Mia's Heart

Page 9

Because they’d already told me.
“How much do you actually know about me?” I ask him. I can’t help but smile. It really does feel good to know that at least someone remembers important things about my life. He laughs.
“I pretty much know everything,” he confirms. “And if I don’t know it, then Reece does.”
Reece. The best friend that I can’t remember.
I sigh again, trying to place her face in my head, but failing. I thank Gavin and hang up, picking up my phone once again. I punch in my birthday and Gavin was right. It opens right up.
A picture of me and a blonde girl stares back at me from my screensaver. Her slender arm is wrapped around my shoulders. My hair is two shades darker than it is right now and there are bright pink stripes threaded through it. The blonde girl is gorgeous with white blonde high-lights and sparkling blue eyes. We’re both holding up the “rock on” signal with our hands and grinning into the camera. I don’t know who took the picture and in fact, I don’t remember taking the picture at all.
Because this is the story of my life now.
I’m perpetually clueless.
I turn the phone towards my mom.
“Is this Reece?”
My mother almost flinches before she nods.
“You don’t like Reece?” I ask curiously. My mother shakes her head.
“It’s not that. Reece is a charming girl. I just don’t think that she understands what it’s like to be you. I worry about the influence she has on you. You should be around kids who understand.”
I am confused.
“Kids who understand what?”
“Kids who understand what it is like to be you,” she says firmly but still vaguely. “An important member of Caberran society.”
My mom sure does think a lot of herself and our family. Important members of society? I sigh.
“So it’s not okay to have friends that aren’t from here?”
My mother practically grits her teeth.
“That’s not what I said, Mia. I just said that I prefer it when you hang around with kids who understand you. Like Dante or Gavin.”
“Dante’s not here,” I remind her. “Are you saying that you only want me to hang around with Gavin?”
It’s my mother’s turn to sigh.
“No. Stop putting words in my mouth. I’d like it if you hung around with Elena Kontou, also, but you don’t seem to want to. I don’t know why. She’s a lovely girl who knows what it’s like to be a girl in your position. Plus, you really should mend fences with her.”
I stare at her. “Mend fences?”
“Vincent Dranias, that boy who you snuck around with and dated, is the reason her face was scarred. You’ve never apologized for that.”
I suck in a breath.
“Gavin told me that it wasn’t my fault. That Vincent completely deceived me. Why then, would I need to apologize? I’m honestly asking—because I don’t remember anything. And was she badly hurt in that explosion?”
My mother pats my hand.
“No, it wasn’t your fault. But Elena seems to think that you brought that boy into everyone’s lives. You really should take the time to explain that you didn’t. That you were deceived along with everyone else. And no, she wasn’t seriously injured, but her cheek was scarred. And she is a beautiful girl. She’s taking it hard. In fact, I believe she’s here in the hospital right now. She’s undergoing a series of surgeries to repair the scar.”
I am quiet. “I would like to talk to her and to apologize for any hand that I had in the whole mess. But the problem is, I don’t remember any of it. How can I apologize for something that I don’t remember?”
My mom offers me a little smile. A tight, tight smile.
“I don’t know, Mia,” she sighs. “But maybe you should try talking to her and just see what happens. We can get her room number from the nurse.”
I nod and she leaves the room, presumably to talk with the nurse. I continue looking through my phone. I have hundreds of pictures. Reece and I are in many of them. We’re on a boat, we’re by the beach, we’re in a bedroom. In one, we’re dressed in green matching shirts, presumably from work. Gavin told me that I work for Dante’s father. It looks like we are great friends.
There are pictures of Gavin. There are pictures of Gavin and I together. And there are pictures of us with another boy. A really, really handsome blonde boy who has to be Dante.
Dante Giliberti.
I look at the handsome face smiling at me from my phone and I wonder how I could possibly not remember him. He’s movie star handsome. I should remember him. But I don’t.
I scroll through the other faces in the pictures and I don’t remember any of them, either. Charming Reece Ellis. Cocky Gavin Ariastasis. Gorgeous Dante Giliberti. I should know them. I should have their faces memorized.
But I don’t.
And it is oh-so-frustrating.
I am practically growling when my mom returns.
“Room 402,” she tells me. “Elena’s on the fourth floor. She’s here only for today and then she’ll be gone. So you should go see her now while you have the chance.”
I am hesitant, but my mom is insistent.
“Mia,” she says patiently. “You have known Elena since you were children. You shouldn’t let a misunderstanding like this ruin things. Just go and speak with her. I’m sure you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”
I am still unsure, but I go anyway. How can I not? I have to make sense out of my life somehow. I should begin by piecing it back together.
