Amnesia || l.r.h

Chapter One: Emy

"No..." I groaned nearly inhumanly as I tossed in bed. I was far too comfortable to dare even think of leaving my warm sheets for the brisk air without them. I wanted sleep, and nothing but it. Sadly, the only thing that lay between me and my precious comatose state was my father staring down at me, my phone laying in his palm.

"Emy," he muttered with a smile, looking down at me. "This God forsaken thing has been going off for the last three hours." He chuckled and sat beside me, my back still facing my fathers frame. "Plus, munchkin, it's about two in the afternoon. I think it's time you stood for the first time today."

With that, my father laid a gentle kiss on my head and put my phone down beside me, exciting the room. I sighed softly and turned over, grabbing my cellphone, only opening my eyes slightly to read my notifications:

A text from my friend Jessie: Hey babe! cx Come see me before you leave!

I smiled bitterly to myself thinking over my last day in this house. I'd been here my entire life; almost seventeen years. I learned how to walk and talk here. I broke my arm on the swing set outside. I sang with my mom in her music room. She taught me to dance here. Dad taught me to write out my feelings. I watched mom get sick here... Mom died here... I didn't want to leave.

After my mother died back in the spring, my dad couldn't function. The once famous screen play writer went silent and retired from the stage altogether. He wanted no part in anything anymore. He never left our New York home. His once clean shaved face went long and scruffy. His eyes don't smile with him anymore... He just... lives.

He deemed the house 'unlivable' about a month ago after he found my mother's slippers in the bathroom. He went house hunting that day and found a house on the outskirts of Sydney... Australia. We were not only moving houses, but we were moving countries. Being the daddy's girl I am and always have been, I decided to go along. He needed what he needed to heal and I wanted to be the one to help him.

I sighed and unlocked my phone, revealing my home screen; seeing the poster of the last play my dad had written and my mother had stared in. My mother was a real actress. She'd preformed on broadway since she was fifteen. She was a natural up there. She could belt out songs like it was no ones business. I remember watching her shows with such big eyes wanting to be just like her.

My mother had actually met my father when she auditioned to be the lead in a play my father had written. It was his first play ever to be made; and to have been on Broadway. He wanted someone so much older than my mother to play the lead role but once he saw her, he claimed she was 'a goddess sent to him from the heavens to be made his lead in everything, especially life'. They had me two years later. My father never wrote a play that my mother couldn't star in. And believe me; she did every, single one of them.

I switched onto my Tumblr AskEmy account. A few years back I had signed on to help give advise to those who asked. Apparently I wasn't half bad. Word spread and I have about 50-100 asks a day from people who 'need' my advice. Though, my motto is 'I can't help you unless you're willing to help yourself'.

Today I had a rather 'dire' one that I felt I needed to assess. His name was Luke and he seemed in such need. I felt horrid for the poor boy. His heart shattered into millions of pieces over someone with careless hands. He seemed poetic, sensitive, but strong. I liked him, I already knew that. 'Luke_The_Penguin96' was a person I knew I wanted to help. Hurriedly, I sent him a email to let him know I was planning on doing everything I could to make him happy.

After reading what I wrote, I slipped out of my bed and into my slippers along with my open sweater and gently shuffled down two flights of stairs to my father who was sitting back with a novel and humming along to my favorite song; 'Disconnected' by 5 Seconds of Summer.