Disclaimer: The boys and their gorgeous hazel greens are mine. They're totally, completely, undoubtedly mine. They're mine and nobody can say otherwise. Well, actually not really. It's a nice dream though. Alexandra's mine though. Really.

AN: This is my first fic, so please be nice. I've written before, but nothing like this. Mostly just papers, poems, and little snippets of those little things that keep me up at night. Reviews would make me happy. They would make me very happy indeed. Tankie much!

Summary: You know how in some stories, you have this chick or you have this guy, and they were kidnapped. Taken from the life they knew. Taken from the people they loved. And their memory was taken from them. And they're stuck thinking of what could've been. It's a cliché, an awesome one that you hope won't be present in just this one story. I'm pretty sure, once upon a time, I hoped that too. But, life never asks what we want, to quote Kate Beckinsale from Pearl Harbor. I hope she doesn't mind.

This is going to have some major tags to Something Wicked, and I'm going to try really, really hard not to make my girl a Mary Sue. If anybody notices that I'm treadin' dangerous waters please let me know. Oh, and anybody interested in being a beta for a first-timer?

Forgotten Blood, Forbidden Blood

Do you ever wonder what it would be like to not know who you are? To not know where you come from, who loved you, if they loved you? Do you ever wonder if you had been somebody else, somebody who's so close and so far? A tickle on your memory that's just so damn annoying you'd give anything and everything for it to stop, and even more to ensure that it never will.

I don't have to wonder. I live it everyday. You see, nearly fourteen years ago, my parents found me in the woods. It's not funny, and it's not a lie. It's not this cute little joke that my mother tells whenever I manage to piss her off. It's not a joke either of my parents can tell because for one, my mom was a bit sensitive about it and would do this little 'you say anything about that and I will rip your head off your shoulders and stuff it where the sun don't shine' look, for two, my dad was terrified of her whenever she had aforementioned look, and for three, they've been dead for over eight years.

You know how in some stories, you have this chick or you have this guy, and they were kidnapped. Taken from the life they knew. Taken from the people they loved. And their memory was taken from them. And they're stuck thinking of what could've been. It's a cliché, an awesome one that you hope won't be present in just this one story. I'm pretty sure, once upon a time, I hoped that too. But, life never asks what we want, to quote Kate Beckinsale from Pearl Harbor. I hope she doesn't mind.

So I was kidnapped. And I was abused. I was left to die. I was discovered in an old, abandoned cabin in the middle of Nowheresville Woods. I woke up in the hospital after being in a coma for two months to the sight of this man and this woman sleeping by the side of my bed. I didn't know them, I didn't know where I was, all I had was my name, my age and a vague inkling of what had happened to me.

I was Alexandra, I was eleven years old, and I was a lost child.

Thank God, to contradict the cliché, I wasn't given to an old, strict, smelly, abusive orphanage or placed with an old, strict, smelly, abusive couple, those people I was told rescued me and didn't leave my side for those months, would foster me for the next six years until they died in a car crash on my 17th birthday.

I loved them, and they loved me. They cared for me for the six years we had each other, gave me a home, a place to look forward to coming to. We had our arguments as all families are bound to have, we had our laughs, we had our tears. My mom baked cookies and made chicken soup when we were sick, my dad sat my first boyfriend down and asked him of his intentions, they both stayed up the night of my first dance. I snuck out in my informative years, got wasted once and never again, got caught smoking once and also never again. We were a family. I wasn't their blood, but they made me their daughter.

How could I have asked for more? I was content with my life. I knew what I lost, but I also knew what I had.

I hardly wondered, I rarely wished.

But I still did. I wondered whether there was someone out there missing me, someone looking for me, someone who remembered who we once had been. In the day, I was the happy, carefree and sweet Alexandra-who-just-called-herself-Durance because I had no clue of my last name, foster daughter of Albert and Emily Durance. In the day, I was always laughing, always smiling, always playful Alexa. But sometimes in the night, when no one was around to hear, and no one was around to see, I was a scared little girl who remembered flames and heat and darkness and coldness and a monster growling in the shadows. Sometimes in the night, I wasn't smiling and I wasn't laughing, I was the crying child who could just barely remember shouts of 'Lexy!' and who wanted to remember what I just couldn't.

Sometimes in the night, I buried my head in my pillow and I hated myself for wondering and for wishing.

to be continued...

Somebody wanna let me know whether I should continue? Hehe :)