Isaac told me about Striker on the third night after I came home from the hospital. We'd been sitting in the living room, the TV on low, both of us pretending like i was normal and not the girl who lost her memories.
He brought it up casually, like he was mentioning the weather. "You remember Striker, right?"
I didn't.
So, he told me. About how we'd all been childhood friends first. How Striker's parents and ours had been best friends since college. Summers together, holidays, all that picturesque crap. And then how, somewhere along the way, Striker and I had become more than friends.
"Lovers," Isaac had said, his tone careful, like he was trying not to spook me. "You guys dated for two years. Although i wasn't cool about it… "he sighed "I just let you guys be"
I blinked at him, trying to picture it—me, in love with someone named Striker. It sounded more like one of those comic book characters that I read at than a person. "Why'd we break up?"
Isaac shrugged, a little too casually. "You said it was mutual but I later found out that he had cheated on you."
"You guys still talked, though," Isaac continued. "After you broke up. Same college. Same classes sometimes. You stayed in touch, but you weren't close like before."
I frowned. "So, what? That means he just couldn't be bothered to visit me? I mean even if he cheated or whatever it's not like I believe he did he could have still visited"
Isaac hesitated, his eyes flicking to the TV. "He did. Once. You were asleep."
"Once? "Once!
"Yeah. Once."
That was the end of it. Isaac didn't say anything else, and I didn't push. But the idea stuck with me, clawing at the edges of my mind every time I thought about how lonely those first weeks at home had been. How I'd waited for someone—anyone—to show up and remind me who I was, and instead, I'd gotten silence.
So, when I saw him waiting outside leaning against Isaac's car months later, casually I felt my pulse spike.
Life wasn't all bad—I was alive, my grades were decent (probably), and I hadn't fallen flat on my face in public recently. But having my own car? That would've been the cherry on top. Unfortunately, "driving privileges" were reserved for the mentally stable, and according to everyone else, I wasn't there yet.
So here I was, walking home after my last class because my therapist said walks were supposed to help. Something about "clearing my head" and "grounding myself." I didn't totally buy it, but hey, it was better than sitting around, letting my thoughts throw a tantrum in my skull.
The path I took meandered through campus and skirted the edge of a forest that was almost too peaceful, like it knew how messy my brain was and was trying to compensate. It felt kind of familiar, though, which was weird considering how I didn't remember shit.
I had my pepper spray and a keychain defense tool in my bag because, let's face it, you can never be too careful. Not that I expected trouble, but if someone decided to mess with the "new/amnesia girl," I was ready.
The trail curved near the forest, its trees towering like they had secrets they weren't quite ready to share. That's when it hit me—a weird tingling sensation. Not creepy, exactly, but definitely a "pay attention" vibe, like something—or someone—was calling.
I stopped walking, pulling out my phone with a sigh. Might as well give the family group chat a heads-up before they called in a search party.
Me: "Taking the scenic route home. Don't wait up."
I hit send and didn't wait for a reply. Mostly because I knew it would be David spamming me with GIFs, Denise asking if I had a sweater, or Luke typing 'k' like the monosyllabic enigma he is. My feet had already decided for me, crossing the road and heading straight toward the forest like I was in some indie movie with questionable life choices.
The ground was dry, leaves crunching under my sneakers with every step—thankfully, no mud. My Jordans were safe, and that meant I was safe from Isaac's inevitable meltdown. He had this thing about shoes, like they were holy relics, and scuffing them was an unforgivable sin. Honestly, the guy should've been a museum curator for Foot Locker.
I rolled my eyes at the thought but couldn't help the small smile that crept up. For all his quirks, Isaac cared—a lot.
The forest wasn't as dense as I expected, shafts of sunlight breaking through the canopy above. The further I went, the quieter the world seemed to get, like I was stepping into a place time had forgotten.
Then I saw it.
A lake—or was it a river? —sprawled before me, the water so clear it reflected the sky. Wildflowers dotted the edges, and to the right, a small waterfall tumbled over rocks, its sound blending into the stillness like it belonged.
