#but after doing a diagonal ‘ceiling’ piece in my closet which was not even very big. no longer do i want to do that

[batslime]

girls rock

[greyeyedmonster-18]

Dr Grey, I was in the middle of a very long morning, after a sleepless night (where I literally spent three hours just staring at my ceiling, trying to fall asleep again on the one day this week I could actually get up late) and chugging down my third cup of coffee when I stumbled upon your Raising Harry WIP. Sorry about the complaining earlier, but I felt it was necessary to highlight just how much that post made my day!!! It made me smile, my morning was suddenly brighter, and I had something to look forward to for my next break (which was going back and rereading it) THANK YOU - it was beautiful! The tentative interactions so far between Sirius and Harry, Sirius trying so so hard to rebuild himself piece by piece… all of it was so gorgeous!

anonnnnn. this is very very kind of you to say (though i am very sorry about the lack of sleep and the day job and the coffee chugging. i feel this on a spiritual level)

thank you for the love on my little raising harry, never to be posted full fic! i truly truly appreciate it (and everyone else who has passed along kind words in the reblogs/tags). there's something about this particular story that doesn't feel cohesive to me, and i am hoping that in time, I'll figure out whats missing and be able to yeet it out to all of you!

but in the mean time....i can give you the other part of this little story that i enjoy:

-

The intention of the outing wasn’t to annoy Harry, but as it was, as the day went on, Harry’s normally very pleasant disposition was turning sour. In a way, it was a relief. Sirius had been reading enough about parenthood through muggle books and memoirs and knew the teenage years were tumultuous, but from what Sirius had seen…it had been quiet, painless.

Harry was easy to please.

Harry wanted to please Sirius.

Harry just wanted the peace to be kept, and the quiet to be there, and while it was pleasant, enjoyable, Sirius knew it always wasn’t entirely authentic. He had expected at least a little bit of pushback when Sirius had asked Harry if he wanted to go into Diagon Alley that day.

“Shopping? For what?”

“I got the book list early from Rem--Professor Lupin, and thought it wouldn’t hurt to get them today. Maybe throw in some new robes as well? Shoes?”

“Clothes shopping?” Harry asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand quickly.

“I certainly need some, my uncle had…a much louder view of clothing than I do,” Sirius commented, looking down at the burgundy striped trousers he had taken from his Uncles wardrobe that morning, “And you, by the looks of it. Unless of course you fancy wearing Fuschia robes to your next party?”

Harry made a face briefly, “Not…really.”

“We can go to the Quidditch Supply shop too if you’d like. See what’s out for that broom of yours?” Sirius asked, as he studied Harry carefully, wondering if this moment was going to be the first time Harry vehemently disagreed with something Sirius suggested. It was obvious, to Sirius anyway, that Harry had no interest in shopping in the slightest, even if Sirius had been biding his time until he could shower his godson with new clothes. Proper clothes. T-shirts that weren’t so faded without holes and jeans that wouldn’t be falling off Harry’s hips even while belted. A jacket that would actually keep him warm, instead of Harry relying on school cloaks. Sirius had been appalled when he had asked Harry if he needed help unpacking, there’s room in the coat closet if you don’t want to put your winter things in your room, only to find out Harry merely had a hooded jacket and his school cloak. 

“Alright,” Harry shrugged and tucked into his breakfast again.

But as the outing dragged on, and the bags in Sirius’s hands multiplied, he could tell that Harry was growing weary. 

Harry dragged his feet, no longer amazed at being in Diagon Alley, and falling behind Sirius’s steps. 

Harry kicked at cobblestones and started to ignore Sirius’s questions when they went into shops. Harry would stand back with his hands in his pockets, not saying much of anything. 

Parenting books didn’t mention how you were supposed to navigate this. Parenting books only gave you half the picture and nowhere in them described how to encourage your godson to throw a tantrum and disagree with you without having him throw too big of a tantrum that resulted in screaming in a public space and damaging an entire relationship that was still being haphazardly pushed together, like belongings in a moving box. 

