Author's Note:

This story's idea is based off of an actual novel called Before I Go To Sleep. Don't sue me! Great book, guys. Mature though. I think I should've waited a couple of years to get it, but oh well.

The apocalypse is over, but that doesn't mean Max still doesn't have a hell lot of problems. Uh-oh. And this problem really leaves her really... vulnerable.

IMPORTANT:
To anyone I've redirected: I've just completely changed this chapter, so read on! Skip the 8-yr-old section. The new part is totally different. Really.

Kay, sorry for the longness. Read and review!

Lying on the floor of my cage, I groaned, feeling totally drained. Just moments earlier, a whitecoat had shoved me in, furiously scribbling down notes as I spat at his feet. The man locked the door, leaving me huddled in a corner, scowling.

"Hi," came a voice beside me, and I lifted my head up to see. It was my friend Fang.

"Hi," I said back, going to the edge of my cage so I could see him better. He was leaning against metal bars, his dark hair messy.

"What did they make you do this time?" he asked me, looking worn.

Massaging my calves, I replied, "They made me run a mile under the hot sun with a bunch of wires attached to me. They wouldn't even give me any water." I remembered how pathetically I had groveled for a drink when I finished.

Fang shot a venomous look towards a lab door, where there were a bunch of mad scientists probably hurting some other poor soul. "I'm sorry, Max."

"So am I," I said, bitter. We sat in silence for a moment.

"What was your time?"

I turned to him. "What?"

"Your time," Fang repeated. "How long did it take you to run the mile?"

"Two minutes and forty-five seconds," I recounted.

Fang gave me one of his small but special smiles, which made my tired self feel a little revived. "Nice."

I grinned back. "Thanks."

"Max, you should get some sleep. Jeb said he would be sneaking us dinner soon."

I looked at him. "Last I checked, I can't eat while I'm asleep, Fang."

He didn't seem miffed by my sarcasm. He's used to it. "I'll wake you. You'll need energy if they take you out again."

"But what about you?" I'm not that selfish.

"I'm off for today. I'll be their test monkey again tomorrow, though."

"Which sucks."

"Yeah." He didn't elaborate. Fang isn't much of a talker.

You're probably wondering who I am and what I'm doing in a cage. Well, my name is Maximum Ride, and I named myself because I have no freaking parents. I'm eight years old, and I'm trapped in this hellhole called the School, where these horrible people experiment on me. I am a mutant: I have bird DNA, and I have wings sprouting out of my back. That's right. Wings. I can fly. I'm also stronger and faster than normal humans, which is why your mile time may be near eight minutes while mine may be nearer to three.

Jeb Batchelder is a scientist here, but he's nice. He brings us our meals, sometimes giving us an extra roll or two. Jeb tries to make sure that we are examined and not tortured. He can't always save us, though. Needles have punctured my skin more times than I can count, and the smell of antiseptic here disgusts me. In other words, Max want out.

My closest friends are Fang, Iggy, and Nudge; and we're all mutant bird children. Fang and Iggy are near my age. Iggy is funny and has great hearing, but the poor sap's blind. Nudge is five, and we think she learned how to talk before she could crawl. She is a total chatterbox.

And I think you've met Fang.

The only other bird child I know here is this little blond toddler with these tiny wings that don't support him much yet. He farts so much that Fang and I nicknamed him the Gasman. The Gasman didn't seem to mind his nickname. He happily tooted and returned to his lunch when Iggy called him by it.

I freaking want to get out of here. The School is a terror. I'm tired of shots and tiring tests and all this rubbing alcohol smell. I wish one day that Fang, Iggy, Nudge, and I could all just fly the coop. I think I'd bring the Gasman along too. He shouldn't need to suffer all these hypos either.

I then dozed off, my forehead against the cage floor.

I woke up on a soft mattress, under a striped comforter. I noticed a wooden desk topped with a laptop, a bookshelf, and a recliner. A woman's clothing was slung over a chair, and a guy's jeans were on the dresser. Where was I…?

I then noticed the dark figure sleeping beside me, and I did a double take. "Who the heck are you? Where am I?"

The person stirred, their black hair peeking out of the covers. Muffled, a deep voice said, "Max. You're awake."

I stepped off of the bed, my body shaking. I wanted to punch something. "How do you know my name? Whose bedroom is this?"

"Ours."

The face was revealed, and I gasped.

"Fang?" I could see his solid body underneath his sleeping shirt, and his scruffy, longish black hair. He wasn't old-old, like Jeb, but he definitely wasn't eight. A young adult, maybe.

Fang stood up to his full height, probably around six feet, but he didn't tower over me as much as I'd expect. "Fang… what the heck is going on here? How did we get out of the School? How old are you?"

He didn't seem at all surprised by my rapid-fire questions. "Eighteen. So are you."

"I…" I stared at him, at his boxers and t-shirt, his lean body, muscles. It occurred to me that he was freakishly handsome: what with his obsidian eyes and sharp, angular face and manly toughness. My eight-year-old self recoiled. Hmm.

