"I'm sorry. She has a severe case of amnesia."
The blonde sat there, unable to move, paralyzed with sadness, anger… so many things that he just couldn't control anymore.
"Amnesia…" he whispered, flinching as if the word burned him as he let it slip from his lips, "Why…?"
A hand fell upon his shoulder, and he looked up and saw his red-headed best friend standing in front of him, pity shinning deep in his green eyes, "Sorry, dude," the red head said, looking a little awkward.
Of course. He didn't know what it was like. He had his own lover. Everyone did.
Roxas simply turned his head away, not wanting to look his friend in the face. He didn't want to look anyone in the face. No his other friends, not even his brother or his parents. He just wanted to see her.
"Sir?" came a soft, gentle voice, "Mr. Strife… you may see her now."
Roxas stood numbly, making his way over to the door as Kairi walked out, tears streaming down her face. Their eyes met, blue and blue, and the auburn-haired girl shook her head and walked faster, right into the arms of Roxas' own twin, Sora.
Roxas shook slightly, pushing open the door and stepping inside. He sat down in the chair next to the one bed in there, staring at the white-blonde girl who sat there, her eyes dazed and a little unfocused.
"N-Naminé?" he whispered, reaching for her hand slowly.
She turned towards him, her head tilting slightly, the confusion showing on her face clearly when their eyes met.
Roxas' hand stopped.
The beautiful white-blonde in front of him blinked, her eyebrows knitting together, "Who are you?" she asked simply.
His heart broke into a million pieces, and his body shook, "N-Naminé… I'm… I'm Roxas… remember?" he asked desperately.
The girl frowned, looking a little guilty, "I'm… sorry, Roxas. I… don't remember…" she gave him a small smile.
Roxas let out a loud, dry sob, standing up quickly, knocking the chair he was sitting in backwards, and then ran.
He ran out of the room.
He ran past everyone waiting to see the girl, ignoring their yells, their pleas for him to stop.
He ran out of the hospital.
He just ran.
He had feared that he would only be a lost memory to her, but he tried to keep his spirits up.
His worst fear had some true.
He was a memory, lost in the stream of time.
And I'm back to the angst for some reason.
When I saw the word memory as prompt 11, I thought of loss at the same time, therefore creating this angsty piece of work.
I hope you enjoyed, regardless! Thanks to everyone who reviewed! I read all of them, even if I don't respond!
Review!