica." She was bright and earnest now. There was a glimmer in my chest, a sense of belonging, and it made me smile back.

"Let's eat," Riana bellowed. She bustled to the kitchen island and began unpacking the takeaway bags.

"You can go to your room, if you want. I'll bring the food up," Mum offered with a gentle smile.

I moved towards the stairs, my legs feeling better after the car journey. Then I paused. "Erm... where's my room?"

Her expression faltered, as if remembering my condition.

"First door on your left."

I thanked her and carefully ascended the stairs, holding onto the bannister for support. My muscles still ached, but I eventually made it to the landing and into my room. I wasn't sure what to expect, but my room was bright and spacious. Cream walls and champagne gold furniture, picture collages by the dresser and fairy lights framing the high divan bed.

My achy legs moved on their own in the picture's direction. There were intimate pictures with me and my best friends, and then larger group photos with a mixture of boys and girls. I scanned the many faces on there. I recognised myself, Mum, Riana, Armani and Ravyn, but no-one else.

I gave up after a while, deciding to analyse other sections of my room. It was like a museum of my past. My fingers traced over the velvety cream bedsheets and the polished wood of my wardrobe. Everything was exceptionally tidy; either I was a clean-freak, or Mum supervised my room for the past three months.

Then it made me wonder, was I actually a neat person, or was I disorderly? What was my attitude like? Was I a quiet person, or an obnoxiously loud one? Did I behave in school? What's my favourite colour? Am I an early riser or a night owl? What music do I like?

Who am I?

I scanned my room. Although personalised, it didn't give me any answers. If I really wanted to know anything, I'd have to ask. The thought of asking Mum about my first kiss, if I ever had one, made me shudder.

My walls thumped. I perked up at the thunderous bass playing from next door. It was sudden, blaring and disruptive. I dragged my legs to the netting to open the window, but it was actually a glass balcony door.

Stunned, I stepped out onto the balcony and faced the source of the noise. A boy was leaning on the railing, looking out onto the street. His head bopped to the rap music blasting through his speakers - much louder now through the open door.