#1 - Page 4 (1/2)
Lilies.
She smells like lilies, and I don’t know how I can possibly remember what lilies smell like, but somehow not remember the actual person standing in front of me who smells like them.
Her eyes haven’t left mine, not even once.
“Silas,” she says. “What’s my last name?”
I work my jaw back and forth, and then turn around to face the sink again. I lean forward and grip it tightly with both hands. I slowly lift my eyes until they meet hers in the reflection.
“Your last name?” My mouth is dry again and my words come out scratchy.
She waits.
I look away from her and back at the eyes of the unfamiliar guy in the mirror. “I…I can’t remember.”
She disappears from the reflection, followed immediately by a loud smack. It reminds me of the sound the fish make at Pikes Place Market, when they toss and catch them in the wax paper.
Smack!
I spin around and she’s lying on the tile floor, eyes closed, arms splayed out. I immediately kneel down and lift her head, but as soon as I have her elevated several inches off the floor, her eyelids begin to flutter open.
“Charlie?”
She sucks in a rush of air and sits up. She pulls herself out of my arms and shoves me away, almost as if she’s afraid of me. I keep my hands positioned near her in case she attempts to stand, but she doesn’t. She remains seated on the floor with her palms pressed into the tile.
“You pa.s.sed out,” I tell her.
She frowns at me. “I’m aware of that.”
I don’t speak again. I should probably know what all her expressions mean, but I don’t. I don’t know if she’s scared or angry or…
“I’m confused,” she says, shaking her head. “I…can you…” she pauses, and then makes an attempt to stand. I stand with her, but I can tell she doesn’t like this by the way she glares at my hands that are slightly lifted, waiting to catch her should she start to fall again.
She takes two steps away from me and crosses an arm over her chest. She brings her opposite hand up and begins chewing on the pad of her thumb again. She studies me quietly for a moment and then pulls her thumb from her mouth, making a fist. “You didn’t know we had cla.s.s together after lunch.” Her words are spoken with a layer of accusation. “You don’t know my last name.”
I shake my head, admitting to the two things I can’t deny.
“What can you remember?” she asks.
She’s scared. Nervous. Suspicious. Our emotions are reflections of one another, and that’s when the clarity hits.
She may not feel familiar. I may not feel familiar. But our actions—our demeanor—they’re exactly the same.
“What do I remember?” I repeat her question in an attempt to buy myself a few more seconds to allow my suspicions to gain footing.
She waits for my answer.
“History,” I say, attempting to remember as far back as I can. “Books. I saw a girl drop her books.” I grab my neck again and squeeze.
“Oh, G.o.d.” She takes a quick step toward me. “That’s…that’s the first thing I remember.”