“Do you want to go to Quality Quidditch Supplies?” Sirius asked, “Or wait until the last stop?”

“Dunno.”

Parenting books also left out the script you were supposed to use when your child responded with I don’t know.

“It’s no trouble--”

“I don’t know,” Harry mumbled again, his head looking down at his feet as they walked, “Doesn’t matter…”

“I--”

“I don’t care, whatever you want.”

“I’m not the one who has a firebolt, so--”

“So we don’t have to go, it’s okay, it’s whatever,” Harry said and Sirius watched as his godson appeared to stop himself from a footstamp for emphasis, before thinking better. Sirius’s mouth twisted into a barely hidden smile, thinking about Lily who up until the day she died would stamp her foot when she wasn’t getting her way. During arguments went James, once in the hallway with Sirius when he told her he wasn’t going to a party thrown by their old Potions professor. Nostalgia, aside, however, Sirius wasn’t sure what to do, trying to keep moving to not disrupt the crowds but having trouble making any sort of decision while doing so.

He stopped, and took a breath.

Harry stopped too.

“...Ice cream?” Sirius asked.

“What?”

“Let’s go get ice cream instead.”

Harry squinted up at Sirius bringing a hand up to block the sun, “I thought--”

“Yeah, well…I think I’d rather have ice cream. What say you?” 

Like poking a needle into a balloon and watching it slowly deflate, Sirius saw Harry visibly loose the pent up anger and annoyance at the mention of ice cream. His shoulders relaxing, hands were taken out of his pockets, a half-smile even. 

“Yeah. I…Yeah.” 

The crowds of people simply moved around two statues standing still in the walkway, and Sirius simply changed the script. Quidditch shops would be there, so would the opportunity to buy Harry new shoes, and Sirius hope there would be time left yet for Harry to have a proper teenage meltdown over something trivial. It wasn’t that day, though, Florean Flortesques’s the opposite direction, and towards the entrance where Sirius had left his car in a muggle car park. It was summer, the heat only getting worse throughout the afternoon and the shop was busy, but they managed to find a spot to sit outside, Sirius waving his wand to cast a cooling charm around them, and pulling his sunglasses back over his eyes. Harry noticed, and hesitated to sit down, looking back at the busy shop. 

“We can sit inside,” Harry said, “I think there was a table…”

“With all the chocolate spilled on it?” Sirius asked, “And that child with her sticky hands, no thanks.”

“You don’t know she had sticky hands,” Harry giggled a little, taking a spoonful of his chocolate ice cream putting it into his mouth. Sirius had asked if Harry wanted one of their other flavors, wanted toppings, or even sprinkles, but Harry just shook his head. Just chocolate. 

“I could just tell. Kids always have sticky hands…”

“Did they have a lot of kids in Azkaban?” Harry asked, and Sirius immediately laughed, caught off guard by the quick-snark and the boldness of the statement, Harry ducking down to hide a smile behind another bite of ice cream. People around them turned at the loud, bright laughter, Sirius realizing it had been some time since he had laughed that hard. 

“Fair enough, cheeky…” Sirius took a bite of his own ice cream--lemon-- noticing how the smile hadn’t left Harry’s face yet. Noticing how relaxed Harry looked for the first time all summer, more relaxed eating ice cream than he was in their tiny kitchen. 

“I just mean I know…you have a hard time in sunlight, and it’s not like you wanted ice cream…you just thought I would…and--”

“I love ice cream, Harry. Actually, I don’t think I ate enough of it when I was your age or older. Professor Lupin always had to have a carton in the house though, we had a magical cupboard and--” Sirius stopped himself before he got carried away. Before thoughts of Remus and their beat up tiny flat from another lifetime ago crept too far into the forefront of his mind and he was unable to wish anything else for himself. Calling him Professor Lupin only did so much to distance himself from memories that Sirius used when dementors rolled around. He could forget about the cold ground and the aches in  his body if he just thought of Sunday mornings and kisses over cups of coffee, a record playing and sun streaming in through second-hand curtains they had found in a bin at a yard sale. 

