AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Back in the bedroom, I eyed the baskets of clothes near the bed, so I propped the crutches against the mattress and lowered to sit beside them on the floor. I started looking through the neatly folded stacks, hoping I had something nice to put on for breakfast with Ben.
All of it was jeans and leggings, something I wouldn’t be able to fit over my cast unless I cut the leg, which seemed like a waste of clothes because, in two weeks, I’d be transitioning to a boot and would be able to dress normally. I didn’t have the funds to replace the clothes I ruined.
At the very bottom of one of the baskets, I found a pair of loose sweatpants that looked like they would fit over the cast. Not exactly the look I’d been hoping for, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.
The hem got caught when I pulled them out, and I reached down to untangle whatever it was caught on. My hand brushed against something hard, which made me jolt. Dropping the pants into my lap, I tipped the basket up and saw the red journal I’d found before in my nightstand.
With everything that happened, I completely forgot about the small notebook and my curiosity about whatever I’d written inside. Forgetting about my search for a breakfast outfit, I leaned against the side of the bed and pulled off the little band that held it closed.
The book fell open onto a random page in the center, and I picked it up to flip through the pages to see how much of it I’d filled. Anticipation made me excited as it felt like I’d just found the answers to so many things I wondered about.
As I flipped, a loose piece of paper fell out, sliding over my leg and onto the floor beside my hip. The red leather was cool against the bare skin of my legs when I set down the book and reached for the loose page. It was crinkled and folded, and when I opened it, I noted the jagged edge along the side, which made me think I’d ripped it out of another journal and put it into this one. Like whatever was written here was important. If it wasn’t, why bother ripping it out to keep it?
In the top corner was a date. Four years ago. I’d been holding on to this paper for four years… Why?
Curious, I started to read.
I refuse to write Dear Diary at the beginning of this because it makes me feel cheesy and like I’m talking to someone who doesn’t even exist…
…I’m writing this out for my future self. So she can come back here and read these words and see how far she’s come. Also so I don’t forget.
How ironic I wrote a journal entry to myself so I wouldn’t forget. Almost as if something in me knew I’d have amnesia someday and need this reminder.
The irony made me even more interested in what I could possibly have written to myself four years ago that was so important.
And then my heart was in my throat. The tight fit made it hard for it to beat and for me to breathe. The more I read, the worse it got until the paper shook like a leaf clinging to a tree on a windy day. I kept trying to swallow, but my throat didn’t work, so emotion and saliva pooled right there above my paralyzed heart, which remained fisted in my throat.
I blinked rapidly, trying to clear my blurring vision. The words were terrible, the emotion rising inside me a sick taste of déjà vu. I hadn’t even wanted this moment the first time… so I shied away from reliving it again.
The sob unable to break free from my throat twisted in my chest, and I let out a piteous moan, pressing a hand against my stomach. A rogue tear dropped from my lashes, splashing the page and smearing the ink.
No. This can’t be right, I thought as I struggled to concentrate on the rest of the words.
It didn’t make sense. We were engaged. In love. Crackling with so much chemistry I felt it even with a blank mind.
If this had been what happened between us, then how did we make it here?
The paper crinkled against my grip as I forced my eyes back down, mind spinning. I kept reading, thinking all the answers could be found on this page.
But it seemed the more I read, the more hurt I felt and the more questions filled my empty mind. When I got to the last line, I read it three times.
Dear future self, you can forgive him, but you should never forget.
“But I did forget,” I whispered, letting the paper drop against my bare legs.
And I couldn’t possibly understand any of this without the context of everything that happened after. Without my memory of who we were.
Something Ben said last night whispered through my mind. Words that didn’t seem like such a big deal then but suddenly had all new meaning.
Our relationship. It’s complicated. There’s a lot between us we need to work out. I don’t want to do anything now you might regret when you remember.
“I need to remember,” I whispered, picking up the paper once more, staring at the spot where my tears smudged the ink.
And then with the force of an oncoming train, memories slammed into me, knocking me into the bed and taking me hostage.
Suddenly, everything I’d forgotten was remembered.
27
