A/N Heya, me again. I like this chapter...also, when the youtube link comes up, open a new tab, copy and paste it into the search bar, and enjoy the music! :) Enjoy this!


Confusion. It infests my mind like some kind of sickness. I sit on the bed with the white covers, staring around me. They say I had an accident. That I've lost my memories of the last three years. But how can that work?

Then, there's that boy. What's his name, again? Oh, right. Trace Benedict. He claims that we've been dating for the past three months. He says that he loves me, and he won't let me slip away from him. But how can he love me…when I don't even know who he is?

He visits me every day, bringing me little presents – like a new CD, or a bunch of flowers, or a box of chocolates. He's trying to get me to remember – that scares me so much. I'm not sure if I even want to remember.

I stand up, take the pretty heart-shaped bottle from the chest of drawers, spray a bit and sniff it. It smells nice – the bottle says. 'Princess' then 'Vera Wang.' Who's Vera Wang – where's my nice perfume from home, that Impulse stuff that Mum would always buy me.

They told me that my parents died. That they were caught in a bomb. But they're too smart for that to happen. They're probably just away for a bit, and I've been left with my Aunty.

"Lorelai, you have a visitor!" Aunty calls up the stairs. I sigh – it's probably him again. I slowly walk down the stairs my blonde and pink (I have no idea why I dyed the ends of my hair pink) hair in a thick plait, and head into the kitchen. He's standing by the sink, a mug of something on the counter beside him. "I'll leave you two alone, then," Aunty says.

"D…don't…" I say, so quietly.

"What was that, Lorelai?" she asks, scooping up her keys.

"Nothing," I say quickly. Too quickly.

"Good," she says. "I'm going to be out for dinner – Lorelai, you can cook for yourself and Trace, right?"

"Yes, Aunty May," I say.

"Good girl. I'll see you this evening, then."

I hear the front door slam, and keeping my muscles tense, turn towards Trace. His brown eyes follow my every movement, his gaze locked on my face. "How are you?" he asks.

"Good," I say, trying to be as impersonal as possible. "You?"

He shrugs. "Not so good. But it'll get better." I can see the pain in his eyes, in the dark circles underneath them. Even though I don't know him…I don't want to hurt him… "I brought something to show you," he says, taking a pretty, bright green photo album thing out of a pocket of his jacket, passing it to me. "Mom helped me pick it out – she said you'd like a crazy one."

I don't reply – instead, I sit down in one of the chairs, opening the photo album and laying it on the table. Trace comes to stand behind me, pointing at the first photo. "That's you on my bike at school," he says quietly. I stare at the girl in the picture – her pink and blonde hair is all messed up, and she's sitting on a black motorbike, wearing a leather jacket that's too big for her, and grinning a crazy grin at the camera. It's so obviously me…but why don't I remember it? Damn it, why?

I turn the page to see one of me and a pretty girl with coppery, wavy hair and tanned skin, and a very white smile. We've got our arms slung around each other's necks, and are doing a 'peace-and-pout' pose. She looks like she's trying hard not to giggle, where as I seem to be deadly serious. "Who's that?" I ask.

"Your best friend, Dakota Thompson," Trace perches on the edge of my chair. "She's in Connecticut at the moment, visiting family, but I assure you that she'll be here as soon as she hears what's happened."

"She's pretty," I say absentmindedly.

"You're pretty," he says, gazing at the photo.

Embarrassed, I turn the page, revealing a photo of me, Trace and a another girl and guy – both of them blonde. The girl is kissing the guy's cheek, and I'm lounging in Trace's arms, bridal style, with my fist in the air. "That's Haylee and Brett. They're a couple – totally loved up and not afraid to share it with the rest of us. It's gross."

As I turn the rest of the pages, Trace tells me who the people are – the supposed, 'people in my life.' But, you know, aren't they meant to be here, visiting me? I muse as I turn to the second last page, revealing a picture of me with a tall man and a short woman, with six boys of varying ages standing all around me. Trace is nowhere to be seen, so I'm assuming that he's taking the picture.

"This is my family," he says. "My Mom, Karla, and my Dad, Saul. Mom thinks that you are the best thing since sliced bread – she's always wanted a daughter…" he trails off.

"These are all your siblings, right?" I ask. I'm guessing they are, because they all look vaguely like Trace.

"Yep," he says. "Uriel, Victor, Will, Xavier, Yves and Zed. They all love you to pieces."

"That's nice," I say, turning the last page with trembling hands. The photo that's last is one of me and Trace – staring into each other's eyes like there's no one else in the world. From that picture, it's so obvious how in love we were…

I look up at him; he's staring down at the picture. Blinking back tears. "This is proof that you're all right," I say slowly. "But…my mind is telling me otherwise."

"I'll give you all the time in the world," he says slowly. Distinctly. "I love you, Lorelai, and I…"

Guilt spears me through the heart – I stand up. "Don't. Just don't." Then I run.