“You had a cupboard in the dorm?” Harry asked.

Sirius laughed awkwardly, running a hand over the back of his hair quickly, “No, uhm…I meant when he came to visit…when I lived with your Dad. We…always made sure we had ice cream in the cool cupboard.”

“Oh,” Harry nodded, taking Sirius’s fumbled explanation at face value.

“And don’t worry about me and the outside…it’s good for me, and I know you like being outside…don’t you?”

“Yeah but inside is fine too if you--”

“Remember what I said when I asked about your bedroom? And if you wanted to change anything?” he asked, “Same with the Vegetable Catastrophe of Last Week? You’re allowed to have…preferences, and opinions, even. I’m not going to be cross at you for telling me how you feel. Ever. Even if its rude or…you’re not happy with someone or you’re really angry because beets are a terrible vegetable….I’d much rather know how you’re feeling.”

“Why?”

Sirius stalled, trying to keep his face neutral as he figured out a way to answer the question, knowing he had to do it quick or Harry would back peddle, ice cream apparently being the perfect tool to begin harder conversations, barriers melting in tandem with the treat, “...Why wouldn’t I?”

“...dunno…”

“There is…nothing in the world that I would rather concern myself with than how you are feeling, Harry. I have endless free time and endless money and…everything, but you’re my priority. Do you know that?”

“I guess.”

“You guess, nutter…” Sirius shook his head and Harry laughed a little, putting another spoonful of ice cream into his mouth. 

“...Then…can we go home? After this? Please?”

--

It was later than usual the next day when Sirius finally heard Harry’s bedroom door open, and the light footsteps coming down the hall, his godson emerging wearing a new shirt and a pair of shorts they had bought yesterday. The comforting good morning was exchanged, Sirius standing up and immediately starting to prepare breakfast for Harry. Prepare tea the way Harry took it, a cup of water floating through the air and onto the table first. It wasn’t until they were halfway through, sounds of the waves through the open kitchen window, a bowl of fruit and two plates on the table that Harry looked up at Sirius.

“Sirius?”

“Everything alright?”

Harry nodded, and put down his fork slowly, “I was…wondering if today we could maybe go down to the beach? If you’re not busy.”

Sirius took a breath, trying to do his very best impression of nonchalant as he smiled at Harry, “Sure we can. We…can go after breakfast, if you’d like.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Happy Together : 4

Land of Confusion

Character(s): (deceptively) dark!Steve

Warnings: this is a dark!fic, it contains non/dubious-consent elements. It goes without (and with) saying that this is 18+.

Series Synopsis: The reader is stood up while awaiting a blind date, instead finding herself keeping company with the restaurant’s famous owner; Steve Rogers. After that night, she tries to forget her humiliation but she just can’t shake one thing about that night: him.

Chapter Summary: The reader wakes up but is she still dreaming?

Notes: Here’s number four. Things are going to get real weird and I can say that it’s a pretty slow burn dark!fic in terms of actual smut. Sorry, you guys but I’m laying some very important groundwork for Psycho Steve (This is only a joke, I am in no means demeaning or making fun of mental illness) here. In this chapter, we get a glimpse but there will be so much more to come.

Thanks to everyone who reads and as always, I looked forward to hearing from you in the replies/reblogs/tags/asks. <3

You were running in your dreams. The arms which had swept you into unconsciousness still pursuing you, footsteps unheard as the beating of a bass drum echoed in your ears. Branches lashed at your arms, thorns tearing your sleeves and cutting deep into your skin until you were trapped, the arm enclosing you until you could not breathe. You were paralyzed, sinking into the dirt as you were swallowed by the earth, acrid green leaves and sharp blades of grass burying you as you opened your mouth to scream. Your voice never rose as darkness overtook your vision, a sliver of distant light beckoning you downward.

