Living In The Past

Chapter Thirteen

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Re- cap:

Photographs scattered on the hardwood floor. These were pictures they didn’t frame. She ran her hand over them, smiling at all the memories.

Something caught her eye.

“What the hell?”

* * *

Chapter Thirteen:

Shock: That’s what Yasmine felt when she looked at the photograph. She held it in her hands, looking at the little girl in the photo. The same little girl that’s been coming to her dreams for the past few days: the little blonde girl.

But, why was the picture in her house?

The picture had Yasmine when she was little, her arm wrapped around the blonde girl, and the blonde girl’s arm wrapped around Yasmine’s neck. They were both grinning cheek-to-cheek next to each other in the photo. There were some tall trees in the background, and a . . . giraffe?

She was sure she didn’t know any blonde girl like that. And it certainly wasn’t herself.

The jingle of keys interrupted her shocking new discovery. Crap. Her father was home. He must’ve just got out of work, since he worked overnight.

Yasmine stuffed the rest of the papers and photographs back in the box, and quickly placed it back on the shelf. She placed her glass of water away, so her father wouldn’t suspect she was in the kitchen.

She was also in just a t-shirt. Not the best way to greet your father when he got home. It would look like she had being doing something. She rushed into her bedroom, locking her door behind her. Without moving an inch, she sat on the floor, the door right against her back. She looked at the photo once again.

Now, she was one-hundred-percent sure that the blonde girl in the picture, and the girl in her dreams were the same. But, who was she?

Maybe there’s some writing, or caption, she thought, flipping the photograph over to its back. And there was.

MY BABYGIRLS, LILY AND YASMINE

What the heck? Lily, was in Aaron’s fiancé? Yasmine thought, but tossed that thought aside. Couldn’t be.

The scrawny, slanted, all capital letters were surely her father’s handwriting. She’d seen that handwriting all her life. On lists naming all food they needed to buy from the supermarket, or sticky notes telling her that he was going to be gone for the night and that she should cook up dinner for herself. Yasmine had memorized her father’s handwriting by now. The photo’s caption was definitely written by her father.

But, who in the world was the little girl? Could it be Lily, as in Lily Porter—the girl marrying Aaron?

The questions swirled in her mind over and over. It was irritating her, not being able to know who the girl was. She ran a hand through her hair, and stood up. If she wanted to know answers, she was going to have to find them herself.

Maybe, Lily knew the answer. She was currently the only person that could give her answers. Nobody else was named Lily, or was blonde in Yasmine’s life.

Just when she was about to head to her bathroom to take a shower, her iPhone rang. The sound was muffled though. Yasmine looked everywhere, but where had she put her phone?

“Where is it?” she muttered, looking under her pillows. Then, a memory hit her! The bartender put it in her purse. She quickly ran to the purse that was laid on the floor, and fumbled for her phone. After snatching it, the caller I.D. read, “Aaron.”