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My phone has five percent battery left. I set aside the laptop and plug my phone in, too. I lean on my side to go through my messages. I’ve got a conversation thread with my therapist, with my cousin. Natalie. Jacob.
That’s it. It’s painfully bare. My contacts are just as bad. I can count them on one hand.
No relatives.
No other friends.
A pang goes through my chest.
If I had friends, are they wondering what happened to me? I downloaded social media apps ages ago, but I couldn’t get into them. I didn’t have any idea what my email address would be, let alone a password.
I should just make a new profile and go from there.
I sit up straighter, practically vibrating.
There have to be people out there besides my cousin. People who aren’t blood related, whocarewhere I went. They’ve got to be out there. They’ve got to be worried.
Or maybe…
Maybe I’m just a shit person, and I don’t have anyone except a cousin who can’t tell me anything about myself.
That thought stills my hand. It’s not the first time I’ve thought it, but I doubt it’ll be the last.
Am I really so afraid of that?
I close out of the social media app and open my lists. Nearly all the way to the bottom, just above a section I don’t want to think about, isFears.
Spiders made the list. I added the worddarlingafter the hockey game in New York, although I still don’t understand it. Snakes don’t bother me, along with a plethora of other animals. The dark is iffy, not that I’ve put myself in that situation very much. The walking-alone-outside kind of dark, not just my room before bed.
But now I can add another one, and it rots in my chest. It hurts to breathe deeply.
Confrontation. I’m afraid of action and reaction. Of consequences.
And okay, I’m a little bit afraid of having ruined all previous life-relations.
I’ve been here for two months. Not a single memory has come back. My therapist in the hospital, toward the end of my stay, shifted talking from memory recovery to moving on with my life. To getting a job—in what? I don’t know—and friends. Widening my circle.
I should move the fears section farther up the list, because it’s definitely the most prominent right now.
I drop my phone facedown beside me and flop back.
There’s no way I’m going back to sleep. I stare at the ceiling in a weird in-between state until the sun rises and my doorknob jiggles. My heart skips, and I wait for Natalie or Thomas to call out. When I remain silent, footsteps recede.
Only then do I get up. I shower, taking care to check the mostly healed scar on my head, and dress. I need to catch a ride downtown and continue to job search. I slide my glasses on, which feels a bit like a mental armor, and unlock the door.
The house is quiet except for the rustle of newspaper coming from the kitchen. I head in and pour myself a cup of coffee, adding the cream and two spoons of sugar. I join Thomas at the table and eye him.
He’s not bad looking, if I was judging. Which I’m not. Maybe a little too LA—his wrinkle-free forehead gives away the Botox—but overall, a nice face. Natalie seemed to have picked a good guy.
“How was the game?” He folds the paper and sets it aside. “I was watching it here. It was a tough loss, but did you have fun?”
I force a smile. “Yeah, it was good. I’ve got some errands to run downtown, could you give me a ride when you head to work?”
He nods without comment. I let out a slow breath, then smile again. He rises and pats my shoulder.
My skin crawls.
I barely stop myself from flinching away from him.