Your eyes opened with a flutter. Your head felt terribly heavy and your limbs weak. It took a moment for your vision to clear and your last memories to rise to the surface. You remembered being crushed against the tree bark and the vice around your middle, the chemical burn filling your nostrils. You stared up at the white ceiling above the frame of the canopy; blue petals on grey linen. You inhaled deeply as you realized you didn’t know where you were. You coughed, your mouth was dry and tasted awful. You slowly sat up and groane as your head reverberated.

You still wore your hoodie and jeans. The only thing missing were your sneakers, likely too dirty to grace the grey on blue bedspread which reversed the same pattern as the canopy. Your ponytail sagged as you looked around the room lit only by the light edging in between the curtains. You could see the outlines of furniture around the room and you carefully reached over to pull the chain of the lamp on the night table. Christ, you felt as if you had been transported to the last century.

The decor was severely dated but pristine nonetheless. A vanity was placed diagonal in the corner and the mirror refracted the odd glimmer of light. You looked around at the several doors around the room; one on each wall to your left and right, another three on the wall facing you. The bedroom was rather large, the king-sized bed you rested on took up only a portion of the space. A sofa stood on the other side of the bed, a white fur rug in front of it to match the before the vanity. A matching footstool sat near it, blue floral on white with a polished wooden frame. You were seriously tripping out.

A glass pitcher on one of the night tables caught your eye, a tall glass beside it. You gulped, your tongue felt let cardboard. You guessed that you had more to worry about than tainted water. You sidled to the edge of the bed and filled the glass, salivating at the stream of the pitcher. You drank deeply until it was empty, holding back the sudden bubble which threatened to rise from your stomach. You felt a little better. Well, as good as you could in this place.

You held your head as you stood, crossing to the door on the wall near the sofa. It opened to reveal a pristine bathroom; a claw foot tub added to the vintage feel. You turned back and went to the wall facing the bed, testing the doors with no result. The handles didn’t budge. The last door, that closest to the vanity was light but didn’t give. You could guess that it was a closet of some sort. You sighed.

You went to one of the windows on either side of the bed next to the night table and tried to lift the pane. Nothing. You hadn’t expected otherwise. You spun around, exasperated, the scene outside betrayed nothing of your location. By the trees and blowing grass, you could guess you were outside the city. The chair to the vanity caught your eye, a dainty pink garment folded beneath several other pieces of pale silk and satin. An envelope sat atop the pile. A shudder went through you. It was your only clue.

You lifted the envelope and opened the lip, sliding out the folded letter within. The writing was narrow and slanted but legible.

My Dearest,

Forgive me for leaving you alone but my work keeps me busy. Please, have a drink of water and try to relax. The powder room is to your right. You are welcome to wash up. There is a towel on the rack and I’ve left you a change of clothes. Everything you need can be found in the cabinet and your vanity. If you should grow bored, I’ve left something for you to read on the night table.

Please, do not fret. I will return soon.

What the fuck?! You shoved the paper back in the envelope and tossed it onto the vanity with a scoff. Great, some psychopath had taken you to his bunker. You looked down at the stack of clothing and sifted through it; everything looked to be fresh out of the forties. High-waisted satin panties, a matching brassier with all-too-obvious seams, thigh-high nylons and matching garters. There was also a silken shift to go over the undergarments and the dress had too much padding in the shoulders paired with a dramatically cinched waist. You folded it back up and stepped away, crossing your arms as you spotted the kitten heels beneath. This was like a scene out of the Stepford Wives. Whatever it was, you weren’t going along with it.

You turned and dragged your feet across the floor, the wood smooth against your socks. You neared the night table on the other side of the bed. A magazine stared back at you, the words emblazoned across the top made your blood boil; Woman’s Home Companion. It was dated 1940. Okay, now you were really freaked out. I mean, waking up here was bad enough, but whatever the weirdo who had brought you here had planned, was crazy.

