am·ne·sia

C h a p t e r T w o

•Three Hours Earlier•

"Hello is this Anthony Tinns?"

"Mmhhm."

"This is Detective Palmer." I shot out of bed. I felt my pulse race, all I could hear was my heart beating in my ears. I felt my jaw drop slightly, my mouth reeked of alcohol.

"Yes?" Everything that matterd, my existence, my hope, was hanging onto her response. My heart was still pounding.

"We found her."

I hung up. They found her, Spencer. I Dropped the phone, Spencer. She's been missing for almost four months. Four months without her touch. Four months waking up to an empty bed. Three months of crying myself to sleep. One month of barely sleeping. She ran away from her parents a few weeks after she turned 18. One month of wanting to end it all. I almost did it, I almost wanted it to be over. Four months of anxiety, of fear, confusion. I missed her.

I felt a tear roll down. The thought of having her back gives me chills. I miss her.
•
"She used to sing me songs." I said as I sniffled. I'd been in therapy ever since I blacked out from too much alcohol.

"Like what." Dr. Hemm's sessions just made it worst. I didn't want to cry in front of her, but sometimes I had to. Sometimes I just felt so lifeless, so done. Sometimes I couldn't cry, I just couldn't.

Her office was almost completely white. It made me want to scream. The minute I walked into her door, I knew that she wouldn't be of any help. Her black hair was almost always pinned back into a low bun. She always wore pantsuits in grey or black. With everything so organized and uniform, you'd think she's the one with a problem. Anyways, the hospital recommended her to me when I was diagnosed with depression. So I guess I was stuck with her.

"Little songs we used to hear on the radio, but most of the time she'd just make things up. She'd sing in the car, in the kitchen, the shower. So many mornings, I'd wake up to her singing while making breakfast." I had to hold back a sob as the lump in my throat grew bigger. I have to get out of here.

"Is it hot in here?" I sighed as I rubbed my palms on my knees.

"No but I can open a window." I stared at her pale green eyes. Sad. So many sad things she's heard, so many sad things she's seen.

"Would you like me to open a window, Anthony?" She stared back at me with her eyebrows raised. I needed to get out of there.

So I ran.
•
I sunk to the floor where the phone laid. I was paralyzed. Go. Get up. Go see her. But I couldn't move. This isn't real.

Wake up.

Wake up.

"Wake up!" I screamed. Look at yourself, pathetic. I was on the floor, sobbing. I looked at my hands that she used to hold. I looked at the closest where I'd look at her clothes every once in a while. No, I'm not going to do this. Not now. Pull yourself together!

I managed to stand up and fumble to my dresser. I looked in my mirror, you look like shit. My eyes were blood shot and my nose was red. I pulled on a shirt, swigged some mouthwash, and spat it into the sink as I ran out of my apartment.

"Mr.Tinns, we're so glad to see-"

"Where is she?" I hissed as Detective Palmer exhaled.

"She just got out of surgery, but she needs time to rest." Detective Palmer said as I ran to the receptionist's desk.

"What happened?" I said to the receptionist. She was on the phone so naturally she held up one finger, telling me to wait. But I couldn't wait, I was about to hurl the phone across the lobby but Detective Palmer stopped me.

"Anthony." I slouched over and turned to her.

"What happened?" I repeated, I heard my voice break as I sobbed. It hurt, not being able to see her, to hold her hand, to say it will be ok.

"Detective, please, just let me see her." I felt tears forming, but I turned away.

There was a silence.

"Room 9, go see her." I heard Palmer say as she nodded to the receptionist, still on the phone.

My hands were shaking as I turned the handle to room 9. This was it, after four months. I was going to see her again, Spencer. I turned the handle and softly gasped.

I couldn't bare to see her like that. She had tubes going into various places on her arm. I saw bruises underneath her medical wristband. She looked so small, so thin. I couldn't imagine what she was going through. Actually, I did, for the past four months all I could think about was how scared she was and how I just wanted to hold her. She looked pale. I ran my fingers through my hair as I choked back a sob.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Spencer." I pulled a chair from the corner and placed it on her left. I wanted to be the first thing she saw when she woke up.

Waiting is the hardest part.