03
1046 Words
CHAPTER THREE
This Has Happened Before
I keep staring at the notebook.
The page doesn’t change.
I sort of expect it to.
I expect hidden cameras to appear. I expect somebody to yell surprise. I expect the walls to fold open and reveal actors.
Instead—
Emergency Numbers
Kit ❤️
And beneath it:
If memory thing happens again—
call me first.
I’ll help you remember.
— K
Again.
Again.
Again.
My thumb presses into the paper until it bends.
I don’t realize I’m breathing too fast until the room tilts.
Kit notices immediately.
He steps forward.
I step back.
His feet stop moving instantly.
That hurts more than it should.
I don’t know this man.
Why does he know when to stop?
“…Again?” I ask.
He looks at the notebook.
Then at me.
His shoulders rise and fall once.
“Yes.”
The answer comes too quickly.
Like he already decided he wouldn’t lie.
I stare at him.
Nothing dramatic happens.
No lightning.
No music.
Just one word.
Yes.
And suddenly the room feels unfamiliar again.
Not because of the furniture.
Because of me.
I look around.
Picture frames.
The couch.
The kitchen.
The notebook in my hand.
What if these things don’t belong to a stranger?
What if they belong to me?
No.
No.
I latch onto anger because fear feels worse.
I laugh once.
“You expect me to believe this?”
His expression stays quiet.
“No.”
That throws me.
“…What?”
“I don’t expect you to believe me.”
I blink.
He looks exhausted.
“I expect you to hate me for a little while.”
That makes me uncomfortable immediately.
People who are lying usually push harder.
People who are telling the truth—
sometimes they wait.
I hate that thought.
I throw the notebook onto the coffee table.
“What does memory thing mean?”
Kit doesn’t answer.
Wrong move.
I point.
“No. Don’t do that thing.”
His eyebrows move.
“That thing?”
“The thing where you decide what I can handle.”
He looks at me for a second.
Then nods.
Fair.
Okay.
His eyes move briefly toward the hallway.
Then back.
“You started forgetting six months ago.”
My stomach drops.
I don’t know why.
That sentence feels old.
Like hearing a song I haven’t heard in years.
I cross my arms.
“Forgetting what?”
His jaw shifts.
“At first little things.”
His voice is calm.
“Appointments. Conversations.”
I open my mouth.
He continues.
“Then dates.”
I stop.
Then—
“You forgot places.”
His eyes stay on mine.
“You forgot meeting people.”
A strange feeling creeps up my spine.
No.
No.
Because—
I haven’t.
I remember everything.
I remember school.
My apartment.
Neil.
Lunch.
Della.
I remember.
Right?
Kit keeps speaking.
“One day you forgot Lucas’s soccer practice.”
I freeze.
His voice softens.
“You cried for an hour.”
Something in my chest pulls sharply.
I ignore it.
“You got scared.”
His eyes lower.
“You thought you were sick.”
I swallow.
He says quietly—
“So did I.”
Silence.
I look away.
No.
I don’t want details.
Details make things real.
I walk to the window.
The oak tree outside moves in the wind.
Normal.
Everything outside looks normal.
That’s offensive.
The world should look stranger.
I say without turning—
“So what.”
He waits.
I continue.
“What happened?”
His answer comes slowly.
“You started writing things down.”
My eyes flick to the notebook.
He notices.
“You made systems.”
He gestures slightly.
“Notes.”
Pictures.
Schedules.
Recordings.
I stare.
Then laugh.
A sharp sound.
“That’s ridiculous.”
He doesn’t argue.
I turn.
“If I had memory problems I would know.”
His eyes stay on me.
“That’s what you said.”
I go still.
His voice gets quieter.
“Every time.”
Every.
Time.
No.
No no.
I shake my head.
“You keep saying weird things.”
His expression changes.
Tiny.
Sad.
He looks toward the floor.
Then says—
“You asked me not to tell you immediately anymore.”
The room feels smaller.
I stare.
“What?”
His eyes meet mine.
“You said every time I explained too quickly…”
He pauses.
“…you stopped trusting me.”
I don’t breathe.
He looks embarrassed somehow.
Like this isn’t rehearsed.
Like he hates saying it.
His voice lowers.
“You said if it happened again…”
His eyes flick briefly toward the notebook.
“…I should let you discover things yourself.”
I can’t speak.
Because—
that sounds like me.
Annoyingly.
Control freak.
Evidence first.
Feelings later.
I hate that.
I hate him.
I hate myself.
I look away.
Then—
“Why didn’t you call a doctor?”
His eyes blink once.
He says—
“We did.”
Plural.
We.
I stare.
His face closes a little.
“We saw six.”
Six.
Doctors.
I swallow.
“…And?”
Nothing.
His eyes hold mine.
Nothing.
Cold crawls down my arms.
Nothing.
I laugh.
Too loudly.
“Okay.”
I nod.
“Cool.”
I point.
“So I’m medically impossible.”
He doesn’t answer.
That’s worse.
I turn away.
And that’s when I notice it.
A calendar.
On the wall.
Big.
White.
Covered in writing.
My writing.
Different colored pens.
Appointments.
Schedules.
Reminders.
One date is circled.
Today.
My breathing slows.
Written beside it—
Lunch with D + K
My stomach twists.
Underneath—
bring blue crayon.
I stop moving.
No.
No.
No.
I walk closer.
My handwriting.
Definitely mine.
Under that—
DON’T FORGET.
I stare.
Then lower.
Tiny writing beneath it.
If this works—
tell him yes.
My body goes cold.
I turn.
Slowly.
Kit is standing where I left him.
Not moving.
Watching.
Waiting.
I look at him.
He looks terrified.
Not guilty.
Terrified.
My throat feels tight.
I point at the calendar.
My voice comes out quiet.
“…What works?”
He closes his eyes.
Just for a second.
Then opens them.
And says—
“You remembering me.”
- Writer
