Solar Veins

00 | amnesia partial or total loss of memory           11:21 PM, 14TH OF DECEMBER, 2017. The last thing I remembered was having coffee with Bree Turner on Carnaby Street, at four o'clock sharp on the fifth of December. The streets were bustling with the occasional teenage girl searching for a Christmas present in Boots, and desperate, youthful, volunteers handing out brochures about scientology and gigs in the local area. The coffee had been bitter on my tongue, and it had lingered for the next five minutes until I washed it down with some water. Cinnamon, and the scent of deep-fried delicacies laced the winter swollen air from a stall around the corner. My hands had been clutched in towards my chest to keep out the cold, my white scarf wrapped around my chin so tightly, it felt like I was suffocating on oxygen. I don't recall Bree standing up to leave, nor day shifting to night as the sun slid over the horizon. I hammered my hand against my electronic clock, the pixelated numbers reading what I presumed to be a glitch in the time. The numbers stuck to the glass screen like glue. Perhaps it was my imagination. Maybe the past eight days were too irrelevant to remember. University, and the upcoming retakes, made it all too possible for time to slip through my fingers. "Damn it," I murmured, wincing as I drew back my reddened hand. My pasty white skin appeared even paler in the yellow light of my room, but the energy saving bulbs were the only ones I could afford. The decision not to work over the holidays had taken its toll - not that I could remember most of it anyway.  You're going mad. I told myself. The clock must be wrong. You can fix that. I sighed, and reached into my pocket for my phone, only for my hands to scrape at the crumbs fixated at the bottom. The mobile device was missing - and so was my memory. "Hannah?" I groaned, calling for my roommate to wake in desperation, but she wasn't there. My breathing picked up as I tucked my hair behind my ears, and bit my lip. Raking my eyes over each surface of the rectangular room was pointless. My phone was nowhere to be seen, but I couldn't picture losing it. You're definitely going mad. My breath hitched, eyes blinked, heart hammered. I ran a hand through the knots of my red-gold hair, and yanked my fingers through the tresses until it hurt. My hair was what made me stand out. Despite both my parents being brunette, my genetics had decided to gift me with thick gold strands tinted with ruby undertones. My hands shook as I dumped the contents of my pockets - entailing my wallet, and keys to the university halls - on my intricately messy desk, before twisting open the door of my en-suite bathroom. I bumped into the shower as I pulled the door shut behind me. It closed with an unsettling click. The sink was cool against my hands as I used it to steady myself on the smooth tile flooring, only to be greeted by my stern reflection in the mirror. I wasn't pretty. Or stunning. Or even striking. The world had gifted me with a blunt nose, and round eyes that widened every time I dared to blink. Thick lashes curled beneath my shapeless brows, brown against the white of my freckled skin - or what should've been white. A scream rose in my throat as I gazed at the gash above my left eyebrow. Blue had exploded around the infliction in a plume like ink in water, staining the scab a dark scarlet. Bleached amber, my irises searched for clues on my troubled face, reading beneath the smudged - and lack of - make up. They found nothing but the shell of a petrified nineteen-year-old. And a pair of identical tiny incisions at the base of my neck. I raised my hands to my lips in confusion. The wounds were fresh, and the scabs newly formed. My fingers trailed over the red area, and I couldn't help but wince. What had happened, and how could I not bring myself to remember anything? Had I stabbed myself with a fork whilst sleepwalking? Had I been so drunk, I couldn't recall the day before?  I backed out of the bathroom, and swiftly changed out of my grey hoodie and black jeans, before pulling on a pair of leggings, and vintage sweatshirt. The material scratched at my arms relentlessly, yet it did nothing to distract my racing thoughts. Before tonight, everything was a blank canvas. When I tried to conjure up memories of yesterday or the day before, I am met by an ominous darkness waiting to swallow me whole. 11:29 PM. Thirty one minutes until midnight. On the fourteenth of December, 2017. Thirty one minutes to find out what kind of mind games were playing with my head. My fingers enclosed around a pen, and grabbed a post-it note from my desk. My hand writing had never been neat, and tonight was no exception. I peeled off the luminous yellow piece of paper, and pressed it firmly against the headboard of Hannah's bed to make sure that it didn't fall down. Dropped my phone somewhere. Will be back tomorrow xx NIGHT HAD TAKEN its toll. Dark clouds billowed overhead, pregnant with snow and rain as they purred over the midnight streets of London city. With the moon replaced by dark grey, the world had been overcast with an ebony shadow that scraped out all existence of light. The apartments on Yardly Road sheltered the street from the brutal wind, which howled against the break of dawn. Cars hummed in the distance, and the stench of burnt oil stung my nose. Carnaby Street was five minutes in the opposite direction, but my visit had been pointless. All of the shops were closed, and three people had confirmed my superstitions. I had missed eight days of my life. Fear had consumed by body, but I still refused to let it show to the drunk passers-by as they headed home. I pulled my sweatshirt in tighter around my body, hoping it would alleviate some of my anxiety. I had been lucky to get into university, with my consistent B grades, and unsupportive school. My father, who now lived in Brazil with my step-mum, didn't even know I had started studying ancient history one year ago at the Queen Mary University of London. My legs continued to walk as I let my mind control my actions, but as soon as I turned the next corner into a familiar alleyway, I froze. Seventeenth Cannonway stared back at me like a gaping black hole. This was the fourth time I had turned this exact corner. The fourth time I had questioned why I was here when it wasn't on the way back to my halls. I stopped dead in my tracks. There were no lights in the vicinity. Darkness glared at me, inky eyes writhing from the abyss. Alike multiple of the other alleyways I had come across in London, litter rimmed each edge of the cobblestone walkway as it narrowed up ahead. Here, the wind was free to pry its way through the three-meter-wide path. It battered against my face as I tentatively took a step forward. Yet, unlike most alleyways, this one wasn't empty. Turn back. Turn back. A shadow moved in the distance, silhouetted against the red glare from a neon light around the corner. It brought a bottle to its lips, and gulped. I watched the man's throat bulge as he took another daring sip. He was broad, with wide shoulders, and medium stature. His dark tresses refracted the ruby light in a brilliance of tormenting rays as he stepped closer. I screamed at my muscles not to move another inch, but they didn't obey. The street felt all to familiar. The disgusting odour of stagnant water, and brown bricks wasn't new to me in the slightest. I had been here before - and not just in the sense that I had passed it by multiple times since arriving in London. First, I had amnesia, and now I was wandering a dark street at midnight. None of it added up.  My heart stammered as he continued to walk forward. "Sorry," I muttered, treading backwards until my foot caught the edge of a curb, and I was forced to stop. My confident voice was merely a delusion. An animalistic sound reverberated from the male's throat. In one swift motion, the bottle that had previously been in his hand smashed against the wall to my right. I flinched. "Cora?" The man rasped. I shivered at the sound of my name on his American tongue. "What," I uttered in disbelief. "The fuck."