I think I love you guys, seriously, I pulled three all nighters to finish this. The only reason I actually tried for motivation with this chapter, forgoing all possibilities of hiatus, is because of my VERY few reviewers. *hint* I hope you like this chapter. It took a while, the guilt and competitiveness drove me to it though. Oh and, if you really want a feel for how I got inspired, I FOUND A PLOT! HOMAGAWD! I'm sorry about the length of this chapter, it's horrible, and the author's note is probably longer than the chapter itself, and oh my god I'll shut up now.

ONWARDS!

P.S. To those it might concern, this just shows how he's mine and not yours. HA!

Head in hands, elbows on knees, legs crossed, I looked the picture of happiness and clarity right now. Note the sarcasm. I shook my head and tried to gather my somewhat stupid thoughts.

So Caleb kissed me.

I sighed, tapping the tiles with my converse. What was I meant to do? I put my pointer finger to my temple and pushed, trying to bring up a memory, a recurrence, an assurance, whatever it was. Just to tell me I wasn't going insane. And as per usual, when I so badly wanted it to, nothing came.

I was woken out of a dead sleep by something that can't be described, it was a memory, of that I'm completely certain. But it was more than one, it was many, the number was frightening, as it should have been. It was nineteen years reflection. My body was coated in sweat, my forehead practically dripping. I went for slow, deep, deep breaths. It worked, partially. I leaned my head back against the headboard and let the cool metal sooth my throbbing headache. It was like everything that had been taken away was suddenly returned. It was the feeling of not being able to hold onto what I'd just experienced.

Yet again.

I crossed my legs and pulled open the top drawer in my bedside table. Pulling out the practically empty journal inside. Red, Spirax, I remembered now. I smiled thoughtfully to myself. Looks like Caleb's experiment worked, a little too well, and abruptly if I may say so myself. I wiped my forehead and then furthering the motion with wiping my face with my doona.

It felt good to be back, well, I wasn't gone per-say. Just… occupied, I arched my back and swung my legs over the edge of the bed, freezing when my feet hit the fuzzy carpet. I blinked, multiple times, before edging off the mattress; if I wasn't sane I'd think there were voices downstairs. But not just voices, familiar voices, as in: My parent's voices. Oh hell no.

I dove back onto my bed without a second thought. Recovering a lifetime in one dream – nightmare – was fine, but dealing with supposedly dead parents?

Shit no. I took another series of deep breaths and dragged myself reluctantly out of the comfort of my bed. I made my way to Reid's room and pushed the door open slowly and inaudibly. Forcibly ignoring the growing number of voices downstairs, I crept over to my brothers bed and then realised Skyler was in there as well as Reid. I almost vomited; I didn't even want to know. Gross.

I coughed loudly and watched, with growing satisfaction, as my brother and his girlfriend a.k.a. my best friend, jumped, well Reid jumped. Skye yelped.

"That's sick; I don't even remember you two actually going out." I cringed and Skye's eyes lit up in recognition, my brother, being the slow idiot he was, took a little while longer to register my words, starting with:

"Why the fuck are you in my roo— wait a second." I smiled mockingly and patted his head,

"Yes Reid-y-kins, my memories are back." I glowered and Skye launched herself over said half-naked sibling and tackled me, that's the only way I can put it. Tackled, I fell over and Reid just continued to stare at me in amazement, and probably misunderstanding, he most likely didn't comprehend what I'd just said. Maybe it was too much for his itty bitty brain cells to handle?

"You got them back! Holy shit you got them back!" Skye was literally jumping for joy and it was starting to become

a little scary and

quite irritating

I smiled sheepishly and back away a little, "Caleb helped,"

"Caleb helped you?" Skye smirked, "I knew it,"

I inclined my head to the side in confusion but let it go, I was wondering why she hadn't tried to help me get the memories back. I pouted inwardly but kept going.

"Yeah, but anyways, I'm going back to bed now."

"You can't!" Skye cried and I heard silence downstairs, yes, that's right. I heard silence.

"I won't. But I have to go, I'll be back." I sprinted from the room and quickly downstairs, I tried to remember where I'd heard the voices, staying as silent as possible as I did, I walked through the rooms and found myself in the kitchen. Alone. I shivered and looked around, there was no one there. Imagination, I nodded to myself and spun around, ready to leave, when I spotted a foot. Yes, how original, you may say, but it was a foot.

Within seconds I found out that it was in fact, not connected to a leg. Well it used to be, but the leg was a metre away, accompanied by a similarly severed arm, five fingers, a hand, half a torso, and, here's the best bit, half a head. Half, a fucking head.

I gaped at the pile of limbs, not wanting to know who's the body used to be, I avoided the face. But I didn't need to, it was obvious from the moment I looked closer at the foot. An involuntary shiver crept up my spine, leaving ice in its wake. Tears welled up in my eyes, I only knew one person with those initials tattooed on their ankles.

Taking a step back, I sucked in a sharp breath, took one look at the blood spattered kitchen and bolted. I didn't get too far before I crashed into a wall, a very warm, familiar wall. But a wall nonetheless. I struggled against the hands that held my wrists to no avail. The tears were flooding my eyes, I couldn't see properly, my nose was stinging, my throat dry and aching, it hurt. The memories hurt, remembering, remembering. I stopped struggling and as soon as my wrists were released, I crashed to the ground. It was like everything was playing in black and white, bad quality television with the sound off.

I felt arms around me and realised someone was hugging me, pulling me to my feet. That seemed incredibly irrelevant when there was a body in the kitchen, and a familiar body at that. One that brought back horrible memories, I'd killed the one person who could possibly know, and happily use that information against me months ago. My heart was beating impossibly fast and my head had a pulse of its own, along with my knee. I felt my eyes shutting involuntarily against the wave of tears and pulled away from the body to lean into the wall. Why did this always happen to me? I slid down the tiles and onto the floor and stared sadly at the depressing heap of limbs, finding myself thinking about the state of it despite my current state of depression. Who butchers a dead mans body and leaves half of it in a kitchen? Who knew where to find this particular dead mans body? And more importantly:

Why only half?

I pondered this for a few moments before remembering what I was thinking about, and who, fantastic, my first few hours of recovery spent looking at, and contemplating, half of my best friends body. Then remembered the person I'd been leaning on before I'd resorted to the wall, I looked up and was confused to find Tyler looking down at me,

"What are you doing here?" I croaked and he squatted in front of me,

"I was in the lounge," he said and I nodded, new tears spilling involuntarily out of my eyes onto my cheeks, Tyler rocked forwards on the balls of his feet and in a futile attempt to hug me, almost smashed me against the wall. I muffled my tears against his shoulder, which had collided with my face sometime during the confrontation and squeezed my eyes shut. Dreading my next question, but knowing I had to ask,

"Why?" I whispered and Tyler hugged me tighter,

"I don't know." He admitted and I cried harder, not stopping until I felt myself sliding into unconsciousness, and even then, sleep didn't prevent the salty liquid from continuing to pour down my face.