found.

chapter seven

*Dylan Gray*

The front doors of the school appeared in my vision, and I couldn't be happier that this god damn tour was over. All I wanted to do was go home and think about everything. Emma and I had barely talked the entire time we were walking. With her, I was used to endless chatter for hours upon hours. The entire experience made me come to a conclusion- Emma was no longer the Emma I knew. I didn't blame her, but I was definitely upset. Trying not to let my disappointment burst through to my emotions, I silently followed the girl back into the office. The counselor was standing by the door, waiting for us. As I walked through after Emma, I nearly ran into the door because that woman decided to close it on me. But, of course, she had it wide open for Emma. Favoritism? I think yes. I guess she just wasn't too into new kids who looked like they could be potential murder suspects.

My eyes roamed around the office, looking for my dad, so I could get the hell out of here. Instead, I found Emma, who was also looking around, as if she'd lost something. After a few seconds of standing in the middle of the room, not knowing what to do with myself, I heard my dad's voice. He was laughing, probably at something Pinhead said. The door handle to a room across the office started moving, right as Emma bolted off in that direction. Oh no. Emma dove towards her backpack, trying to get it before the door opened, but ended up standing up into my dad, who was stumbling backwards out of the room.

Please don't turn around. Please don't recognize her.

"Sorry!" Emma almost screeched, trying to duck out of the way again.

My dad started talking before he turned all the way around. He began telling her not to worry about it, and right before he said the last word, he saw her face and froze. He had recognized her. Repeating himself, he told her once again not to worry about it, before turning to me, a look of horror on his face. Emma looked at me one more time, then quickly left the office, heading back in the direction of... the gym? Was I right? Probably not. Navigation wasn't my strength.

My favorite principal, Pinhead, walked back in the room with a shit ton of more papers. Oh joy. She gave me a fake smile before giving my dad a real one, then left the room again.

"Can we leave now?" I begged.

My dad, still partially in shock, nodded. Slowly, he regained his 'consciousness,' and we were on our way out. I motioned for him to give me the keys to his car, but he shook his head, refusing to let me drive. I guess I could see why he didn't want me to drive; the first time I drove his car, I ran it into a trash can. He unlocked the car, and I slid into the passenger seat. When my dad stuck the keys into the ignition and the car roared to a start, the radio started playing, but my dad shut it off immediately. I gave him a confused look. After a while of his hesitation, he finally spoke.

"Am I going insane?" he asked, in almost a whisper.

I chuckled before shaking my head and looking down.

"That was Emma," he whispered, more to himself than to me.

The rest of the car ride was mostly silent. The radio remained off. My dad's eyes were focused on the road, but his mind was clearly elsewhere. It was as if he desperately wanted to say something, but had no idea of what to say or how to word it. Truth is, the entire idea of Emma ever being in my life again was completely insane not three hours ago. And suddenly, it was real. Frankly, I didn't think it had registered in my mind at all yet. And I was scared of what I would do when it finally sunk in that Emma was no longer Emma. At least, not the Emma I fell in love with.

My house came into view, and as soon as my dad pulled into the driveway, I was on the way out of the car, but my dad locked the doors.

"You can't be friends with her. You know that, right?" he said quietly.

I nodded. I knew I couldn't. It would be way too hard for me to not let anything accidentally slip out. And if she found out anything whatsoever, the whole situation could fall apart.

The car doors unlocked, and I finally walked into the house. Instead of hearing my dad follow me inside, I heard the car's engine start up again.

Well, there he goes.

Dismissing the fact that he was trying to leave without me noticing, I entered my room and slammed the door shut. I was angry. Was I supposed to really do this? Was I supposed to ignore her? Was I supposed to go to the same school as her, go to the same classes as her, see her every day, and throw everything that we had out of the window?

Yes, I was angry. I was angry that I met her at all in the first place. I was angry that I fell in love with her. I was angry that she was in that accident. That she lost her memory. That she had to move away. And somehow, I was angry that she was back in my life, just as I was getting past her in my own way. Sure, I turned into some kind of rebellious kid and all- the type of kid girl's father's tell them to stay away from- but it was my way of forgetting. Deflecting the hurt onto other people was my way of coping. Was I ever really going to get over it? Probably not, but it would've gotten better. And now that she was back, it was as if the past four years of 'grieving' were just taken away from me, and I was supposed to start all over. The thing was, though, that this time, I had to do it while being with her every day. Not only that, but I also had to get it through my head that she wasn't who she used to be.

I could feel the pain of the past four years building up inside of me. I didn't want to feel. I paced around my room, trying to contain myself. Every memory that I could've possibly had flashed through my mind. It was a chaotic mess. And it was all gone. Nothing would ever be the same again. Emma wasn't getting her memories back. And I had to live with that. It wasn't fair. She got to forget. I had to remember. The memories wouldn't stop flooding through me. I couldn't just hold it in.

Finally breaking my composition, I grabbed the glass of water that was on my nightstand, and threw it at the wall. There was no going back. Once I started this, it didn't end for a long time. Random objects got smashed into the wall. Things were getting broken, probably including my hand. When my hand ended up actually inside the wall, something in my brain told me to stop.

So that was that. This was my family. I was overly violent. My dad was an old drunk. And it was because of Emma.