Chereads / THE SHADOW WHO REMEMBERS ME / Chapter 6 - CHAPTER FOUR HER

Chapter 6 - CHAPTER FOUR HER

Getting off at the first stop, Adam and I made our way into the gas station. It was a small, slightly rundown place with buzzing fluorescent lights and aisles stocked with an odd mix of snacks, random gadgets, and magazines. He walked a little ahead of me, silent, as if giving me space.

I headed toward the snack aisle, not because I was hungry, but because standing around aimlessly felt worse. But as I scanned the shelves, it hit me—I didn't even know what I liked anymore. My favourite snacks? Gone. The little joys that usually came with picking out something indulgent? Missing. 

Turning around, I half-expected Adam to be hovering nearby, but he wasn't. My eyes drifted across the store until I saw him leaning against the counter, casually talking on a phone. A sleek, brand-new phone. My jaw tightened. So, he had a perfectly good phone, huh? The same guy who claimed he didn't "use new technology." Yet he hadn't bothered to call me even once.

Annoyance bubbled up, replacing the hollow feeling I'd been trying to shake off. I muttered something under my breath, then ducked into the restroom to cool down.

When I came back, Adam was standing by the snack aisle, inspecting a bag of chips like it was a life-or-death decision. I adjusted my jacket and walked over, trying to appear indifferent as I grabbed the first bag of chips I saw off the shelf.

"Nope, not that one," his voice came from behind me, low and firm.

I stiffened. He was close—too close—so close I could feel the heat radiating from him. His scent—spice and leather—hit me like a wall. I glanced up at him, and the moment felt surreal. He was tall, maybe 6'2", towering over me effortlessly. My head barely reached his shoulder, and if I stood on my tiptoes, I could probably—

"You like salty chips," he said, his voice cutting through my spiralling thoughts.

"What?" I blinked, realising I'd been staring at him, caught somewhere between curiosity and a dangerous pull I didn't want to name.

"These," he said, holding up a different bag of chips. "You like these better."

My breath hitched as his hand brushed against mine while placing the new bag in my hand. His lips were so close to my ear, and the heat of his whisper made my chest tighten.

What the hell is wrong with me? I thought, was I sexually depraved?, willing myself to snap out of it. But the idea of standing on those tiptoes, leaning in, and kissing him crossed my mind again—vivid— wanted.

"Hurry up, princess," Adam said smoothly, smirking as he walked past me toward the drinks aisle.

I froze, my cheeks burning. Oh my God, am I going insane?

Slapping a hand over my face, I let out a groan of embarrassment. "Get it together, Crystal," I muttered, clutching the bag of chips like it was the only thing anchoring me to reality.

By the time I reached the counter, Adam had already grabbed two drinks and was waiting, completely unfazed. 

"Would you like a bag?" the cashier asked.

"Yeah," Adam replied, pulling out his battered leather wallet.

I stayed quiet, letting him pay. A small part of me considered offering, but I liked the gesture. It seemed nice.

The ache in my back and the dull pounding in my head made the thought of getting back on the bus unbearable. I lingered outside, leaning against a post as the other passengers shuffled aboard. Digging into my bag, I fumbled with the cap of my water bottle and popped two pills into my mouth, swallowing them with a gulp.

"What's that? Are you sick?"

His voice came from behind me, low and close enough to make me stiffen. I turned to see Adam standing there, his brow knit in something that looked like concern.

"It's nothing," I said, brushing him off. "Just a headache."

"You still get those?" he asked, stepping closer, his voice softer now. "Wait. Let me help."

"How?"

"Just... trust me."

Before I could protest, his hands were on me, cupping my face. His palms were warm, his touch both steady and careful. His thumbs pressed gently into my temples, moving in slow, deliberate circles.

My breath caught.

"When we were together," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through me, "you'd get these headaches all the time. And every time, I'd do this, and you'd feel better."

His thumbs worked their way along my temples, the pressure just right, the pain fading as though it had never been there. My shoulders loosened, my head tilting slightly into his hands before I could stop myself.

His eyes locked on mine, and the world seemed to narrow.

I couldn't look away. The way his hair, dark and slightly tousled, was slipping loose from the tie holding it back. The way his lips, full and slightly parted, looked so... inviting. His scent, a mix of spicy and woodsy, lingered in the air between us, making it harder to think clearly.

My eyes drifted lower, catching the edge of a tattoo that disappeared beneath the neckline of his shirt.

Then there were his lips. Full, inviting, and... biteable. A tiny, reckless part of me wondered if they'd turn red if I nibbled on them.

What the hell is wrong with me?