I stood there for a moment, taking it all in. The urge to step into the water was almost overwhelming, like it wasn't just my choice but something I had to do.
I kicked off my sneakers, peeled off my socks, and rolled up my trousers to my knees. After tying my hair into a ponytail, I slid into the water, my feet sinking into the smooth riverbed. It wasn't too deep, and I stayed near the edge, unsure of how far I should go.
"Wait, do I even know how to swim?" I muttered, the thought pulling me up short.
I made a mental note to ask Isaac later—he'd probably laugh at me.
The water was cool, lapping gently against my legs, and for the first time in a while, I felt something close to peace.
Then I heard it.
"Crystal?!"
The voice was sharp and clear, slicing through the stillness like a knife.
"What are you doing? You know not to swim here—it's dangerous!"
I froze, heart slamming against my ribs. Slowly, I turned toward the voice.
At the edge of the forest, a figure stepped into view, half-hidden by the shadows.
My heart didn't just hammer; it practically auditioned for a drumline. Not because he'd called my name, but because there was something in his tone—commanding, familiar, and... unsettlingly intriguing.
He stepped out of the shadows, his hands raised in mock surrender. "I come in peace," he said, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Then I saw his eyes.
They were blue. Not the soft, dreamy kind like summer skies or stormy seas—no, these were intense, electrified, as if someone had taken a paintbrush and drenched them in neon. I'd watched enough Grey's Anatomy to know I apparently had a thing for blue eyes—thank you, Jesse Williams—but his? These were something else. Dangerous, captivating, and impossible to look away from.
I waded out of the water, every movement stiff and automatic, like my body was reacting while my brain lagged behind, still grappling with the fact that a stranger had just screamed my name in the middle of nowhere.
"I thought that was you," he said, his voice lower now, almost like a reprimand. "You can't swim, and these waters aren't safe."
He took a step closer, and finally, I could see him clearly. Tattoos crawled down his arms in chaotic, intricate patterns, one snaking out from under his rolled-up sleeve—a snake, maybe? Or something else entirely. His dark hair brushed his shoulders, loose and untamed, and his lips—full, slightly parted—were far too distracting for my peace of mind.
Great, Crystal, I thought bitterly. Mystery boy knows your name, knows you can't swim, and now you're staring at his mouth like it's the last slice of cake. Way to keep it together.
Suddenly the ground beneath me slipped away—or maybe it was my legs that gave out first—but I fell into the water. The icy shock sent a jolt through my system, snapping me out of whatever daze I'd been in.
"Hey!" the voice said again, closer now.
Before I could fully grasp what was happening, his hands were on me, lifting me out of the water like I weighed nothing. I sputtered, dripping wet and shivering, my breath coming in sharp gasps.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice urgent, his hands steadying me.
I should've shrugged him off. Should've snapped something sarcastic, something to mask the fact that his touch felt oddly… comforting. Familiar. But instead, I just stared.
"Do I know you?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, my heart pounding harder than the cold warranted.
Something flickered across his face—a mix of pain and something else I couldn't name. "You could say that" he replied cryptically.
And that's when I did the stupidest thing imaginable.
I leaned in. Just a little. Just enough to close the gap between us.
I didn't know why I did it. Maybe it was the way his eyes—blue and impossibly intense—looked at me, like they held answers I didn't know I was searching for. Or maybe it was the fact that my heart wouldn't stop hammering, the kind of rhythm that made you act without thinking.
I didn't know if I even remembered how to kiss, but the moment I tilted forward, he took the initiative.
His lips met mine, soft at first, like he was testing the waters. Then harder, more insistent, his need pulling me under as if I were drowning all over again. I followed his lead instinctively, matching his urgency, and suddenly, I was fully kissing him back.
Somehow, we ended up on the ground, me on top of him. His hands cradled my face as his thumb brushed against my cheek, then slid upward to tuck a wet strand of hair behind my ear.
"I've missed you," he whispered against my lips, his voice raw and full of something that made my chest ache.
