Concussion •Miniminter•

•50•

     "Whatever, I give up," I resented, zipping up the makeup bag I discovered in my luggage. This is one of the bad things about staying in a house full of guys; there were no girls. No girls to tell me if I was dressed properly, or how to put on makeup, or if I'm speaking like a girl would speak. Sometimes I feel like I'm turning into a guy, but I know that's not true, unless guys turn gay for Simon, and then say yes to go on a date with him.

Sometimes Freya will come and visit, but she was busy today, so I was on my own. Well, I was with Jay, but that's pretty much the same thing as being alone.

     "You know, I bet Simon thinks you're already beautiful without any makeup," Jay comforted me, making me grin.

     "Thanks Jay. No makeup is fine I guess, but I know I'm gonna have to do something with this mess of hair," I said as I gently moved my mop of hair around on my head.

     Not too long ago I took a shower, taking careful care of my scalp and my bandaged hand like the doctors told me to do before. Now, as I looked at my reflection, my damp hair laid slightly off my shoulders, the fuzz secretly growing in the little spot on the side of my head. I raised my hand to ever-so-slightly part my hair and move my hand over the blotch; the soft, yet tingling feeling on my fingertips. I brought them to my scar; where the stitches used to be; where I once had the memory of a million years, now thrown out of me. By another human skull.

"It still surprises me how much damage one skull can do to another," I pondered, moving my hair back to its normal settling, now a mix of damp and dry-flat strands of hair.

"And how hard you hit the ground," Jay added, his phone screen reflecting through his glasses. I began to move back to my room, Jay following suit.

"You know, of all the things I chose to research, I didn't search up anything about what happened to me," I told him. I pulled different assortments of clothes out of my suitcase, laying them out on the bed.

One of the nights before, I spent the whole time online, figuring out what makes the world spin around here. Who is the president of the United States? Trump. Who is the Queen if the United Kingdom? Queen Elizabeth II. How do you play football? Still figuring that out.

Jay also helped me out a bit, and I ended up in his room for the night. What were our parents' names? Janice and Ed. Do we have any other siblings? No. Do I go to Uni? Yes. What do I do there? Art and Football. Do I remember how to do those things? Fuck no. Did I think muscle memory would remember how? Fuck no. Was I wrong? Yes. I ended up sketching a really complex butterfly off of a picture online at 2 in the morning. It now hangs on the guys' fridge. I feel like a proud child.

I stared down at my new discovery of clothing options (new because Simons been throwing Sidemen clothing at me ever since we arrived here), immediately getting rid of the sporty shirts and shorts, now leaving me with high-waisted holy jeans, and two tops; one blue with sparkles, and the other one was a plain black tank-top crop-top; black socks, and converse.

"I'd go with the black shirt, you wore the blue one already here," Jay suggested. I went with what he said and added that sparkly mess with the sporty apparel.

"Okay, you've seen me change before since we're siblings and all right?" I asked him, which he nodded in confusion. I then pulled off my lousy wear and put on the chosen outfit. I smiled at myself as I laced my shoes, buzzing and a little nervous to go meet Simon downstairs. I stood up from the bed, looking up to Jay.

"So, how do I look?" I spun around and gave the brightest smile I could give. I stopped, a little startled by the figure in the door frame. My smile soon crept back on my face as I saw who it was. His side-smirk and dimple made me weak. My eyes looked down at my feet, hiding my embarrassment that I felt flood my face.