I Dont Do Too Well On My Own

The Sixty-Sixth Chapter

The next nights throughout the week I have the most horrible dreams and realisations.

I find out about my past.

Each morning Patrick tells me its true, my dream that is.

Its horrible. Im horrible.

Nobody wants their nightmares becoming reality.

I remember how I got my liver problem... How I met Patrick... Why I hate my mum. All of before. The depressing parts.

Although how I met Patrick? Just how I would want it.

I crave to remember something more of what I have done with Patrick and the others, but Im still blank.

My brain is scrambled and hazy. Sometimes I forget Im called Skye, or Jesse, and go back to Jessica, even though Im not Jessica. Jessica was weak and submissive. Im not Jessica, Im sure of it.

"So I really hated my own mum... Oh, and I still do?" I try.

"Thats right, itll come back to you eventually." Patrick tries smiling supportively.

"It will eventually all come back, right?"

"Maybe."

Thats scary. Maybe?

"Lets find out. Lets do something else instead... Ive got an idea."

Jump forward to me standing next to Patrick in a pair or skates.

"Why are we doing this?" I ask. "I cant skate."

"No, no, trust me."

I stand slowly and clutch carefully onto Patricks arm. He knows something I dont.

"Just push off slowly. Maybe it will help you remember."

I dont get what he is talking about but I carefully push off.

I look like Bambi, I bet.

I swerve quickly down the path.

"Oh wait, I forgot. Turn the corner!" Patrick shouts after me.

The sound of skates on gravel path mix with the sound of Patricks warning.

"Turn the corner!"

A sense of deja vu overwhelms me.

Oh wait, the corner... I swear I went off this corner and down the hill b-

The path suddenly leaves my feet and Im flying again. The air whips past me and Im still skating, mid air. My feet are searching for path and my arms cling for something.

"Holy shi-"

I land on the path at the bottom. My feet slam on the floor and I keep going.

I turn and look up behind me. Patrick is looking over the edge in disbelief. Then his mouth opens and he shakes his head in panic. Whats he saying? I just jumped a huge gap, he should be celebrating with me.

Suddenly my heart drops and the floor drops again. I let out a scream as I fall back off the edge.

Falling backwards is worse than falling forward. You cant see how long you will be falling for or if there is a certain bottom.

The bottom isnt straight and I roll backwards. Over and over down or away.

I should have worn a helmet...

I stop eventually and flop on my back on the gravel.

"Whoops." I laugh quietly.

My head is blurred and the urge to sleep comes. I hit my head pretty hard.

"Skye?" Patrick runs into view. "Why are you laughing?"

I shrug and look up at him.

Theres an intense pain in my head and I clench my eyes closed.

My mind is being pinches and poked and moved. I take sharp breaths.

Its like some of the amnesia is lifted.

Suddenly its over. I open my eyes and look straight at Patricks true blues.

You wouldnt be lying if you said I wanted to kiss him in that moment, even if on the cheek. He is leant over me, his face knitted into concern. His breath cascades over my face and I lick over my lips.

"I remember? More?" I try.

"I dont think you should ever go skating again." Patrick looks concerned.

"You didnt think that after last time?"

"Well."

He takes my hand and pulls me to seating.

"What do you remember?"

"There may be gaps, obviously, but... Everything."

"I mean... You hit your head... Hard."

"I flew!"

"Well..."

Wow, I missed Patrick. I missed this. Thank god I remember more.

"Lets go back... I hate skating." I smile.

Jump to us returning back.

Jump to me discovering the path of blood from... The incident.

"Your blood?" I try.

"Yeah. That hurt." Patrick nods sheepishly.

"Are you okay now?"

"It was fairly traumatic, but we are both over it. Your parents are in jail now."

There goes my childhood.

It looks like someone tried to get ketchup out of a glass bottle and accidentally threw it at the wall.

Or it could be someone playing paintball in the living room.

Or it could be part of artwork.

"What are you going to do with the stain?" I ask.

"I dont know. You tell me." Patrick smiles.