That snapped me out of it.
I pulled back abruptly, my balance shifting, and landed hard on my backside. "Shit," I muttered, the word slipping out before I could stop it.
"Are you okay?" he asked, scrambling to sit up, his hand reaching for mine.
"Stop!" I shouted, scooting back and out of his reach. "Don't touch me."
He froze, his hands raised in surrender. "Crystal—"
"Who are you?" I demanded, my voice trembling. "How do you know me?"
I ran a shaky hand through my wet hair, trying to piece together what just happened. My chest heaved as the cold air bit into my skin, but it wasn't just the cold making me shiver.
"I just kissed a stranger," I muttered to myself, shaking my head. "Really, Crystal? A stranger?"
"I'm not a stranger," he said softly, his voice low and steady. "I know you. You know me."
I let out a hollow laugh, wiping water off my face. "You're kidding, right? I've never seen you before in my life."
"Yes, you have," he said, his eyes locked on mine. "I'm your boyfriend."
That broke me. A sharp, bitter laugh escaped before I could stop it. "Boyfriend? Are you serious? That's rich."
"It's the truth," he said, his tone calm but firm. "After your accident, I wanted to meet up with you, and honestly, I couldn't even if I tried, but you hadn't told your parents about us. There wasn't anything I could do. I couldn't even come to your school since... Well, I don't go there. But when I saw you here, where we first met, I had to come to you. So, it's true,j huh? Your memories are gone" he pushed a finger behind his ears "again" he whispered
Again?
He sighed heavily, dragging a hand through his hair in frustration.
My mind raced, trying to process his words, but nothing made sense. And the worst part? The way he looked at me—with those impossibly blue eyes full of something I couldn't name—made a part of me want to believe him.
"That's not possible," I said, shaking my head so hard it felt like my brain might rattle loose. I dated Striker for two years. Clean-shaven, short-haired Striker. What the hell happened to him? And now you're telling me I went from that to… you? I looked at him, taking in the tattoos, the long hair, the brooding bad-boy aura.
"Okay what about after I came home?" I demanded, my voice rising. "And what do you mean I kept you a secret?"
Adam scratched the back of his neck, his hair falling into his face as he stepped closer.
"It's complicated," he said finally, his voice low. "I didn't have a choice. I couldn't get to you."
He took another step closer, his blue eyes searching mine.
"I was so far away," he repeated, his voice breaking slightly. "I had no way to reach you, Crystal."
A part of me, one I didn't understand, wanted to believe him. I also had the overwhelming urge to kiss him again. What the hell was wrong with me?
I held up a hand, trying to steady myself. "Please, stay back," I said, my voice trembling but firm.
He nodded, stepping back slightly, giving me space as I bent down to pull on my shoes.
"Crystal, please," he said, his voice cracking. "I'm sorry. I wanted to get to you—more than anything. God, I tried."
"Look... um," I interrupted. "I'm tired. I need to go. And honestly, you sound... crazy."
"Let me at least drive, you home. It's about to rain," Adam called after me.
I glanced up at the sky. Not a single cloud in sight clear as day. Right. Sure. He's definitely a murderer. And I was not about to star in some bad-boy horror movie cliché.
"No, thank you," I said over my shoulder, quickening my pace. "And keep your, um, creepiness to yourself."
I didn't wait for a response, just walked off, my shoes crunching on the dry trail. By the time I reached the nearest bus stop, it was like the heavens had other plans. The rain came down fast and heavy, soaking through my already wet shirt in seconds.
There was no sign of a bus, and when I tried ordering an Uber, the signal bar on my phone was mocking me with its emptiness. Perfect. Absolutely perfect.
Just as I was about to make a run for it, a black truck pulled up beside me. The windows were tinted, and my pulse spiked. My fingers curled around the pepper spray in my bag. The window rolled down, and there he was—Adam, the creepy guy I had kissed not even an hour ago.
He was seated casually, one hand on the wheel, his hair tied back in a low bun. The rain drummed on the hood of his truck, but somehow, he looked like he belonged in a damn perfume ad.
