'Till Death Do Us Part

Chapter One- The Box.

She slowly came into consciousness in a lying position, her back against a cold, solid metal floor. She tensed one hand, slowly, a dull ache buzzing through her. Her fingers curled, then sprawled back out. She felt her finger connect with a wall similar to the floor. Her head hurt, but then again, just about everything hurt.

Sounds filled her ears: clanking, metal grinding against metal, squeaks and clattering. It was almost deafening. She was swaying back and forth, jolting and bumping around.

Her mind was fuzzy, her thoughts distant, her body numbed. One thought gained attention within the many crowding her head: drugs.

She groaned slightly, shuffled into a sitting position, her back now against the metal wall she had felt. Felt. Not seen. It was pitch black, not one source of light. Darkness surrounded her, engulfed her, and a strange but all too familiar mixture of panic and dread hitting her like a sledge hammer.

But she kept it down, her mind still in a desperate haze, scrambling to latch on to one decipherable thought.

Then she realised.

She couldn't remember.

Anything.

Well, on some levels, she could. Riding a bike, but not who taught her. Running down a leaf strewn road. Eating a cheeseburger. Sitting at a desk, scribbling in a work book. Images of people flashed through her mind, but she couldn't make out their faves, their features ghostly smears of colours.

It was driving her mad.

She could almost feel memories slipping away. A man. Dark hair, bright eyes. Her dad. Dad. Her mind grasped that, but it felt like trying to cup water in your hands.

Someone else. A dark boy with a sarcastic smile plastered on his face, one eyebrow raised, a twinkle of humour in his eyes. She didn't know how, but knew it was someone close. A relative. Definitely a relative.

Someone blonde. Brown eyed. Grinning. Not a relative. A friend, maybe a love interest? She couldn't figure it out.

Another face. Someone small, brown hair. A little girl. A sister? A friend? Some sort of relative? The girl in the image gave a toothy grin.

And the memory was gone.

She tried to reach out for it again, but it was like trying to get something you knew was there, somewhere in the dark abyss that was her thoughts, but was just out of reach. Do you ever hear about amputees who feel phantom pains in their missing limbs?

It was like that.

Names danced across her mind, but all she could make out was jumbled letters, sounds but not full names. The image of the little girl appeared once again, but this time her face was a sea of emotions, sorrow and anger, shock and disbelief. She was getting more and more distant by the second, screaming. Screaming a name. Her name.

Riley.

She repeated the word aloud, savouring each syllable, something the grasp hold of in the darkness. Her voice was hoarse and ragged. She coughed once. Twice. She didn't feel any better.

The throbbing pain in her head ached more than ever. She gingerly reached up with a trembling hand, pressing it against the brunt of the pain. She flinched, the back of her head hitting the wall. Lips pursed, she brought her hand back down. It was wet- not water wet, slightly thicker and definitely warmer.

Blood.

She wiped her hand against the leg of her trousers, shuddering. Slowly, fearfully, she stood, her back sliding up the cool metal. Her knees almost buckled underneath her, but she caught herself just in time to stop the fall.