~Chapter 9~

I couldn't take my eyes off that picture. How could I not remember something like this? He hadn't been lying. We really had been a couple at some point in time. And somehow I was unable to remember. Why? Why couldn't I recall anything about anyone? And what about the girls? Had they been telling the truth this whole time? And if Darien and I had once been together, I couldn't imagine how hard it must've been to find out I had slept with other guys.

Shouldn't I be having some kind of flashback right now? Should my mind be swarming with memories I was supposed to have about my past? It wasn't though. My mind wasn't giving me so much as a hint of what might've happened. I couldn't remember anything! Why? Why couldn't I remember having a boyfriend? Why had I always thought I never had one before when clearly I had? And what about the girls? Had I really known them at one point? No, I couldn't...I couldn't remember...

"Serena?" Darien repeated. "Serena, do you remember?"

I didn't have it in me to tell him that I couldn't recall a single thing, even with the help of that picture. I decided to stay silent and see where this took me.

His nostalgically happy expression slowly faded into disbelief. He'd just given me proof that he was telling the truth. It must pain him to know that I still couldn't remember.

"It doesn't matter anyway," I said. "You said you broke up with me, right? So that picture shouldn't matter anymore. Couples usually part ways after breaking up. Besides, I should really be getting back to Summer."

I couldn't let him know how distressed I was, how my insides were churning with confusion and the sensation of not wanting to believe he was right in spite of the picture he'd shown me.

He led me out of his apartment and told me I was free to go, but that if I wanted, I could always come back whenever I pleased. I thanked him, no longer in the mood to be rude to him, and left for Summer's place without another word.

"Serena, you shouldn't have just left like you did. You should've stayed there and asked him questions about yourself," Summer told me.

I sipped on a beer, edgy from what had just happened. It still felt surreal, like some kind of horrible nightmare. I couldn't remember how I got to this part of town, nor when I got here. I couldn't remember my family, where I came from, or even who I really was. Originally I didn't want my life to change, but suddenly I was okay with these no-longer-strangers lingering around. They could help me...possibly. Maybe they knew all about me and my past. But how could they explain anything to me? To someone who truly couldn't remember?

"I think Darien was right, Serena. He said you have amnesia, didn't he? That would explain why you don't remember much," she continued.

"But how did I get amnesia? I think I would remember everything no matter how much time passed since I supposedly ran away," I countered.

"Well, there was that one time you got drunk, tripped, and smashed your head against the corner of a stair so hard your head started bleeding," she said.

I put my beer can on the table in front of me and asked, "When did that happen?"

Summer smiled and nodded. "We have now figured out how you got amnesia. You can't remember anything up to that point, can you?"

I thought for a second, trying to force my brain to obey me and remember something. Anything would be good, I just needed one tiny thing to prove I didn't have amnesia. Just one itty bitty little thing, that's all I was asking for. It shouldn't have been too much... I couldn't remember where or when I met Summer, Betch, and Kent. I couldn't remember who my real family was; over time those three had become my family...except I'd slept with one of them... But that didn't matter right now. Why was I completely unable to remember? Summer never lied to me, meaning that me smashing my head against the corner of a stair really happened. Maybe I really did have amnesia. Maybe that's why my entire past was nothing but a blank slate.

"No," I answered truthfully.

"Well then that's when you lost your memory," she said. "But maybe there's a way to jog it. I've watched documentaries on amnesia and I used to work with trauma patients when I was a nurse. You need some kind of trigger, probably something really powerful. Maybe something you might have cherished a long time ago."

"Alright, sounds easy enough. I just find the trigger and I get my memory back," I recapped.

Summer shook her head as though she'd forgotten to tell me something, as though she'd accidentally left something out of what she just said. "Serena, there's also some bad news... Sometimes there isn't a trigger at all and people never regain any of their memories."

"So you're saying I might never remember anything again?"

She sighed and ran her fingers through her hair. "We can try and see what happens."

Meaning, of course, that she couldn't guarantee anything. It was her way of telling me not to get my hopes up in case it didn't work. But it had to work for my sake. I would've been fine not remembering, but now that these people had shown up and now that I'd seen that picture, I really needed to know what happened four years ago. Like, why did I run away? Darien was obvious since we'd been together once, but how did I know the girls? And Darien acted like I was supposed to know who the Sailor Scouts were; what connection did I have with them? And what was so important about me? Why had they all gone to such great lengths to find me? Was I needed somehow? Were they just really worried about me?

I hated all these unanswered questions. No one seemed to be able to provide any information good enough for me. I would have to find out one way or another, but I figured it was best to hold it off until I got settled back down.