"Let me give you a ride," he said, leaning slightly toward the open window. "I promise not to do anything weird." He held up his hands in mock surrender.
I hesitated, my bag clenched tightly to my chest. Everything about this screamed a bad idea. But as the rain pounded harder and my clothes stuck uncomfortably to my skin, I found myself weighing my options.
"You swear?" I asked, narrowing my eyes at him.
"Scout's honor," he said with a wink.
I sighed, more at myself than him, and moved toward the passenger side. I yanked the door open and climbed in, my wet clothes making an embarrassing squelching sound against the leather seat.
"If you try anything," I warned, pulling out the pepper spray and placing it on my lap, "I'm not afraid to use this."
He glanced at me, amusement flickering across his face. "Understood. Seatbelt?"
I reached for the seatbelt, but it refused to budge from its harness. I tugged harder, but it was stuck.
"Wait, let me," he said, leaning over.
I stiffened as he moved closer, his arm brushing mine. He bent forward, his focus entirely on the jammed seatbelt. The scent hit me immediately—a blend of lavender and spice, warm and familiar. where I had smelled this blend before but had definitely smelled before?.
"There," he said, pulling the belt free and clicking it into place. His face was so close I could feel the warmth of his breath. I turned toward the window, trying to ignore the way my heart was suddenly racing.
His truck smelled the same—a mix of lavender and spicy notes that tugged at the edges of my memory. I inhaled deeply, and then it hit me. My closet. Back home, tucked in the far corner, there was an old jacket and hoodie that smelled just like this.
I sneaked a glance at him, feeling self-conscious, and caught him smirking.
"Relax," he said, his eyes fixed on the road. "No, I can't hear your thoughts. But I do know you. Every time I picked you up, you'd sniff me like a bloodhound and latch onto my arm as I drove."
I blinked at him, momentarily speechless. "Latch onto your arm? Really? You make me sound like some sort of clingy weirdo."
He shrugged, his smirk growing wider. "I didn't mind."
I rolled my eyes, determined to ignore the heat creeping up my neck. "The way you say it makes you sound more like a stalker than anything else. And for the record, I don't think I'm the type to go for bad boys."
"Bad boy?" He laughed, shaking his head. "I'm not a bad boy."
"Sure," I drawled, dragging the word out with as much sarcasm as I could muster. "The tattoos, the brooding looks, the mysterious appearances—you're practically the poster child."
He chuckled, the sound low and warm. "If you say so."
I crossed my arms, leaning back in the seat, and muttered under my breath, "Definitely a bad boy."
His smirk never faltered, but he didn't argue.
We drove in silence for a few minutes, the rain pelting the truck's roof. It wasn't until we turned down my street that I realized something.
"Wait a second. I never told you my address," I said, sitting up straighter.
"Relax," he replied smoothly. "I know where you live."
The truck came to a stop in front of my apartment building. I grabbed my bag, pausing before opening the door.
"Look," I said, meeting his gaze. "It's hard enough trying to believe all of this, especially with a brain that feels like Swiss cheese. Do you have something—anything—to prove we were together? Because I'd check my phone, but it got stolen. And my iCloud is gone, along with my passwords, so... do you?"
He hesitated for a moment, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a worn leather wallet. Flipping it open, he slid out a thin gold necklace with a broken heart pendant. My chest tightened when I saw it.
"It has an inscription," he said softly, handing it to me.
I held it up, squinting to read the delicate etching on one half of the heart. "For C."
He reached into the wallet again, this time revealing a small photograph tucked into a hidden compartment. It was a portrait of a couple—me and him.
In the photo, I had my arms wrapped around his tattooed neck, pressing a kiss to his cheek as he grinned widely. I looked happy, radiant even, like the weight of the world didn't exist. Around my neck in the photo was the other half of the heart-shaped necklace.
"We took these two weeks after we met," Adam said quietly, his voice tinged with emotion. "I got the necklaces a month later"
I stared at the picture, then the necklace. My fingers brushed over the pendant, cold and unfamiliar, yet it stirred something deep in me.