You took the magazine and tore each out, letting the sheets fall to the floor in a pile. You dropped the detached cover and back on the top and returned to the vanity, pulling the chair over to look out the window. You could at least dream of a way out even if this dumb thing wouldn’t budge!

------------

It wasn’t until you heard the lock click that you were aware someone else was there. You would have thought you would hear them coming but it would be logical to think maybe the person who had abducted you had thought to soundproof their prison. You stood and stilled the shaking in your hands as you returned the chair to the vanity, and crossed your arms in expectation. In bracing yourself against the lunatic who was about to come through that door.

Your heart felt as if it would collapse in on itself and time stood still as if the whole world had stopped turning and every atom was compressed within your body. It couldn’t be… You gaped at Steve as he closed the door and his eyes searched the room until they landed on you. He smiled. You dropped your arms and backed up blindly until you were against the window, your blood seared in your veins. You couldn’t believe it. Why had he done this? Why were you here? Better yet, where were you. And why was he smiling?

“You’re awake,” He greeted as he set down a long insulated bag, “Have you not had time to clean up?” He made to step nearer but stopped short at the end of the bed. His face fell as he was distracted by something else and walked around the other side. He exhaled loudly and bent to lift the pile of pages, shaking his head. “Honey, what is wrong?” You frowned, watching as he dropped the destroyed magazine on the bed. Was he serious? You looked at him as if he was from another planet. “I’m sorry I had to leave but my general manager has the flu. I had to go to the restaurant and--”

You suddenly darted towards the door he had just come through. Finally your fight or flight had kicked in. You barreled forward, fumbling with the handle for only a second before you were ripped away from the door. He was so fast. And strong. You should’ve known. Just because he wasn’t an Avenger anymore, didn’t mean he wasn’t a super soldier. You struggled against his arm as it clung around your waist and you kicked around, trying to stomp his toes. “Let me go, you lunatic!” You hollered, “Let me go.”

“Oh, dear, what’s come over you?” He easily moved you around, turning you in his arms as he kept you flush against him. “This is so unlike you.”

“You don’t know me,” You snapped, trying to push him away but your arms were trapped between your bodies. “Please, just let me go. I won’t tell anyone about this.”

“Let you go?” He released you and chuckled, “Go where? You’re already home?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Now, honey, you know I don’t like that kind of language,” He reproached as you slowly backed away. His eyes strayed to the door and he caught your hand before you could go further. “And look at you. You haven’t even dressed yourself.”

“I don’t want to wear those,” You tried to pull away but he merely threaded his thick fingers through yours, and pulled you close again, trapped in a motionless slowdance.

“Don’t make me do it,” He whispered dangerously, “I don’t want to remember us like this.”

“What the fuck!?” You writhed against him, trying to free yourself but he was too strong.

“If I have to tell you not to swear again, I’m going to have to wash your mouth out,” He threatened, his voice rising just a little. His tone was paralyzing and you stared up at him as fear crawled along your flesh. A sudden epiphany swept over you, your nerves drawn tight. In one move, he could break you. Kill you, even. “And if you don’t go get cleaned up and change into your proper clothes, I’ll just do it for you. It’s up to you, Y/N.”

You stared up at him wide-eyed. It took a moment to catch your breath and your stomach turned. You lip trembled as you tried to speak and you bit it to hide the tremor. You cleared your throat and nodded, inhaling at last. “Okay,” Your voice was small, distant, almost as if it wasn’t your own. It wasn’t, really. It was his. You had to say what he wanted or he might make you do worse. “Yes, I’ll go get cleaned up, okay?”

“That’s it, dear,” He reached up to touch your cheek, cradling your chin, your eyes burning as you held back the tears. “Always so sweet to me.”

You gulped and tried not to flinch. You let him sway you in place, steeling yourself against his touch. Play along, you told yourself, keep him calm, and bide your time.

