“You know what? Screw it. Just…I’ll just talk about the part you really wanna know. It’s what everyone wants to know. They don’t care about the how or the whys, just when and where and how quickly they can say ‘awww, I’m sorry’ or try to fix it.”

“That’s – that’s not what I meant at all, Isis –”

“No, you know what? It’s fine. It’s probably better this way. This way I don’t have to drag out my entire sordid history for you to pore over! Saves you time! I’m sure you’re a busy lady with a lot of crazy people to talk to and I’m, frankly, a total purveyor of common sense and not-time wasting, so. So you know what? Yeah. The day it happened it was raining. I was at his house. The frogs were outside and croaking because he lived near a marsh. That’s what Florida is. Marshes. Marshes and ass**les. His mom had made us popcorn. My hands were oily. His hands were oily. We’d been secretly going out for two months but he wouldn’t let me tell anyone and when I tried to talk to him at school he ignored me, laughed at me and told me to buzz off. But then he’d apologize. When we were alone he was nice. Nicer. Marginally. I was fourteen. Fourteen, okay? I was fourteen and I thought I was in love and I would have done anything to keep him from leaving me –”

Bile rises in my throat, but I swallow it back and clench my fists on the armrests.

“Do you know what it’s like? Never wanting to lose another someone? Everyone else leaves. Mom and Dad left. I didn’t want him to leave. If he left, I would’ve lost it. He was the only normal thing in my life. He made me feel…when he smiled at me, he made me feel pretty. Do you know what that’s like, either? Being fat, being huge and gross and feeling huge and gross and then finding someone who makes you feel pretty? Do you know what you’d do to keep that person? You’d do anything. Anything in this world short of killing yourself.”

Mernich’s eyes are softer, now. But I don’t trust them anymore. This is what she wanted. She’s getting it. Her pen is scrabbling madly across the paper even as she opens her mouth to speak.

“I’m sorry, Isis. I didn’t mean to seem callous. But this is good. You, saying these things aloud, even if you hate me for bringing them out…it’s good. It’s helping.”

“Sure. Whatever.”

I’m shaking. My body trembles with a rage I can’t express. It’s not all anger at Mernich’s vapid, voracious curiosity, though. I’m not all mad at her. The anger is directed at someone else, too. Nameless. Myself. Mom and Dad.

Mernich pushes back in the chair. “We’ll stop here.”

She gets up and doubles around her desk, pulling out a familiar yellow slip.

“What are you doing?” I demand.

“Writing you a discharge.”

“Not gonna grill me more? Not gonna ask me to come right out and say it? You were the one who said I needed to confront it, not run away.”

“This isn’t running away,” she says calmly, and rips the paper off and hands it to me. “I’ve been doing this for fifteen years, Isis. Some people need me – a total stranger – to listen. However, some people are only further injured when a total stranger listens. As a doctor, and with you as my patient, I can’t ascribe you continue speaking to me on this matter with a good conscious. I’m not the one who should hear it. Someone else – your mother, your father, maybe Kayla, or Sophia, or perhaps someone you haven’t met yet – one of them will make you feel safe enough to say it. One of them will be the one you decide to tell. It’s up to you.”

I stand, and grab the paper warily, like it’s a trap. But Mernich just smiles.

“Would you like your diagnosis?”

“I’m crazy.”

“Not at all. Do you know what disassociation is?”

“Something crazy people have.”

Mernich’s smile turns patient. “It’s what occurs when a person goes through a traumatic experience. It’s a…think of it like a coping mechanism for the brain. Say someone throws a snowball, and it’s going to hit your eye. Your eyelids react much faster than the snowball flies to protect the cornea. Disassociation is like an eyelid for the brain. A traumatic event can cause the brain to disassociate the event. Sometimes this manifests as a simple case of shock that quickly wears off. Other times, we see intense reactions, such as withdrawal, PTSD, and in your case -”

She looks up, and I dread the next words to fall from her mouth.

“ – amnesia.”

“What?” I scowl. “I don’t –”

“You have periods of painful black outs when you try to recall a certain person in your life. Your brain has identified this person as the source of overstimulation, and perhaps pain. You have what’s called lacunar amnesia – it’s a very centralized and rare thing.”

“So I’ve lost my brain? Part of my memories? I’ve totally forgotten them?”

“You haven’t really forgotten – the brain never truly forgets. I believe in your case, the memories are still there, but buried beneath layers. It might take months to get them back. But you may also never get them back at all.”

“Who…which person was it? The one I forgot?”

“Think back. What have your friends told you? Have they been acting strangely towards you, concerning a certain person?”

It filters in slowly – weeks of Kayla’s weird looks, of Wren’s concerned sighs, and Sophia, shaking her head and saying it’s sad. And then Jack’s fractured expression when I first woke up and said I didn’t know him. I stare, wide-eyed, at Mernich’s passive face.

“Jack. That Jack guy. Everything they say about him – doesn’t make sense. But why do I have this lactose amnesia thing? I mean, my head was bad, but - ”

“You suffered significant head trauma. I believe the lacunar amnesia is a combination of that and your own disassociation of the traumatic event of fighting off your mother’s attacker.”

“Did Jack – how do I know him?”

“You’d be better off asking Sophia that question, I believe. But you’re leaving the hospital with that discharge slip right away, aren’t you? You were quite eager to go.”

I look at the crumpled yellow note in my hand and close my fist around it.

“It can wait.”

Mernich smiles at me.

“Yes. Yes it can.”

-2-

3 Years

25 Weeks

5 Days

My mind is a white blank of confusion. I knew Jack. I know Jack. The underwear model-esque dude with the rude mouth knows me.

Before this extremely vexing realization, he’d just been a guy I was grateful to. But now he’s a guy I know! I know guys! Guys who aren’t harmless Wren! Why hadn’t anyone told me? It’s not like I’d hate them for telling the truth! In fact, I kind of actually encourage it for everyone on this planet! It fosters clear communication and ensures things mildly don’t f**king suck!

I find Sophia in the common room, reading a romance novel. The heaving bosom on the cover distracts me for point two seconds before I realize I have better boobs than that and slam my hands on the table.

“Sophie! Soapy! Soapbutt!”