"Hey, Serena," Summer said as I got back to her place, which I'd become accustomed to calling "home", "they've cancelled all drinking contests for the rest of the year."

My head shot up. "What? I thought it was only for the next few months!"

She shook her head. "No. Apparently, people have been drinking so much that they can hardly cover the expenses on the drinks, so the contests are being postponed for at least one year."

I sighed in frustration. It had been only one and a half months since they'd stopped the contests, and I'd been forced to search for a new job. I had only counted on that job as being a temporary source of income, but now it would be prolonged. And to be honest, part of me really hated my job. But there was alot of me that liked it. Prostitution was kind of fun when you got paid to have sex instead of having to get drunk and do it for free. And since I got drunk often enough as it was, it hardly mattered. In fact, I'd originally chosen it because I figured Betch could give me some pointers, and because prostitution earned me good money. Plus, I must've been pretty sexy, because almost as soon as I strutted down the sidewalk men decided to snatch me up. I got paid around $200 to $500 per day. I might keep the job even when the contests started back up again.

Now I could've chosen other jobs besides my current one. Summer had advised against drug dealing, but gave me the opportunity if I willing to take the chance of getting caught. But then again, cops in this area were almost unheard of. To them the place was a dump, unworthy of protection. I could've taken up dealing, but I had no source in which to get the drugs. Kent's job was boring; he worked part-time at a restaurant as a waiter. It didn't bring in much money, so everyone constantly shared some of their earnings with him. Nobody really seemed to mind; the rest of us made good money, more than enough to go around. There was always some to spare, and Kent really needed the money because his landlord was very strict about paying the monthly checks on time. Poor Kent literally only had a day to pay up or be evicted.

I never worked near Betch's strip club. It was her turf, and it might affect her business if I came along and scooped up all the guys. And I had refused offers to join any clubs, again because of Betch. And also because I didn't want to expose myself in public; I would much rather do that in a room. There was a downside to my job though. Although it paid well, about two-thirds of the men I slept with, my "clients" if you will, were kind of ugly and sometimes reeked of sweat and drugs. I couldn't help but wonder if some of them were also Summer's clients. But the upside, a major upside might I add, was that the remainder of the men were mega hot and really good in bed.

I had come back to Summer's to get the appropriate clothes for another nightly outing. If they had been Summer's clothes, she probably wouldn't have let me borrow them. But luckily I'd spent some of my contest winnings on clothes in preparation for my new, and what I thought to be very temporary, job. Most of the time, my outfits included fishnet stockings and tight shirts and shorts. Or if I was wearing a dress, that dress would be very short and extremely tight. The key to my job was to look as appealing as possible, so flaunting my curves and smooth skin was a great way to pick up desired attention.

But the real key to keeping such a job? I had to make sure Darien and the girls never got involved. Until I found out more about myself, they couldn't know how I made my money. And me finding out could take quite awhile. And they couldn't know, because if they found out, I couldn't predict what would happen. Besides, it was my life, this was my choice. They had no right to meddle and sniff around. Even if they knew the past me, this was the current me and if they were really my friends, they would respect that and not cross and boundaries. And as for Darien, he was supposedly my ex-boyfriend, making it okay for me to have sex with other guys whether I was their girlfriend or not. Which I wasn't of course, but some small part of me hoped that I could be a girlfriend. I didn't know what it was like, though, so I never actually tried to get a boyfriend. All males were just a one-night stand. They meant nothing to me aside from income. Think of it as a business; all men that I'd bedded were nothing more than my business partners for the night, and if I happened to be picked up by the same guy the next night, then so be it. It was literally nothing but business to me and frankly, I had forced myself to stop caring about what Darien or the girls thought.

But deep down, locked up in my soul, a subconscious part of me was trying to get out and tell me it was so wrong, that none of this was supposed to be happening. It was trying to tell me that I wasn't supposed to be doing this, that I wasn't supposed to be doing guys! It tried to tell me that I was putting myself in dangerous positions, and that selling myself to random strangers was probably the worst thing I'd ever done in my entire life. Maybe even worse than experimenting with Summer's drugs.

But I chose to ignore it. I chose to keep placing more and more locks on it to keep it from liberation. Because it knew everything. It knew about me and my past. It knew that I'd run away and it knew why I'd run away. It knew that I'd set myself on the wrong path and that I needed to pick myself up again, gain a little dignity and pride. Most importantly, it knew it was right.