Fang found me staring at him and smirked. He wasn't the scrawny boy from the cage I had seen just hours ago. "Why are you freaking taller than me?" I demanded.

"Puberty, I think."

Ugh. I suppose the obnoxious quality comes with age. "So tell me. Have I been asleep for over a decade? Why are we so old? What is this place?"

"You trust me, don't you?"

I nodded.

Patiently, he sat down on the bed and explained, "Max. You're my age now. When you were ten years old, Dr. Batchelder saved all us bird kids from the School. At twelve, he left, and we were on our own. We were on the run at fourteen, and you saved the world from an apocalypse not too long after."

My jaw must have dropped to the floor. In shock. "What? What is this, I don't even…"

Fang took my hand and planted a kiss on it, making me blush furiously. Is this really the time to tease me? "You're a great leader, Max."

I tore my hand away from him, feeling dizzy. "So if all this crap is somehow true… why do I think I'm eight? Why are we sleeping in the same bed? Where are the other bird kids? And how many died from this apocalypse?" I still stood by the bed, my body rigid and face dripping with nervous sweat. Fang lounged on the bed with an easy expression, totally insensitive. You're supposed to be comforting me, here, stupid.

"This crap is true. You were in an accident, Max. Your memory was warped. You wake up everyday thinking you're a teen or little kid. You have both short and long term memory loss. What happened yesterday is totally forgotten for you. That is why you think you're eight."

I gaped at him. I don't cry. Ever. I didn't cry when those fifty needles injected stuff into me back at the School. I didn't cry when I fell from that roof and broke my arm. But now I felt tears welling up into my eyes, hot and salty.

"I… forget? I forget everything? Everything that's ever happened to me? I can't remember anything from freaking yesterday? And, on top of it all, you have to put up with me?"

Fang rolled his eyes, making my stomach twist into a tighter knot. "And there you go, turning this on me. I'm fine. I have a working head, Max. Stop it with your constant valiance."

My gaze shot daggers at him. "What's the matter with you! I'm turning crazy over here, and you're making fun of me for not being selfish?"

Fang's face softened. "Max, I'm sorry. But with your condition you get kind of bipolar. I can't help getting exasperated."

I wasn't swayed. "I realize that, Fang. That's what I just said. You of all people should know I don't put myself above everyone else! Now stop being a butthead!"

"I'm not a butthead. You're so immature. How to deal with…" Fang sighed.

My tone was sardonic. "Yes, Fang. Because I've never been immature."

Fang sighed again, and then inhaled deeply to compose himself. "Look, Maximum. We're sleeping in the same bed because we're together now, as in a couple. The other bird kids are somewhere on the globe at the moment, helping rebuild. The world's human population was slashed in half from the apocalypse." The information startled, sorry, disturbed me greatly. But I wasn't about to eat this all up.

"Wonderful," I remarked, awfully bitter. "I'd like to see some proof of this all before I can carry on believing it."

"You're all the proof you need," Fang replied, shifting to his side on the bed sheets.

It took a second for me to sink my teeth into his words. Oh.

I made my way over to the wall mirror and took in a sharp breath when I got a glimpse of my reflection. I was tall, maybe five feet nine or ten, and I could see how different my body was. I used to be a flagpole. I had much curvier features, a waist, a larger chest (I blushed when I realized this) and stronger, longer arms and legs. My streaked blond hair was tossed over my shoulder, tangled from my restless sleep, and much longer than my usual choppy cut. My brown eyes seemed irritated, and looked like pools of melted chocolate.

"I'm… a grown-up," I murmured in disbelief. "A woman."

"And you happen to be pretty sexy woman," said Fang, creeping up behind me to sneak a kiss on the back of my neck. I yelped as Fang barely contained his laughter.

"The heck, Fang? First, if we are supposedly together, I'm sorry to say I don't like you like that yet. Wait for my 'memory' to make an appearance. And second… stop being such a sexist pig!" My palm connected with the back of his head to form a satisfying thumping sound.

Seeming piqued, Fang gritted his teeth and growled, "Max, you should…" He stopped midsentence and took a deep breath. What was going on with him?

"No. You should wise up and kiss me when I'll actually kiss you back!" I glared at him. "I don't exactly feel like a little girl anymore, but I don't have the memories of our… stuff."

Fang raised an eyebrow. "Stuff?"

I ignored the heat creeping up into my cheeks. "Yes. Stuff. And I may seem pretty weak to you, with my stupid amnesia, but I assure you I can still kick your butt."

He merely seemed bemused. "Mmm-hmm."

Gripping his arm, I dragged Fang back to the bed and plopped down with my serious face. "And now you are going to tell me, in full-color detail, everything."

"Everything, huh?" Fang smirked. He's more obnoxious and irritating than I remembered him. My quiet best friend from the cage next door is long gone.

"Yes. And since you seem so keen on talking nowadays, speak up."

Okay, Max. Brace yourself. For the ride.