Memory loss was one thing, but figuring out how I lost it?
That was a whole other nightmare.
Apparently, I'd tried to kill myself.
They didn't want to tell me at first. No one did. Instead, they danced around the truth, talking in circles until I'd finally had enough. Everyone was gathered except Penny.
She had school.
Standing with my arms crossed, and everyone else looking like they'd been sentenced to a group therapy session they hadn't signed up for. I stared at them, impatient.
"Just tell me. What happened? Why can't I remember anything?" No one spoke for a moment. Denise—Mom—kept smoothing her hands over her jeans, like she was rehearsing her lines in her head. David looked down at his lap. Even Isaac wouldn't meet my eyes.
It was Luke who broke the silence, his voice blunt and flat.
"You tried to kill yourself." I froze.
For a second, I thought I'd misheard him. But when I looked around the room, no one corrected him.
"I what?" I said, my voice sharp and disbelieving.
Luke wouldn't look at me, his gaze fixed on the floor.
"You jumped, From your bedroom window." I blinked, sinking into the nearest chair without even realising it. My mind raced. "Jumped?" I repeated slowly. "Like... intentionally?" No one answered.
"Okay, wait. Let's rewind," I said, holding up a hand like I was directing traffic.
"Are we sure? Maybe it was an accident. Maybe I tripped. Or—oh! Was there a fire? Did I think I could Spider-Man my way out of it?"
Still no answer. Huh.
Denise looked like she might cry.
"Okay, fine. Not a fire," I muttered.
I tapped my fingers on the armrest, thinking. "Car accident? Was I in a car accident and hit my head, and this is all some weird misunderstanding?
"David shook his head slowly."Was I... I don't know, robbed? Did someone push me? Were there witnesses?" I was grasping at straws, but I couldn't stop myself. Anything made more sense than what they were saying.
"It wasn't an accident," David said finally, his voice quiet but steady. I stared at him, then at the others. "You're telling me I just woke up one day and decided to throw myself out a window?"
Isaac flinched like the words physically hurt him, but he didn't argue. I leaned back, crossing my arms. "That doesn't make any sense," I said, my voice rising. "I mean, I've seen my report cards. Straight A's. I like... books and art and—" My voice cracked, and I stopped short.
"You were struggling," Denise said softly. Her words wavered like she was afraid of breaking me. "We didn't see how much until it was too late
"Struggling? The word felt foreign. Like it didn't belong to me.
"You jumped," David said again, his tone firmer this time. "It was snowing, and you landed on snow. If Isaac hadn't found, you..." He trailed off, his jaw tightening. I glanced at Isaac. He looked frozen, pale, like he was reliving the moment right there in front of me. I took a deep breath, trying to process. But the more they talked, the more it felt like they were telling someone else's story. I shook my head.
"No. That's... that's not me," I said finally. "I wouldn't do that. I wouldn't." Would i?"Crystal—" Denise started, but I cut her off."No!" I snapped, standing up again. "You've got the wrong person. I don't know who you think I am, but it's not her."
"why was i struggling?" I looked around the room "did I see a therapist or something"
" your relationship ended" Isaac said gripping his palms together
"I was in relationship" that sounded wired
"with whom and how come I didn't see that person once was I a bad girlfriend" no one answered
Shit!
The room fell silent, the weight of their stares pressing down on me. I wanted to yell, to throw something, to make them stop looking at me like I was a broken doll they didn't know how to fix. But instead, I sat back down, gripping the edge of the chair so hard my knuckles turned white."Fine," I said quietly, my voice wavering as I looked down at my hands. "I... I'm sorry. I mean, really, I don't even know what to say. I did that. To all of you? I don't—" My throat tightened, cutting me off before I could finish.
Denise reached out, her hand soft and hesitant, but I flinched back instinctively, wrapping my arms around myself. t point. I feel like I should, but there's just... nothing. It's blank. And that makes it worse."Her hand froze in midair before falling to her lap, her face etched with worry and something else—something like heartbreak.
"You don't have to have all the answers right now," she said gently, her voice careful, like she didn't want to push too hard.I nodded, but my stomach churned. The words didn't feel like enough. None of this felt like enough. "I just wish I remembered. Then maybe I'd understand why I hurt all of you like this." My voice broke at the end, and I quickly bit my lip, trying to steady myself.
Denise didn't say anything else, but her eyes stayed on me, full of a warmth I wasn't sure I deserved."Well," I said, my voice flat, "I guess I should be thanking the snow.
"Denise—Mom—made a small sound, like a controlled laugh choked back into her throat. Isaac shifted uncomfortably, and Luke looked like he wanted to say something but didn't know how to start."Can I go?" I asked, breaking the tension.
