Unforgotten

Chapter 1

Running. I remember running and being chased. Then I remember falling and falling. Into darkness. Into death. But I awoke here, in a hospital bed. IV needle in my right forearm. Cardiac monitor steadily beeping allowing doctors to supervise my heart rate. Doctors walking up and down the hallway, discussing patients. I was surrounded by people I think I knew. Hell, I don't even know who I am. However, I remember him. Perfect blue eyes, golden brown hair and tan skin. The boy from the cliff. The last thing I saw before I woke up here, where he is not.

• • •

It's now been 5 weeks since my accident. My doctor released me yesterday, but no one will tell me exactly what happened. Every time I ask they just give me the same BS story: I was in Colorado Springs running down a street when I fell into a 14 foot valley and was rendered unconscious. That sounds about right, but I don't have any broken bones or signs of injury which I find suspicious. The fact that everyone is keeping a huge secret from me is frustrating.

"Why won't you tell me?"

"You know I can't. Both your doctor and psychiatrist told me that I mustn't tell you until your birthday in three months"

"Why the hell not? It's not fair!"

"Watch your language! You can do whatever you want at your dads, but here the rules haven't changed."

"I haven't seen him in five years. The man doesn't care about me." I paused. "I'm going to the park."

Before she could respond, I walked out the front door. As soon as I got down the steps, a cold gust of wind came and caused me to shiver. I went back inside, passed my mom and went straight to my room and laid out on my bed.

I was in the hospital for a month and was forced to see a psychiatrist. She would often talk about my childhood and what I remembered and my previous life, which wasn't much. Often times she asked about my dad and I never really knew why. I still have nightmares and flashbacks though. My psychiatrist wasn't able to prevent that. She told me that I have PTSD or post-traumatic stress disorder and may never be comfortable near valleys again. At least, that's what the index card says.

Sometimes I feel like my mom doesn't understand me. She thinks that after a month of hospitalization and therapy everything can return to normal. Well, it can't and she needs to realize that. She is already making me return to school on Monday and I couldn't be more scared and worried. I don't know any of my classes or teachers. I'm having enough trouble trying to remember myself.

• • •

It's Monday morning and I am attending school today. I am really scared. Right now, I don't remember who I am or anything honestly. Because of whatever happened to me, I lost my memory and must read index cards.

"My name is Avery Smith. I am sixteen years old. My birthday is July 24,1997. I attend Claude Monet High as a junior. I do own a car, but because of my circumstances I am not allowed to drive. My best friend is Riley Peers, I've known him since grade school. My parents got divorced when I was eleven and I haven't been in contact with my dad since."

I recite only the ones I feel are important to know at the moment. My doctor suggested that this will help my memory recovery process. As the day goes on I remember more, but once I fall asleep it all slips away again. My doctor says this will continue for three months.

I got dressed and ate my breakfast. I gathered my school supplies, said good-bye to my mom and left for the school bus, where Riley was said to always meet me.

"Uh, hi I'm Riley Peers, your best friend."

He softly touched my arm as I turned to face him. Once I did, I flashed back to that day on the cliff. He gently shook my arm.

"Avery? What's wrong? Are you alright?"

"Where am I? Who are you?"

"I'm Riley, your best friend and you're at your bus stop."

"Oh okay. " I exhaled. "Sorry for freaking out on you."

"It's okay. Just something I'll have to adjust to."

Riley had reminded me of the guy I saw on the cliff. For some reason, I felt safe with him; I knew he wouldn't hurt me.

We arrived at school about ten minutes later. Riley and I had to go to the front office to discuss my condition and it's affect on my school work.

"Well, I think you should make an index card over it. On one card write your schedule and on the others your daily homework." Mr. Davis suggested. I took his idea, got my schedule printed and left with Riley by my side.

"If you aren't ready, you don't have to go. I'm pretty sure they'd understand."

"No, it's okay. I think it's better that I try and get a normal-ish routine going."

He put his arm around me and smiled encouragingly.

"Okay."