I remembered searching my old bedroom and the apartment I shared with Isaac for anything, when I first came home from the hospital but everything that needed to be there was there and anything missing i didn't know. Now, holding this half-pendant I had to check again.
But if I looked so happy in the photo, why would I have tried to end my life?
My head spun as I handed the necklace and photo back to him, my fingers trembling. "I... I don't know what to say."
"Say you'll give me a chance to explain everything," he said, his voice almost pleading.
I looked down at my lap, unsure of what to believe. The evidence was right there, but it only made the mystery of my own life feel heavier.
"I need time," I said finally, opening the truck door. "This is a lot. Your phone?" i asked him
He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a phone—a small, outdated one with actual buttons. I blinked, surprised.
"Really? A button phone?" I asked, half-amused.
He shrugged. "I don't operate with the new technology," he said simply, holding it out to me.
I hesitated for a moment before taking it and quickly tapping in my number. "Here," I said, handing it back. "Call me tomorrow."
Adam nodded, slipping the phone back into his pocket and tucking the necklace and photo back into his wallet. "Take all the time you need, Crystal. I'll be here when you're ready."
I didn't respond, stepping out of the truck into the rain. The cold droplets soaked through my clothes almost instantly, but I hardly noticed.
The next day, I called Denise—Mom, I was still trying to get used to calling her. Mom. but I figured I better start getting used to it more often than not.
Her surprise was evident as soon as she picked up. "Hi, sweet—sorry, hi Crystal," she said, hesitating.
I bit my lip, feeling a small pang of guilt. I didn't want her to think she couldn't call me pet names, even if I found it strange and unfamiliar. I decided to brush past it.
"I was wondering if I could come home for a few days," I said. "I think I left some things there."
"Of course, Crystal. You don't need to ask," she said quickly. "How will you be getting home? Is Isaac giving you a ride? Or do you need one of your brothers to come get you? I could come, or maybe your dad—"
"No, no," I interrupted, feeling overwhelmed by her eagerness. "I'll figure something out. Um, okay. Well, bye."
I ended the call before she could say anything more, leaning back against the wall with a sigh.
My eyes wandered to my closet, where the leather jacket and hoodie hung neatly. The ones I'd brought from home. The ones that smelled like him—like Adam.
I stood there for a moment, staring at them, my mind a jumble of thoughts I couldn't quite pin down. What was it about him that seemed to linger everywhere, even here, in the quiet of my Bedroom?
The answers weren't in my head. They were back home.
With a determined breath, I pulled the wet clothes from my body and laid on my bed. I was so goddamn tired.
One thing about losing your memories was guilt. It wasn't the kind of guilt you could explain easily—it was guilt for not knowing who you were, what you wanted, who you thought you were supposed to become. Those questions weren't just in the background; they were relentless, louder than even the question of Who am I?
The doctor had called it a "clean slate." I called it unbearable. A slate isn't meant to be clean—it's meant to be filled, to have a record of something, anything.
My meds sometimes helped with the headaches, but not today. The pounding in my skull had gotten worse, like someone was carving into that clean slate with a chisel. I closed my eyes against the sun streaming through the window, trying to block out the ache.
Adam hadn't called. I told myself it was for the best—he was a creep anyway—but I couldn't ignore the fact that I'd been waiting for him to. My phone was never far from me, and every time it buzzed, I felt a ridiculous flicker of hope, followed immediately by frustration when it wasn't him.
In the meantime, I threw myself into my studies. Classes were starting to feel familiar—Ben, my anatomy professor, even made them enjoyable. I could see why I'd loved medicine before. It was beautiful, intricate, and alive. It made sense, even when everything else didn't.
But something else had started to creep in: the feeling that I was being watched. At first, I thought it was paranoia, a side effect of the trauma or maybe my imagination running wild. But it wasn't going away.
