Chapter Seven: Home Is Where.....

"What was I like?"

Alex asked Torrie the question when she'd been home for four days and Torrie had visited her with a stack of make-up, determained to cover up her scars.

"What do you mean?" Torrie replied with a frown, mixing two colours on the back of her hand.

"Was I bitch? Really girly? Did I talk all the time? What?"

She seemed to give it alot of thought and was already applying the second coat of foundation to her face when she eventually came up with her answer.

"You.....well, you had morals and you stuck by them no matter what. You believed in doing the right thing."

"It makes me sound stuck up." Alex said with a little smile that Torrie reprimanded her for.

"You weren't. You where confused."

"Confused ? About what?"

Torrie stopped with the make-up and looked at her almost as though she had mentioned being confused. Then she shook her head.

"Nothing. Forget it."

Alex garbbed Torrie's hand, ready with flesh coloured powder. "It's big isn't it? The thing you aren't tell me."

"Why would I keep anything from you?"

In the back of her head, alarm bells where ringing, but what did she know? Torrie was probably telling her the truth.

Probably

Woah, what was that? Hearing voices wasn't a good sign.

Please Alex. I'm your inner voice. I say all the things you don't have the guts to.

Right, so, what's Torrie hiding from me?

Please! I am you for christ's sake! You think I know?

It was worth a try. Alex let her eyes wandered around the kitchen and got the same shiver as everytime she stepped into the bedroom or the living room. A cold feeling that made her feel like she didn't really want to be there. Telling herself it was nerves hadn't helped. Nor had sitting on the bed for half an hour on her first night, looking over everything in the room and telling herself that this was her home. She felt disconnected. Alex honestly hadn't expected to feel like that, part of her agreed with everyone else, she though going home would help and she would at least get a sense of warmth or deja vu. Getting nothing had scared her, more so then waking up and not knowing who the hell she was. She didn't like this place. Not home. Home definatly wasn't where her heart was, she didn't know where her heart was.

John was cleaning. He hated it, despised it, but none the less he found himself cleaning once he got back off the road. Dragging things out from under the bed, cleaning out cupboards and putting things he longer used in boxes.He'd almost finished when he found a photograph album in the darkest corner of the bedroom closet. It opened it up and there was Alex. Backstage pictures, a few fans had sent her, a few of the two of them at Cynthia's wedding. Her life in pictures. John's first thought was to send it to Alex, but Randy wouldn't appriciate it and it wouldn't really help Alex. Maybe he should keep it, after all he didn't have any part of Alex that was just his anymore. It was then all the 'what-ifs-' appeared. What if he'd just made Alex stay that night, she would never have gone back to the wedding, never gone to Paris and never had the accident. Or what if he had just ahppened to call her as she was about to step into the street, she would of stalled to get the phone and then.....God, what did it even matter? The fact was Alex had gone to Paris, she had stepped into the road and she had been hit by the car. So what if the doctors said she might get her memory back? John had a horrible sinking feeling she never would and then, he was left with two options. Leave it, or make her fall for him all over again.