A thought flashed through my mind, what would he do if I leaned in? If I just tilted my head up, just a little—

Suddenly, the world around me tilted.

I wasn't outside the bus anymore. Instead the walls around me were a soft grey, the air thick with the bass of a song I couldn't name. I didn't care what it was; the only thing that mattered was him. Adam.

He was beneath me, his dark hair splayed against the couch, his sharp blue eyes half-lidded as he looked up at me with an intensity that sent a shiver through my spine.

"I love you," I whispered, the words spilling out like a secret. What's going on, where am i?

His hand cupped my cheek, his thumb brushing softly against my skin. "I love you, too," he murmured, his voice low, almost reverent.

Our families must never find out.

Pressing my lips to his neck. I felt his pulse quicken beneath my touch as I kissed a path down his jaw, his collarbone, lower—

"Crystal!"

The world snapped back into focus.

I was now on the bus.  

How did I get on? 

Adam's hand was on my shoulder, his voice urgent. "Crystal, can you hear me? Are you okay?"

"I…" My voice came out shaky, barely above a whisper. I tried again. "I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" His eyes scanned my face, searching for something I couldn't name.

I nodded, but my heart wasn't convinced. The memory—or vision, or whatever it was—lingered at the edges of my mind, vivid and electric.

What the hell was that?

"Crystal," Adam said again, softer this time. His hand rested lightly on my arm, and I flinched at the contact.

"I said I'm fine," I snapped, more harshly than I meant to. I pressed my back against the seat, desperate to put some distance between us.

His hand withdrew, but his gaze remained steady, piercing. "Okay," he said, his voice low. "But if something's wrong, you can tell me."

I shook my head, refusing to look at him. "Nothing's wrong."

Ashbourne City wasn't exactly remarkable, but it was what they called home. Nestled somewhere along the Great Plains of America, it was the kind of place where people knew everything about you—sometimes before you did. David once jokingly called it "the land of possibilities," but those possibilities usually involved your most embarrassing moment becoming town gossip by sunset. Buying ice cream, tripping on the curb, or having a bad hair day? Yeah, everyone knew. Unfortunately for me, I was often that person. Especially with no memories.

I was apparently born here, as were my siblings. Yet, in a fit of rebellion—or more likely, some delusion that I needed "freedom"—I chose to attend university in the next town over. Not even far enough to call it "getting away." 

The first few weeks back after... The accident felt like stepping into a TV show about someone else's life. It was strange, like that movie where the guy's whole life is secretly a reality show.

Everyone acted like they knew me—neighbours, old classmates, distant relatives whose names I couldn't even guess. They'd smile so warmly, sharing stories I didn't remember, and I'd nod along, faking recognition. It wasn't home—it was a set, and I was an actor without a script.

"Crystal!" they'd chirp, faces lighting up with warmth. "You look just like your mother!"

If my mother's look was confused mixed with a mild panic attack, then sure, nailed it.

Still, none of their cheerful hellos or too-tight hugs ever filled the gaps in my memory. It was like flipping through a book with entire chapters missing. One moment, I was the girl with the perfect life—or so people hinted—and the next, I was the girl who had to tried to kill herself.

Sometimes, I wondered if my memory loss was less of a trauma thing and more of my brain doing me a solid. Ashbourne gossip was brutal enough when you did remember what you'd done; I could only imagine what horrors lay in the forgotten parts of my past.

When the bus screeched to a stop, I sighed coming down and pulling out my phone to text Denise—my mom. Or, as I was trying to get used to calling her, Mom. She replied almost instantly: David's waiting for you. Look for the red car.

I glanced over at Adam, who was standing a few feet away, his eyes glued to his phone. For someone who claimed not to "operate with modern technology," he sure spent a lot of time on it. What was his deal, anyway? He followed me all the way here, and now he was… what? Making weekend plans?

I caught a group of teenage girls ogling Adam like he was some kind of celebrity. One even giggled. I rolled my eyes. Okay, yes, he's hot, but let's not act like we've never seen a tall, brooding guy with good hair before.

"Who's picking you up?" Adam asked, dragging a hand through his hair. It was a habit, I realised. A strangely distracting one.

Before I could answer, a loud honk grabbed my attention.

"Crystal! Over here!" David's voice carried over the noise of the parking lot.

"That's my brother," I said, motioning toward the car. "You still have my number."

Why did I say that? Why? He hadn't called before; why would he now?

"Yeah, I do," he replied, his tone unreadable. 

I hesitated, then turned and walked toward David's car. The moment I slid into the passenger seat, I felt the tension. David was staring daggers at Adam through the windshield.