"Go where?" David asked, frowning.
"Anywhere. My room. The moon. Just... not here.""Crys—" Isaac started, his voice soft, but I shook my head."I need a minute," I said, already backing toward the stairs. They didn't try to stop me.My room—or at least the room they told me was mine—was quiet and cold.
The 'KEEP OUT' sign on the door felt like a joke now. Who was I trying to keep out? The world? Myself?
I closed the door behind me and leaned against it, staring at the space that was supposed to be mine. The walls were lined with posters I didn't recognize. A desk held trinkets and photos of people I couldn't place. A bookshelf full of books I didn't remember reading stared back at me, like they were judging me for not knowing.
This wasn't a room.
It was a museum of someone else's life. I walked to the bed and sat down, the mattress sinking slightly under my weight. My eyes fell on a framed photo on the nightstand—Isaac and me, our faces identical in so many ways. We were smiling, arms around each other like we didn't have a care in the world.I picked up the photo, my thumb brushing over the glass.
"Who the hell were you?" I whispered, staring at the girl who was supposed to be me. There was no answer, of course. I set the photo down and laid back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. My thoughts were a mess, tangled and heavy.
Why had I jumped?
No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't find an answer. Just a void where memories should've been. The knock on the door startled me."Crys?" Isaac's voice was hesitant, almost nervous.
"What?"
"Can I come in?" I didn't answer right away. Part of me wanted to say no, to tell him to leave me alone. But the other part... the part that recognised something in him, some tether to a life I couldn't remember, won out.
"Yeah," I said finally.The door opened slowly, and he stepped inside, his hands shoved into his pockets. He looked at me like I was made of glass, like one wrong move would shatter me completely.
"What do you want?" I asked, my tone harsher than I intended. He flinched but didn't leave. Instead, he sat down on the edge of the bed, leaving space between us."I just... I wanted to check on you," he said quietly."I'm fine," I lied. He nodded, like he didn't believe me but wasn't going to push. For a moment, we sat in silence. Then he said, "You don't have to figure it all out right now, you know. No one's expecting you to." I turned my head to look at him. "Are you sure about that? Because it feels like everyone's waiting for me to magically remember everything and go back to being... her."
Isaac's jaw tightened.
"That's not what we want."
"Then what do you want?" He met my eyes, his expression unreadable. "I just want my sister back."The words hit me harder than I expected. I looked away, back at the ceiling."I'm not her," I whispered.
"Not yet," he whispered more to himself than to me. "But maybe you can be."
It had been Six months after being told I'd survived a suicide attempt, I was standing in the middle of the university quad, clutching a schedule I barely understood, about to resume the life of a college freshman. Again.
Pre-med.
That's what my file said. That's what I was, apparently. Isaac, my twin brother, said I used to love it. He told me stories about late-night study sessions and anatomy quizzes I'd made him take with me, but none of it felt real to me. My brain didn't seem interested in giving me anything to hold onto."Are you sure about this?" Isaac had asked earlier that morning, leaning against the kitchen counter in our apartment while I picked at a piece of toast.
"Not really," I'd admitted. "But what else am I supposed to do?" He didn't have an answer, and neither did I. Now, as I stood in the middle of a bustling campus, watching students laugh and chat like they belonged, the weight of isolation settled back onto my shoulders. Adjusting my bag, I made my way toward the biology building. My first class was Anatomy 101, an introductory course. But even the thought of staring at cadavers—or diagrams—made my stomach twist. The lecture hall was massive. I slipped into a seat near the back, trying to make myself invisible. Most of the students around me looked fresh out of high school, eager and unburdened by anything. The professor walked in, brisk and efficient, and began setting up a presentation: Foundations of Human Anatomy. I stared at the screen, forcing myself to take notes, though the words blurred together. Terminology I was told I used to know felt foreign, like trying to read a language I'd once spoken fluently but had now completely forgotten.
By the time class ended, I was drained. The hallways buzzed with students spilling out of classrooms, laughing and chatting. I moved through them like a ghost, heavy-footed and invisible. Outside, the cool breeze hit my face, and I sank onto a bench under a tree. I needed a moment to breathe.
"Hey, you, okay?"The voice startled me. I looked up to see a girl standing there, her blond hair framing a face full of curiosity and concern."Yeah," I said automatically, though it didn't feel true.She didn't move, studying me with a quiet persistence that made me squirm."You're in Anatomy 101, right? I saw you in class," she said, sitting down beside me like it was the most natural thing in the world."Yeah," I said again, my voice flat."I'm Tara," she offered, holding out a hand. I hesitated before shaking it. "Crystal."
"Nice to meet you, Crystal," she said, her smile warm. "If you need a study buddy, let me know. This pre-med stuff can be brutal."