****

tags: @ruff-m3rc @alexakeyloveloki @lanabanana-86 @sathlens @jessieray98 @kellyn1604 @ahideousthinginside @ironlady1993 @kloe-iel @grayxswan @iheartsebastianstan @myboyfriendgiriboy @tanelle83 @patzammit @phoenix21love @they-call-me-le @iheartsebastianstan@spaghettirogers @buckycaptspideypool @bethanyzed @meaganottiz02 @patzammit @breezy1415 @beautiful-and-strange @momc95 @selinbaskaya @glitterypinkkitty @thoughtlesstales @bbyspiiice @biasedtittes @lattaex @calspixie @kxllyxnnx @whosmarisaaarw @ms-munchkin @justballoonfishthings

[sarahbethimagines]

Chapter Eleven: See The Light

Chapter Log!

After some time, Michelle and I managed to let our sobs subside and detangled ourselves from the other's arms. But Michelle was quick to slap her hands to my cheeks, her eyes running over what was left to see of my now squished face. Investigating it closely. So close, I could have sworn to you she'd been counting every pore and freckle on the skin. "Well look at you," She smiled widely, slowly lightening her grip and letting my face start to reshape, "I haven't seen you in a month of Sundays!" I smiled back at her, laughing softly as I searched all the new records in my brain to remember I in fact hadn't seen her since winter break. "I'd been wondering how long I'd have to wait for you to find your way back here." Her hands finally dropped and she took a step back, her smile never budging an inch. "Well here I am!"