"Do you know him?" I asked, curious about the silent testosterone showdown.

"No," David said, his tone sharp and a little too quick. I could tell he was lying, but I didn't press him. Instead, I watched his jaw tighten as he added, "But he looks like trouble. Stay away from guys like that."

His sudden shift in tone caught me off guard. Sweet, dependable David, suddenly channelling protective big-brother energy?

"I just met him," I lied.

Why did I lie? I didn't owe Adam anything.

It wasn't until I was standing in the kitchen, sipping a glass of water and staring blankly at the fridge, that the thought hit me like a slap to the face.

I hadn't asked Adam why he'd shown up at the bus stop. Or how he even knew I was leaving town.

I sighed, leaning against the counter. Maybe I should've asked at the bus stop. Or when he was rubbing my temples, melting my headache away with those hands of his.

My cheeks flushed at the memory, and I groaned, pressing the cold glass against my face.

"Get a grip, Crystal," I muttered under my breath.

"Get a grip about what?"

"Shit!" I nearly dropped the glass in my hand as James—Dad—walked into the kitchen. It was 8 p.m., his usual time for checking on everyone before heading to bed. Like clockwork, every night. Everyone except Penny wasn't living at home anymore, and honestly, I needed to confirm if she was five or seven. Details like that slipped away too easily these days.

"No, nothing really," I said, trying to cover my surprise. "I was just thinking about going to the doctor to see if I could drive again." The lie slipped out so smoothly, it startled even me. Lying was becoming second nature, and surprisingly I was fine. 

So I was a liar, good to know.

"Oh, okay. We could go together if you'd like," he offered, testing.

"Eight?"

"Yeah," he replied with a nod, already turning back toward the stairs.

"Um, Dad?" I called out, the word feeling foreign yet oddly natural on my tongue. I'd been calling them Mom and Dad when I spoke to them, but in my mind, they were still James and Denise. It was a strange middle ground, one I couldn't seem to cross fully.

James paused mid-step, turning back toward me, his brow lifting in surprise. "What's on your mind, Crystal?"

I hesitated, gripping the edge of the kitchen counter. "If I dated someone and didn't tell you… would that even be possible?"

He frowned, his expression thoughtful. "No. You hardly ever kept secrets from us—not even from Isaac or..." He trailed off, his words faltering. "...or Striker."

The way he said Striker's name made him sound like a god—it made my stomach twist. "Right. Okay, thanks," I mumbled, nodding like his answer had satisfied me, even though it only left me with more questions.

James studied me for a moment, then gave a small smile, his fatherly warmth disarming. "Why do you ask? Something is bothering you?"

"No, no, just… curiosity." I waved him off, forcing a smile. He didn't press further, just nodded and turned back toward the stairs, his footsteps fading into the quiet of the house.

I stood there for a moment, staring blankly at the floor. So according to him, I wasn't someone who kept secrets. That didn't add up—not with the fragmented version of me I was piecing together. If I wasn't the type to keep things to myself, then how did Adam fit into all of this? How could someone so significant slip through the cracks of everyone's knowledge?

Swallowing hard, I headed toward the back steps that led to my room. 

And then it hit me—a chilling thought that made me pause on the stairs.

What if I hadn't kept Adam a secret? What if someone else had?

I flopped onto my bed, staring blankly at the ceiling as the stillness of the house settled over me. The quiet only made the chaos in my head louder. My gaze drifted to the leather jacket slung over the back of the chair, creased from being crammed into my bag. Its spicy, earthy scent still lingered, faint but unmistakable. It was his—just like the maddening grip he seemed to have on my thoughts—without permission. 

I grabbed my phone off the nightstand, scrolling mindlessly through my apps. For someone who didn't even remember her favourite snacks, I sure knew how to overthink.

Just as I was about to toss the phone aside, it buzzed. The screen lit up with "Unknown Caller."

My heart skipped a beat. Should I answer?

Against my better judgement, I swiped to accept.

 "Hello?"

I sat up straight, gripping the phone tightly. His voice was unmistakable—low, smooth, with just enough edge to leave me breathless.

"Adam?" I asked, though I already knew. "So… you really still have my number?"

There was a pause, and I could practically hear the smirk in his voice when he replied, "Yeah. Why wouldn't I? You gave it to me."

Don't do it, Crystal. Don't do it.

"So why didn't you call?" I did it.

At first, I thought he'd hung up. The silence stretched just long enough to make me regret asking. Then, finally, he sighed. "I couldn't," he said simply.

"Why?" I whispered, hating how vulnerable I sounded.

