Blank Space
- Reads 142
- Votes 1
- Parts 7
They call me Jane. Jane Doe.
I don't know how long I've been here. Weeks. Days. Hours. Minutes. Seconds. It's hard to keep track of the time. It's hard for me to keep track of anything, apparently.
I spend my days crying over my lost memories, and trying to recall them. I don't know who I am. Who my parents are. Who my friends are. Where I come from. How old I am.
I can't answer anyone's questions. I can't remember anything.
All I know are these four walls and the doctors and nurses that care for me. And the boy outside the window.
They say he's been here since day one. He waits for me, refusing food. I don't even know who he is.
He wants to come in and see me, but the doctor says my grasp on reality is "too fragile, as it is."
I stifle a smile as he leans his head back against the glass panel and snores. Who could he be? My friend? My brother?
Just the thought of it makes me cry. How could I forget him? How could I forget them all?
I lean back in the hospital bed and allow myself to sob. Why did this happen? Why did I forget?
As I look up at the ceiling, I try to find my lost memories, but it feels as if my mind is completely empty. Like I have nothing there but cobwebs. All I have is this huge blank space in my brain.
So what would fill it again?
~Highest Ranking: #599 in MYSTERY/ THRILLER 3/5/17~
~Updates are contingent upon my schedule and how well my imagination is running! Thanks for your support and patience.~
~Please read, vote, and comment! This is an unedited first draft, so any spelling or grammar corrections are greatly appreciated, and I would love to answer your questions.~
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#62
blackmail
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"Alexia." Someone screams and soon I'm drenched in water. I gasp and sit up. My mom hugs me and I tensed. "Sorry." I whispered and relax. I was covered in sweat and water. It's almost been a year since I've been back home. I still have those terrors or should I say memories. That day has been scarred in my brain. I was only 7. I'm 17 now. But that memory has been haunting me for the past 3 days. My dad stood at the door watching silently. He gave me space and I loved how he cared enough to. Maybe it was the fact I had a panic attack once when he woke me. "Hi." I breath out. "Hey." He whispers. Long story short I was taken when I seven, a day after my birthday. I hadn't remember much about my family expected maybe my dad and two other boys who were, well are my brothers. But I've been in a cell obeying the rules of a monster for 10 years. It took a lot of therapy to just get me to say two words and stop hiding and running away 1 year of therapy to realize he can't hurt me now. "You can come in.." I say softly. He walks in and joins the hug. I sigh and lean into their touch. There's no doubt in my mind that I will be starting the sessions again.
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