A/N: Also, here's part of the prize for one who won my contest. (finally) reference of Olivia (WriteIdea)
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The Difference Between Dreams and Memory
When the dreams had come, they’d been slow and sluggish and indefinite, like a water gun underwater. But when her memory returned, it was all at once.
And she’d known it was going to be this way; Michael had taken her to enough of those voices that spoke without inflection, treated her like a project instead of a person, smelled like ammonia. She’d not cared for them, but remembered still.
“It’s not due to trauma. She’d choosing to ignore her past.”
“She made a conscious decision to forget which means she can make the same decision to remember.”
“When she finally feels safe, everything will come back at once.”
She didn’t know what had happened, what had been the tipping point. Maybe it was hearing Michael snore on the couch beside her, his very presence soothing. Maybe it was the warmth and supreme sense of content that had been cultivated, despite everything. Maybe it was something else, something supernatural and beyond understanding. But whatever the reason, it happened then.
Her mind was just teetering on the edge of sleeping and waking, a small smile, dull eyes lidded-
And it exploded with imagery, with sights, smells, and sounds. Even feelings she didn’t know she knew.
Like:
That warm, rocking of liquor as it slid down her throat.
The excitement of strobe lights as they painted her body with the lust of the men around her.
The euphoria of finally being in control, of making someone feel however she wanted, having the power in her own hands.
The stretching skin under make-up piled on like a mask.
The long sleeves cut short with the realization that the scars were alluring, a promise of danger rather than a disgusting disfigurement.
At that, Sarah shook, trembling fingers tracing indents in her arms, painful ones she remembered receiving. And all she could think was: Why didn’t Michael say anything?
For a moment. Because then her mind was off again, pulling up images as if drunk off the ability.
A boy with a voice that curled and enveloped, an innocence she had never known, might never know again, had tried to protect at all costs.
A girl, mute, expression closed off and
Loyalty and
Love.
Roza.
She’d heard- remembered the name before, but now it meant something.
And just like that her world centered and stopped. And she was no longer lying to herself, acting without a script, Rose pretending to be Sarah; she was Sarah. With the past, thought, and personality that came with it. Rose was soft and sweet. But she wasn’t real, was a what-might’ve-been, rather than what was. Rose didn’t know how to handle herself past Michael’s front door, but Sarah was as adept as any street kid, useless eyes included. Rose was content, Sarah had to get out of there. Desperate to leave and never look back.