"Goodnight, Princess. Dream about me."

"Wait—"

But the line had already gone dead.

I stared at the screen in disbelief, my chest rising and falling with frustration. 

I saved his number, my fingers moving automatically. Spice boy.

The nickname felt ridiculous, but it was safer than seeing his actual name flash on my screen again. 

Throwing the phone onto the bed, I fell back against the pillows, pressing my hands over my face.

What the hell am I doing?

The pull toward him was magnetic, undeniable. He was frustrating, mysterious, and infuriatingly cocky. And yet, the sound of his voice had made me feel more alive than I had in months.

Tomorrow couldn't come fast enough.

"Her brain seems fine. Everything looks good," the doctor said, glancing at the clipboard in his hands. "She still can't remember anything, but that's not necessarily a bad sign. Sometimes memories return; sometimes they don't. Think of this as... a clean slate."

Clean slate. I really hated that word.

"So, does that mean I can drive?" I asked, cutting through the medical jargon.

"Technically, yes," he replied, though his tone carried a slight hesitation. "But she'll need some practice first before jumping into heavy traffic."

That was fine by me. I was tired of walking everywhere or relying on Isaac to drive me to school. Freedom was within my grasp.

The doctor turned his attention back to James—Dad—and handed over a fresh prescription list. "Here's what she'll need. Make sure she takes these consistently, especially the headache meds."

The familiar sterile smell of the hospital was nauseating, clinging to my senses like a bad memory—or lack thereof, I supposed. Those six months of appointments, medications, and therapy all felt... meaningless. Because, like the doctor kept reminding me, I was a clean slate.

While James stayed to discuss dosages and schedules, I excused myself, stepping out into the waiting area. I sank into an empty chair, closing my eyes and trying to steady my breathing.

Inhale. Exhale.

When I opened them, something caught my attention—a small, strange flicker in the far corner of the hallway. It was so insignificant I almost ignored it. But there it was again, faint and quick, like a shadow out of sync with the light.

I pinched my cheek. Hard.

Nope, still awake.

My curiosity overpowered my common sense. I got up and followed it, my heartbeat syncing with the steady squeak of my sneakers against the hospital floor.

The hallway grew darker with every step. Flickering lights cast erratic shadows on the walls, distorting the space into something out of a horror movie. My pace slowed.

Nope, nope, nope. This is how people die in those movies, I thought, shaking my head.

I turned back—except... the way back was gone. The hallway stretched endlessly behind me, the light above sputtering with an eerie rhythm.

"What the hell is this?" I whispered, though my voice felt swallowed by the silence.

The flicker from before returned, but now it wasn't small or insignificant. It took shape—a long, sinewy creature that seemed to ripple in and out of existence. Its tail slithered against the floor, and as the light flickered once more, I saw its teeth.

Sharp. Too sharp.

I froze, my legs betraying me. My chest tightened as the walls around me seemed to close in, growing narrower and narrower until breathing felt impossible.

"Help," I whispered, though no sound came.

The creature's tongue—forked, jagged, and impossibly long—lashed out toward me, and I stumbled back, screaming.

But my scream made no sound.

"Crystal! Crystal!"

I jerked awake, gasping, my hand flying to my chest. I wasn't in the hallway anymore—I was in a car, James beside me, his hand on my shoulder.

When did I get in the car?

"Shit. Water," I croaked, coughing.

James pulled over to the side of the road, grabbing a bottle of water from the cup holder and handing it to me. I took a shaky sip, my hands trembling as I clutched the bottle.

"It was a dream," he said softly, his steady voice grounding me. "Just a dream, I promise." 

Penny once told me dreams were supposed to be "all fluffy clouds and sparkly rainbows." She'd whispered it like a big, important secret when she sneaked into my room one night. Her tiny arms were wrapped around her favourite stuffed bunny, and her big brown eyes stared up at me like she had all the answers.

"Dreams are s'posed to be happy, like when you get ice cream and sprinkles," she'd said, her voice soft but insistent. "Not all scary and... and dark." I remember laughing now all I remember was the long tail chopped and its teeth.

The car sped along, the landscape blurring into streaks of green and brown. I pressed my head against the cool glass of the window, hoping it would ground me, but the tension in my chest refused to ease.

I felt James glance at me, his concern palpable even without words.

"It's fine," I muttered, barely audible. "I'm alright. Like you said, just a bad dream."

He didn't respond, but his hands gripped the wheel tighter.

I reached for the lever on my seat, lowering it into a reclined position. "I'll just... rest," I added, closing my eyes to the rhythmic thrum of the engine and the faint headache forming behind my temples.