"There you are..." She breathed, suddenly pulling me into yet another tight hug. Huffing a hefty sigh as she did and burrowed her small head into my shoulder. "Lord only knows how happy I am that you're back." Smiling still, I returned her hug knowing exactly what she'd meant by that. And we stood there like that for a moment in a tearless embrace. Michelle thanking God I'd somehow remembered her. And me just basking in the same thing. Feeling more than grateful that somehow, someway I now had someone I truly knew to talk about everything to. Someone I remembered to help me navigate all that I didn't just a little bit better. That hug didn't last nearly as long as the last, and soon she was pulling us apart and taking a hold of my hand. "C'mon, I have something I've been waiting to give you!" She excitedly explained. Damn nearly pulling my arm clean out of its socket as she all but ran to the back of the shop. I'd always thought I was short in comparison to my father and Alex, and well everyone else in my other memories. But even at my short stature, I still had her beat by an inch or so. But that sure as Hell didn’t stop her from pumping those stumpy legs. Like she was Usain Bolt and the door she swiftly pulled us up to was the finish line in the Olympics'100-meter relay. The sign on the door read 'Authorized Personnel ONLY', and I guess that Michelle fell under that category now as she pushed it open with ease and uncovered the strangest yet most perfect little break room I'd ever seen. Once she'd dropped her death grip on my now probably broken hand, I followed in after her slowly and took in the room in its entirety. There was a small, paint smeared and wood chipped table off to the side, a single chair pulled up to it. It was pretty much empty spare a few napkins, a large, gaudy, borderline out of date boom box, and a small microwave. Diagonal from it in the corner were two oversized bean bag chairs that looked like they'd been used as punching bags for Rocky at some point or another. But by far the most impressive part of that oversized storage closet were its walls. Every inch covered from floor to ceiling and wall to wall in a wide range of posters, photographs, and record casings. There were band posters, album art, and torn off covers of Rolling Stone magazines. There were photos of Micah and Michelle at varying ages plastered everywhere. Photos of bands that had rolled through town, or those surrounding. Even photos of the Michelle and I, and the guys. Some were normal, and some were of Jack, Alex, Zack, and a third boy I assumed to be Rian playing all together. A full-blown band. I wandered around the room with wide eyes all while Michelle fumbled around in search for something. Taking the moment to soak it all in, even spotting a small polaroid photo of me. I was smiling widely, clearly laughing whilst holding a crumpled piece of paper that read 'EmpLoyEE of the mONth' in purple crayon. And I laughed softly, remembering Michelle doing that on the one-month anniversary of me working at that very store with her our Junior year in high school. "There you are, you little fucker." Michelle groveled under her breath making me laugh. I turned around to see her just barely miss smashing her head on the table's edge as she rose to her feet, tiny blue plastic bag in hand. "Only took a million and a half years to find it!" I furrowed my brow, propped myself up against a wall and watched. Giggling quietly at my friend as she tore the bag away its confines and was quick to rip the plastic film off a brand-new CD. "What are you doing?" I finally asked in an overly amused voice as she haphazardly tossed the scraps over her shoulder and popped the freed disc into the boombox. "Just being the coolest friend ever." She mocked me, turning around with a roll of her eyes and tossing the now empty CD case through the air. "Consider it a belated birthday gift, or very belated depending on which birthday you celebrated this year." I let out a bellowing laugh once I'd managed to catch it, only fumbling it in my fingers for a second. A questioning, yet still amused look in my eyes as I turned the disk over and tore my eyes from Michelle's to look down. My baby blues instantly tripled in size at the sight of what I was now holding in my hands. The black faded halo, the burnt orange bricks, the black, white and yellow spray-painted art. All physical attributes used to describe Green Day's, 21st Century Breakdown. My eyes were the size of moons when I looked back to her. My jaw slack, but my smile wide. "I've been waiting for this since they announced recording it in October!" I practically squealed. And she matched my excitement perfectly. "How do you have this?" I questioned, running the few feet over to her, "I don't even remember this being released!" I could see a flash of something in her eyes when I'd said that. But she quickly covered it up with a casual smirk and shrug. "We got right on the order and stalked up the second it came out, I've been holding onto this copy for about a week now for you." "Oh my God, thank you!" I yelled, wrapping my arms around her neck in the tightest hug I could muster. "Alright, alright I know," She coughed, pushing me off, or at least attempting to. "I'm the greatest best friend in all of existence but get off me so I can play it!" "Say less!" I huffed, pulling myself off her in an instant and allowing her to turn around and press play. As the first track began to spin, I returned to my place by the wall, leaning into it and scanning the back of the CD case. Taking in each and every one of the eighteen song titles. And Michelle pressed herself up onto the break table, swinging her legs ever so slightly as she watched me. For a while we just sat in silence listening to the music and taking it in. But it was hard for me to ignore the way her eyes were burning two little holes in my skull once I'd finished listing the tracks in my head. I knew she must have had a million and one questions, there was something about the way she'd been looking at me before. So shocked, and yet so happy. She must have been just as surprised as I'd been at the fact that I so quickly remembered who she was. And I'm certain she had a laundry list of things she wanted to ask me. About the incident, about what I'd remembered so far, probably even what I'd specifically remembered about her. But if I'm to be honest, it was nice for