Trace

"How did it go?" Mom is sitting at the kitchen table, supervising the holiday-homework-and-Christmas-card-writing.

"She doesn't believe me," I say, my voice barely more than a whisper. My brothers tactfully ignore me as I sit down heavily next to my mother. "She said…"

"Boys, go to your rooms," Mom says suddenly. They all leave without speaking. "What did she say, my darling?" she wraps her arms around me, pulling my head down to rest on her shoulder. I feel about five years old when I say,

"She ran out on me…she looked at all the pictures, then ran out."

"My darling, you can't force her to listen…"

"I know, I know…but it's so infuriating. I love her so much, and she's not even giving me a chance!" I say, brokenly. "She's my soulfinder, Mom, and it was going so well, then this…and it's my fault too. If I hadn't been working in Denver, if I hadn't invited her to stay because I was missing her, then maybe I would still have her…"

"Trace, it is not your fault, understand me?" Mom says fiercely. "It was a complete accident – it could have been anyone! It is not your fault, nor Lorelai's fault…"

"Maybe some higher power was angry with us that day," I get up. "Thanks, Mom. I'm going to my room."

She squeezes my hand, and smiles sadly. "You will get through to her, my darling, if it takes a week, or fifty, I know you'll get through to her."

The days crawl by, slowly and agonisingly. Every day, I want to go back to Lorelai's, to try and convince her that I'm right, but every day, Mom tells me to give her a little more time. Time is of the essence, and it's ticking away.

One morning, I drag myself out of bed, and head downstairs to find Mom singing away happily. "Today is the day," she smiles.

"Really?" I ask, levitating a piece of toast towards me.

"Yes," she says cheerily. "Get on your jacket, and go buy her some chocolates from the shop. I have a little bird telling me that you might need them."

Thank God for my mother and her future sense. I grab another piece of toast, sling my jacket over my shoulder, and kiss her on the cheek, sliding into my boots and heading out into the snowy drive. I open the door to Dad's truck, and slide in, putting the keys in the ignition and starting the engine. As I drive down towards the main road, I hear a voice in my head whisper, Good luck.

Thanks, Will I send back, hearing a telepathic laugh as I drive into town.

Twenty minutes later, I'm standing outside the house. Mrs. Hoffman lets me in just as she's about to leave – she always leaves when I arrive, which I think is very kind of her.

I slide off my boots and jacket, take the chocolates (Cadbury Milk Tray – English chocolate that I know she likes) and head towards the living room, where I can hear music playing. Because of You, Kelly Clarkson.

I silently approach the doorway, leaning against it to see Lorelai standing in the middle of the room, bare-footed, dancing across the carpet, her body twisting and bending, moving perfectly to the music, dancing just like she used to. It tears into my heart as I watch her, spinning gracefully, her hair curled into a knot at the nape of her neck. She looks so beautiful and vulnerable as she dances.

I watch as she finishes, head bowed, neck arched. The song changes to another of her slower ones – Begin Again by Colbie Caillat. watch?v=2sR-YTzwgIo

She turns around, her jaw dropping as she sees me. "W…what are you doing?" a blush spreads up her face.

"Watching you dance." I swallow, dropping my gaze. "You used to dance all the time."

"Did I?" she muses, her face crinkling up. "I suppose I did. I love dancing, see."

"I know," I say. "I'll go and put the kettle on."

Lorelai

The minute he goes, I sink onto the floor, hugging my legs to my chest, tears starting to dribble from the corners of my eyes. The look in his eyes when I saw him watching me…it was so full of love, and tenderness…He really does love me I think to myself, burying my face in hands. He really does love me. I cry harder, my heart tearing. Do I really have the right to do this to him? To leave him all alone? I don't think I can be that cruel.

"Lo?" his voice. I look up, seeing him standing there, holding two mugs of tea. He puts them down at once, kneels on the floor beside me, puts his arms around me before I can protest, hugging me close. That makes me cry harder. "What's wrong, baby?"

"I can't…I…just…"

He wipes the tears from my cheeks with the pad of his thumb, holding my face in his hands so I have to look straight into his eyes. "You're making no sense. Just take deep breaths, and tell me when you're ready."

It takes me a few minutes to calm down properly…after a while I say, "I'm sorry for being so horrible and not listening."

"It's not your fault," he says.

"It is…I know you love me," I say. "I saw the way you were looking at me…and I just thought – I can't hurt him. I can't hurt you."

His face breaks into an incredulous smile. "You're giving us a chance?"

"I guess I am," I sniffle.

"Oh baby," he hugs me tight to him for a second. "I think you need some chocolate," he says, his eyes glinting.

"Yes, I think I do," I admit shakily.

"Lucky that we have my mother and her future sense," I say.

"Lucky." She echoes.