I found myself locking my door with extra care and pulling the blinds shut every time I was home. As a final touch of paranoia—or genius, depending on how you looked at it—I slid a knife under my bed, just in case. Isaac would've laughed me into next year if he knew, but hey, survival first, sibling mockery second.
When Friday rolled around, my one class-free day, I called Dennise– mom. I would be coming home, and I would use the first bus out to Ashbourne.
I broke the news to Isaac, bracing for the inevitable debate. Predictably, he insisted he could take a break from his assignments to drive me home. "It's no problem," he said, already reaching for his keys.
"It's a problem for me," I shot back. "I need to do this on my own. Independence, remember?"
"What kind of independence are we talking about if Mom or Dad's just picking you up from the bus station?"
Touché.
After two hours of back-and-forth, some guilt-tripping, and a minor tantrum (his, not mine), he finally relented. "Fine," he huffed. "But if something happens, don't call me."
"Oh, you'll be the first person I call," I said sweetly, already packing my bag.
The bus station smelled faintly of diesel and despair, a lovely combination to start my journey home. After a short wait in line, I finally reached the ticket counter.
"One-way to Ashbourne," I said, digging through my bag for my debit card.
The attendant barely glanced at me as she slid the ticket across the counter. "Bus 18. Leaves in ten minutes."
I grabbed the ticket and stuffed it into my pocket, muttering a quick thanks before heading toward the boarding area.
The scene at the bus was, in a word, chaotic. A man in a too-tight tracksuit paced near the entrance, muttering loudly to himself about government conspiracies. Across from him, a woman wearing a pink cowboy hat and holding a pet bird in a cage (yes, a bird) was arguing with the driver about whether "emotional support parrots" were allowed.
"Great," I whispered to myself. "I'm definitely making good life choices today."
The driver finally waved me aboard with an exhausted sigh. I climbed the steps, ticket in hand, and glanced around. The bus wasn't completely full, but the seats were scattered with colorful characters.
One guy was sprawled across two seats, snoring loudly with his mouth wide open. Another was scribbling furiously in a notebook, his gaze darting around as though someone might steal his genius ideas.
Finally, at the very back, I spotted a pair of empty seats. Perfect.
I hurried down the aisle, avoiding eye contact with anyone who might feel chatty. Reaching the back, I quickly slid into the window seat and placed my bag firmly on the seat next to me. The universal sign for don't even think about it.
Settling in, I pulled out my phone and opened Isaac's last text:
Isaac: Be careful. Call me when you get home.
I rolled my eyes but smiled. For all his dramatics, he really did care.
As the bus rumbled to life, I leaned my head against the window, hoping to tune out the world for the next couple of hours. Maybe the ride wouldn't be so bad after all.
I felt my eyelids drooping, the gentle rhythm of the ride, lulling me toward sleep.
Just as I was teetering on the edge of unconsciousness, a voice cut through my haze.
"I wouldn't sleep if I were you."
My eyes flew open, and my hand instinctively darted to my bag, ready to grab the small pocketknife I'd packed. But before I could act, that familiar, spicy scent hit me—the one I couldn't seem to escape.
"Adam?" I hissed, my heart hammering against my ribs. "What are you doing here?"
He was sitting across the aisle, his long legs stretched out in that casually confident way of his. His dark hair was tied back into a loose bun, and he was dressed in a simple black hoodie and jeans that looked far too comfortable for someone who always managed to make me uneasy.
"Heading home," he said with a smirk, as if this were the most natural thing in the world.
My chest tightened with a mix of irritation and something I didn't want to name. "Stalking me now?"
"Relax, Crystal." He leaned back in his seat, the picture of calm. "This is just... fate. Coincidence, if you prefer."
"Coincidence, my ass," I muttered under my breath.
"Seriously, though," he added, his tone softening, "you really shouldn't fall asleep on public transport. Not safe."
I didn't know whether to feel touched or insulted. "I can take care of myself, thanks."
He nodded slowly, his blue eyes watching me like he could see through every defense I'd built. "I know. But sometimes, even the strongest people need someone looking out for them.