"Thanks," I murmured, the word awkward in my mouth.Tara stood, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "See you next class," she said before walking off.For the first time in months, I felt a flicker of something that wasn't dread or exhaustion. Isaac was already home. By the time I reached the apartment, he was hunched over his laptop with half-empty coffee mugs scattered around him. We lived in a modest two-bedroom apartment close to the university. It wasn't fancy, but it was ours. Isaac's side of the place was chaos—business textbooks, sticky notes, and random laundry piles. My side was meticulously neat, everything in its place. Control over my space felt like the only thing I had left."You good?" Isaac asked, glancing up as I walked in and dropped my bag by the door."Define 'good,'" I replied, slumping onto the couch. He smirked, leaning back in his chair. "You're quieter than usual."I rolled my eyes. "I'm always quiet."
"Quieter than usual," he repeated, his gaze steady.I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "It's just... weird. Being back in school. Living here. Everything."Isaac nodded, setting his laptop aside. "Yeah, I get that."
"Do you?" I asked, sharper than I intended.He didn't flinch. "Not completely," he admitted. "But I know it's hard. I'm trying to give you space. "Space. That was Isaac's thing. He was always there, but he never pushed, never pried."I'm fine," I said after a moment, though we both knew it was a lie.He didn't call me out on it. Instead, he tossed me a bag of chips from the coffee table. "Eat something. You look like you're about to pass out."I caught the bag, a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. "Thanks, Mom." He laughed, the sound light and easy. "You're welcome. Maybe things will get better.
The next day, after my last class, I saw him leaning against Isaac's car. Isaac wasn't there yet, and I didn't have anywhere else to go—or anyone else to see. I sighed, clutching my bag tighter like it could somehow shield me from the weight of everything that was about to happen. Counting under my breath—1, 2, 3, 1, 2, 3—I forced myself forward, each step feeling heavier than the last. He looked different from the photos. Older. Taller. The sharp angles of his face now had a maturity I hadn't expected, and his posture screamed tension. The boy from all the family photos.
The one who never showed up.
The boy they called Striker.
His hands were shoved deep into his pockets, his eyes darting over my face like he was searching for something he wasn't finding.
"Hi," I said, the word brittle and awkward, barely managing to bridge the silence."Hey," he replied, his voice low, gravelly, like it had been worn down over time. I stopped a few feet away, crossing my arms to stop them from fidgeting. "You look... different," he said after a pause, the words hesitant, like he wasn't sure they were welcome."you know I don't remember you right?," I said, not bothering to soften it. Striker flinched, but his expression didn't change. He just nodded, staring at the ground for a moment. "Yeah," he muttered. "I heard" The silence stretched, thick and heavy, until I couldn't hold back anymore. "Isaac said you cheated that's why I broke up with you and got depressed but I don't buy that?" I said.
Readjusting my bag around my shoulder today was so hard.
Striker shifted, his weight moving from one foot to the other. "It's... complicated," he said finally, his voice low, evasive."Complicated?" I repeated, incredulous. "I was lying in a hospital bed, and you couldn't show up? Because I had been in love with you that I wanted to kill myself, What's so complicated about that?"
He didn't answer right away, his jaw tightening as his gaze drifted somewhere past me. "I'm sorry" he said vaguely.
"I'm sorry?" My voice rose, frustration bubbling to the surface. "You mean while I was unconscious and fighting for my life? And what you have to say is I'm sorry fuck.!"
He winced but didn't look at me. "I didn't think I'd help," he mumbled, barely loud enough for me to hear.
"Help with what?" I pressed, stepping closer. "What could've possibly been so bad that you couldn't even visit? Well asides from cheating I don't even believe that but whatever "
"His hands clenched in his pockets, his shoulders stiffening. "I thought it'd make things worse," he said, still not meeting my eyes.I stared at him, my anger shifting to something colder, harder. "Make things worse? For whom, exactly?"
"For you," he said softly, finally looking up at me, though his gaze flickered away almost immediately."Really?" I said, my tone cutting. "So, you just decided to stay away. For my sake?"He hesitated, his lips parting like he wanted to say something, but no words came out.
."Do you even have an answer?" I asked, my voice tired now."I don't know what to say," he admitted, his tone frustratingly calm, frustratingly vague."Well, that's convenient," I muttered, taking a step back.
He opened his mouth again, but I held up a hand to stop him. "No, don't bother," I said, shaking my head. "I'm too tired for this."Striker frowned, his shoulders slumping slightly. "I didn't want to hurt you," he said, almost like an afterthought.
" Too late, please just go we can talk next time" I said flatly, stepping around him leaning against the car. When my eyes began to sting, and the tears came, I let them fall.