She found me today in the lab. I injected her with vitamin E and collagen. She said it hurts but that it’s working and her skin is staying on. But I think she’s lying to me, and I think she’s been lying a lot.
She’s holding back the impulses. I’ve restrained her the last few times, and it seems to pass, but only with a lot of pain. It’s hard to watch. But she’s going to classes again, trying to be really present in life, which is completely the opposite of how the other Forgotten let their lives go. But something’s wrong. She’s acting different. But I don’t know what to do. She tells me to trust her.
I scan the next few entries, each one becoming more desperate. Monroe isn’t saying what’s happening to Onika, but with each new page, his notes become more clinical. And then, they stop all together. A chunk of about fifteen pages has been torn out, only jagged edges left behind.
What happened to her? I turn back to the beginning to look again for clues.
“Charlotte?”
I jump, startled by my name being called from the kitchen. What? What time—? I glance at the clock and feel completely disoriented. School starts in thirty minutes but it seems that only seconds ago it was nighttime. Behind my bedroom window, the sun is peeking out over Portland. I pick up my phone from the side table and see that I’ve missed four calls. All from Sarah.
I lost a huge piece of time and I want to keep reading, try to figure out the formulas. If anything worked. But just then, I get a text from Sarah.
Need you today. Are you alive?
I look at the journal in my lap, then back at my phone. The smell of bacon is wafting into my room, but I don’t want to get up yet.
Not coming today, I text back.
I’m about to go back to the journal when my bedroom door swings open, scaring the hell out of me.
“Hey,” Alex says, standing there and buttoning his wool coat. “Mercy’s looking for you. You’re going to be late.”
“But...” My phone vibrates. I don’t look at it because I know Sarah’s going to cuss me out, or worse, be nice. Sarah uses sweetness as a weapon. The journal is in my lap and I look at Alex.
“That dinner was intense last night, right?” he asks. “I thought Georgia was going to cut you.”
“Thanks for having my back,” I murmur.
He laughs. “I would have gladly backed you up, but I had no idea what you were talking about. I didn’t know you got hit by a car. Not until the next day when I came in here to steal your moisturizer. You need to lay off the weed, sister.”
He’s forgotten seeing me that night. What if he forgets everything? I’m suddenly scared of losing him. “Alex?” I ask, needing some assurance. “Remember that time when we were kids and I accidentally tripped you and you fell down the stairs? You needed like eight stitches in your arm?”
“Yeah, Charlotte. Still have the scar.”
I laugh out loud, thankful. So thankful that he can remember. “Sorry about that.”
“Sure you are. Now are you getting up or not? Mercy made you breakfast.”
Then I realize that if I stay in this room, I won’t be building new memories. I’ll let myself fade away. I can’t fight the Need yet, but I can fight against being forgotten. Maybe that’s what Onika did. Monroe did write that she started going to classes again.
And if I go through the motions—school, going out—I’ll be reinforcing my existence. Theycan’tforget me if I never leave.
“I’m getting up right now,” I say seriously to Alex. He furrows his brow, possibly confused by the Terminator tone in my voice.
But at least it’s something for him to remember.
I grab my robe off the back of my desk chair and wander out into the hallway after Alex leaves. My stomach growls from the smell of eggs and bacon. When I get to the kitchen, I see Mercy, setting a plate on the counter and scooping eggs out of a pan when she looks up to see me.
“Morning, honey,” she says with a sad smile. “Are you feeling better today? Monroe called earlier and said you might be a little confused because of your head injury.” She tsks, and comes to check on my stitches again.
“He called here?” Somehow it bothers me that he’s checking on me. As if he’s trying to control me. I don’t like it.
“What else did he say?” I ask, putting a forkful of food into my mouth.
“That you were very upset last time he saw you. He didn’t say why....” She pauses. “Are you having problems with Harlin, honey?”
“No.” I resent that Monroe would even put that idea into Mercy’s mind, which I’m sure he did. What better way to explain my depression than a breakup? I want to call him right now and tell him to drop dead, but I know I don’t have time for that. I don’t have time for Monroe, he’ll remember me no matter what. Right now I just have to have a normal day. Reaffirm my existence. I have toliveif I want to be remembered.