However, I had been living this kind of life for a very long time. I'd grown used to it, fond of it. I didn't want to give it up for people I may have known in the distant past. For all I knew, their stories were just a bundle of lies that had been thrown at me for some unknown reason. Heck, I might not have amnesia at all! Unfortunately for me, that picture I'd been shown had been permanently imprinted into my brain and every time I thought about all those words being lies, I thought of that picture and knew it was no lie. Yes, I had amnesia, but I wanted to take it slow. I didn't want to freak myself out.

I had decided to calmly adjust at a pace right for me. And by doing so, I'd come across prostitution. Big deal; prostitution was a nightly game here. Girls on the streets ranged from flat-out shallow to way too skinny to a little too fat to my rank: supermodel gorgeous. And to think I hadn't had to so much as lift a finger to get that rank... It was a pretty sweet deal if you ask me. I bet it had something to do with puberty and the fact that exercise was almost an everyday activity for me. Getting drunk, partying off the calories... What's not to love about this life? It defined freedom!

I pinched my cheeks to give them a little extra blush and examined myself thoroughly in the mirror of Summer's vanity. I really didn't need makeup, but I figured that it helped mark me as a hooker. The super thick mascara with the glossy red lipstick made a powerful combo.

I walked out of the bedroom and asked Summer what she thought.

"You look skimpy," she said flatly.

I nodded my head. "Good, that's what I was going for."

She rolled her eyes. She wasn't exactly thrilled about my job; in fact she'd repeatedly told me I needed to quit it. I refused, countering her pleas with "I need the money" and "You wouldn't understand". And in truth she really didn't understand. Even though she was like a sister to me, and sure as heck acted like one, she could be very cold toward subjects she didn't like. One of those subjects, and a bit of a touchy one at that, was prostitution. She hated it with a growing passion, and now that I'd become involved... Let's just say Summer didn't always live up to her name. She allowed me to drink, she took me in and let me live with her, but oftentimes she couldn't condone my actions. She never threatened to kick me out. She never tried to punish me in any way. But she scolded me about it frequently.

And somehow her chiding felt vaguely familiar. And every time she did it, I felt this strange sense of dread. I had no clue why, but either way, her words slid off me like water off a duck's back.

I stretched and swayed my hips, making sure I still had all the right moves necessary to pick up guys. I smirked, realizing that it didn't matter anyway. I could seduce any male into bed with me, no matter how innocent or nervous he might be. Oh, yes. I had the moves, the looks, and the charm. And I had the knowledge of how to put all of those to good use.

I flipped my hair and slipped out the door, taking full notice of the cold stare from Summer.

It wasn't long before I made my way to the streets, strutting my stuff and trying to look graceful yet casual. Many girls could look graceful or casual, but few could do both. I was one of those few, and I even had a natural knack for it. There were a few other girls, either older or younger than me, walking around aimlessly, waiting for some man to come along and let take them to his place for an entire night.

I barely got ten feet from the apartment before a black truck parked near the curb. The window rolled down to reveal a somewhat ugly man who had probably been feasting on too many cheeseburgers. Inside the truck smelled like alcohol, but I could tell it wasn't him because there was a buddy in the back of the truck, drunk and humming random tunes.

I walked up to the open window and leaned into it. Nice truck actually. Leather interior. Fully functioning air conditioning. Nothing ripped or broken. This guy might have a lot of money.

I smiled cutely and fluttered my eyelashes. "This is a nice ride."

He returned my smile and leaned over from the driver's side to the passenger's side. "Well...I like to keep it neat for pretty ladies like you."

"Pretty ladies like me would like about $400 dollars from a handsome man like you." Ugh, he wasn't handsome. But I was trying to act disgustingly adorable. Certain measures had to be taken. It would pay off by tonight.

He examined my very closely, inspecting every aspect of my body. This was why tight clothes were important. If a man couldn't see your body, your chances of getting any action on any night were pretty slim. I seemed to pass his inspection, because he gestured for me to get in the car. Just like the rest of the testosterone-pumped men, this one wanted to get right down to business. No questions asked, no romantic scenes, no setting the mood...nothing. He just drove me to his place and while helping his pal inside, he led me in too.

He may have a cool truck, but he certainly didn't have a cool house. It was kind of dingy and to be honest, stinky.

He set his now-unconscious friend on his couch in the living room, then motioned for me to follow him into his bedroom. I did.

A/N

Nobody ask any questions yet! There's more to the story and it'll explain everything that's going on. AND FOR THE SAKE OF MY SANITY PLEASE REVIEW PEOPLEZ! Ja ne!