once to not have to think so hard about what had been going on in my life the past two weeks. Just being able to sit in a room with someone I knew everything about was all I ever wanted and felt just as good as I'd hoped. That is sparing the small hints of guilt I'd begun to feel about not remembering anyone else. But I didn’t want to talk quite yet. So, I held off, never meeting her stare and instead began to wander aimlessly around the room in circles, taking in everything that was stuck to the walls. Feeling memories tug at my mind just out of reach when I saw certain things. Letting my hands graze the scattered collection of posters and photographs, I stopped at one that caught my eye. Leaning in to get a closer look with squinted eyes. The poor-quality photo captured an image of Alex that had something tugging just a bit harder than before in the back of my brain. Standing in a dark room with broken ceiling panels. He had a pink electric guitar slung over his shoulder and a white bandana wrapped around his visibly sweat slicked hair. Even through the grain I could easily see the expression on his face as he hung his jaw wide and was singing into a microphone, thick vein bulging down the length of his neck clear as day. They were probably playing some form of a show. Zack could be seen ever so slightly behind him, the only thing keeping the shorter boy from fading into the darkness of the photograph was the bright red t-shirt stuck to his chest. "How much do you remember of him?" Michelle suddenly asked from behind me when she noticed me staring. Careful tone to her words. "Not as much as I'd like to." I admitted, dropping my hand and head in synchronization before turning around to see her staring up at me. A somber look to her pressed smile. "He's been keeping us all in the loop, you know." She told me, still swinging her legs. Eyes never leaving me as I made my way over and flopped down into one of the worn bean bag chairs. "Ever since you'd shown up at his house." "All good things, I hope?" I inquired. She nodded and I did too, biting down gently on my lip. "He said you're doing a lot better the past few days, that you remember more than you think." "I doubt that!" I scoffed, shaking my head and letting my eyes fall to my swaying knees. "Don't doubt Alex." She practically warned me, though with a playful twang. "He's known you better than you've known yourself since ninth grade. It's just a much easier competition for him in the time being." "Well, that's one wat to put it." I laughed half-heartedly. But only for a moment before a frown formed between my cheeks. "It kills me you know, not remembering any of them. Not remembering my dad, or my best friends." "Well you seem to remember me just fine!" She pointed out. Clearly searching under rocks for a silver lining to show me. Only finding rattle snakes hidden away. "Yeah, well you're actually the only person I really remember." I bitterly admitted. "And even that is a new discovery." "Oh, boo who!" She whined, and my attention instantly snapped up in time to see her rolling her big doll eyes at me. "Dee, do me a solid and tell the negative committee that meets in your brain to sit down and shut the Hell up!" "Excuse me?" I practically choked on my shocked excuse for a laugh. "You heard me." She said, narrowing her eyes. "This whole negative nelly, woe is me crap isn't you! You were bright and bubbly ten minutes ago until I asked about your progress. Look on the bright side!" I couldn’t even begin to help the way my eyes rolled at that. "Where is the bright side to forgetting your entire life." "How about getting a chance to remember it again." She said. And I looked to her again at the sound of her hardened words, only to see a cold glare looking right back at me. Things seeming to make a fast and drastic turn in a whole new direction. "Look Dee, something terrible happened to you. Probably the worst thing that can happen to a person. But in the bigger picture of things you got lucky!" "How?" I genuinely asked now, not as sarcastic as before. More curious per say as to where she was going with all this. She sighed and shook her head. "You were in a car full of people that played chicken with a tree and lost miserably. Not a single one of you walked away with just bumps and bruises. So, all things considered, if I were you, I'd start to just be grateful you walked away at all instead of focusing on smaller things." "I am grateful!" I quickly defended. "I know you are deep down..." She said, "But you're letting your memory cloud that. You're so focused on the fact that you can't remember that you're forgetting to count the biggest blessing of being able to remember anything at all." I bit my lip and looked away from her for a moment. My hand subconsciously running its way up to the back of my head where a line of small scabbed staples sat hidden beneath my hair. One of the last remaining bits of physical evidence. All that time at home I’d been trying my hardest to remember my life and think as little as possible about how I’d lost the ability to do so. I didn’t remember the crash. All I knew about it was what I'd seen on the news before the nurses would turn it off. And the few conclusions I'd drawn from the doctors questioning me. The biggest thing I had been blocking from my thoughts, now with Michelle's words in my head seemed like the biggest thing I should have been focusing on all along. That not everyone survived that night. And I was one of the four lucky ones who did. "Your memory will come back to you." Michelle whispered, pulling me from my thoughts. "And we are all going to be here until you do, helping where we can." I looked up to see her slowly sliding off the table she'd been sat on our whole exchange. Letting me nod before she grabbed me by the arm and pulled me up into another tight hug. "You know I would never be hard on you unless you really needed a kick in the pants." She muttered as I wrapped my arms around her and took a deep breath. "But Dee, you just have to remember, you are here, you are alive, and you are slowly remembering things." "Thank you." I whispered, holding her closer. "I love you Tweedle Dee, you stupid stubborn bitch." She laughed, "Just, stop being so hard on yourself." "I love you too JuJuBee." I whispered back to her, closing my eyes to conceal the tears that were slowly beginning to form. "I'll try my hardest to remember that."