I creep out into the hall and take a big mouthful of the medicinal hospital smell. It smells like iodine and alcohol and plastic. I hate it. But I timidly make my way through the bustling corridors and sterile halls until I find myself standing in front of room 402.
I stand there for a few minutes, trying to get my courage up.
You can do this.
You can do this.
You can effing do this.
My hand shakes and I silently cuss myself out. Listen, you. I don’t know who you used to be. But I know that you are not such a wuss. You are a badass. Buck the eff up.
I knock lightly and there is no answer. I knock harder.
“Come in,” an annoyed voice calls. I swallow hard and stick my shoulders back. I don’t know who I used to be, but I don’t like feeling intimidated by anyone now. My chin juts out and I push the door open.
A beautiful girl lies in the bed, covered up to her waist by blankets. She’s got hair the deepest shade of red that flows in soft waves over her shoulders. Her eyes are emerald green and narrowed as she looks at me. And there is a bandage on her cheekbone, marring what would otherwise be a perfect face. She’s breathtakingly beautiful. And she looks like she hates me.
I gulp.
“Elena?” I ask, although I’m sure it is. Who else could it be?
“Yes,” she answers coolly in a voice that borders on hatred. “Were you expecting someone else?”
I shake my head. “No. I just wanted to sure.”
Elena smiles a frigid smile that reminds me slightly of a piranha. I don’t know why because her smile is gorgeous and perfect.
And cold.
Just like the rest of her.
“Ah, yes. I forgot. You can’t remember anything.”
She doesn’t look disturbed by that at all. She seems ambivalent, actually.
Even though she hasn’t invited me, I walk inside and sit in the chair next to her bed. She has fashion magazines everywhere, so I move them to clear a space.
“My mother told me that you and I have a misunderstanding and that I should clear it up,” I tell her. “But I don’t remember anything. So it’s hard to know what to say.”
Elena studies me with interest. “You truly don’t remember anything at all?” she asks. “Not a thing?”
I shake my head. “Not much at all. I remember my car. And I don’t know why. I remember scuba diving. But I don’t remember my friends. I don’t remember my parents and I don’t remember myself.”
“So you don’t remember me?” Elena asks, her lovely head cocked. I shake my head again. “You don’t remember growing up with me?”
“No. I’m sorry. I don’t.”
And she laughs. I am startled by this and stare. It definitely wasn’t the reaction that I was expecting.
She muffles her giggles and then stares back.
“I’m sorry,” she says. “It’s not funny. It’s ironic.”
“How is it ironic?” I ask suspiciously. I don’t know what to make of this girl.
Elena giggles again. I’m not sure if she’s laughing at me or with me or what.
“You’ve always worked so hard to portray an image… the image of a girl who doesn’t care about who she is. And here you are now… you don’t remember any of it. You truly don’t know who you are. Don’t you find that funny at all?”
And suddenly, I kind of do.
I laugh with her.
“If I remembered it, it would be funnier,” I finally tell her. “But I don’t. I saw pictures—of my hair and my clothes. I guess I was trying hard to prove a point.”
Elena nods. “You definitely were trying to make a point.”
I look at her and try not to look at her bandage. But it’s hard. It might as well have a sign on it that says Look at me. My eyes keep gravitating toward it. I force them back to hers.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “For whatever part I played in the accident. I’m told that I didn’t know what was going on, that I was tricked along with everyone else. But if there were signs that I should have seen and didn’t, I’m really sorry about that.”
Elena’s nose tilts up and I wonder if this is the moment that she’s going to let me have it. She’s got a certain bitchy air about her…she’s definitely a girl who knows what she wants and how to get it. She doesn’t mess around. I may have amnesia, but even I can see that.
And she is silent for a long, long moment. I think she’s trying to make up her mind.
“I was pissed at you,” she finally admits to me. And she sounds surprisingly candid. “But I was pissed at everyone, to be honest. I know that it wasn’t you who did this to me. It was Nate Geraris and Vincent Dranias. It’s just difficult to be mad at people who aren’t here. I seem to need something- or someone- that I can focus my aggression on.”
“You might want to take up target shooting instead,” I tell her wryly. She laughs.
“I don’t think anyone wants to see a gun in my hand,” she admits. She seems more honest than I was expecting. Although I don’t know why I had any expectations at all. I don’t remember her.
OhmyGod. I’m so tired of that phrase. I don’t remember. I get it already. I’m clueless about everything.
“Were we friends?” I ask curiously. “My mother said that we didn’t hang out much, but that she didn’t know why. But I’m guessing that my mother didn’t know everything there was to know about me, either.”