"SLEEP TIGHT, ALLIE."

The words hang in the air, melding with the remnants of my scream, echoing throughout the woods. The sky is dark above me as I lay on the forest floor, among pine needles and tree branches. A nearly blinding pain has made a home in my stomach, spreading like wildfire throughout my body. Distantly, I can register the racing of my beating heart, and the fear wreaking havoc on my brain. Despite this, my eyes continue to stare at the empty sky, as dark figures loom over me, unidentifiable, like shadows.

Something bubbles up in my throat, curling upwards and spurting from my lips, warm and tasting like metal. I feel like my limbs are made of lead, rooted to the ground beneath me.

Desperately, I try to reach out to the closest figure, latching on to a piece of fabric. "Please," I manage to croak out, with an ugly voice that sounds nothing like me.

A hand encloses around mine, forcefully making me release my grip, my fingers falling limply to the ground again. The shadows murmur to each other, sounding displeased, and helpless tears flood my eyes.

"What now?"

"Bring her to the car."

Different hands clutch my ankles, pulling me along the dirty ground, and I try to dig my fingers into the soil beneath me to prevent them from taking me away. I try to scream, but it's no use, my voice is gone. My attempts to grab onto something to tether me in place are fruitless, and I can only weep silently as I writhe in pain, the debris sharp on my skin.

The dragging finally stops, and out of the corner of my eye, I can see the glare of headlights come to life. The fog seems to grow lower and lower, settling on my eyelids and shutting my eyes, paying no mind to the fact that I'm screaming on the inside.

I wake up gasping for air, gripping my comforter.

Sitting straight up, I run a hand over my mouth, checking for blood, relieved to see that it comes back clean. In the morning light streaming in from my small window, I breathe deeply, blinking as my bedroom comes into focus. It takes a second to realize there are tears streaming down my cheeks, though they've nearly dried, making my face feel stiff and sticky.

My history textbook lays open in front of me, stuck on a page about the Halifax explosion, and my laptop is also a few feet away, a word document open to a blank page. Rubbing at my eyes with trembling hands, I sigh, realizing I must have drifted off while doing my homework last night. I stick a scrap of paper between the pages to mark my place, then close both the book and the laptop.

I feel a slight chill on my spine, still haunted from the dream. I can almost smell the scent of the forest mixed with the scent of my own blood, and it feels far too real to be a figment of my imagination. The thought makes me reluctant to close my eyes, even for a second, afraid the images will come flooding back to torment me.

But I straighten my posture, sitting cross-legged with my hands placed firmly on my knees, closing them anyway, willing scenes of a car accident that never happened to enter my mind. It doesn't work. A deep dread settles in the pit of my stomach, part of me screaming to acknowledge that I've most likely been lied to, and the other part refusing to.

The scene from my nightmare is too horrific to be true, but it has to be. Dreams are never this vivid.

Deep within me, I know, and realization is paralyzing.

It's a memory.

✘✘✘

I'm distracted as I sit with my friends at our usual table. One half of me is buzzing with anxious energy, and the other half is laden and heavy with lack of sleep.

Since the awful dream I had a few nights ago, I've been paging through my diary, wanting to stay awake as long as possible to keep away the nightmares, but it seems like everything significant has already been torn out. Absentmindedly, my fingers gravitate to my stomach, where my sweater conceals the bandage. I've been doing my best to care for it, to keep it clean and change out the dressing, but it doesn't seem as though it's making any progress toward healing.

Blinking slowly, I rest my chin in my hand, stirring my spoon in the bowl of soup in front of me. The rest of them are going on about some football game happening tonight, but I can't find it in me to pretend that I'm interested.

Looking up, I find Dylan's eyes watching me thoughtfully. Things have been tense between us ever since the party. He seems to have a better grasp on how unhappy with our relationship I really am, and he's done well to keep his distance. When he catches my gaze, he gives me a tentative smile.

"Hey sleepyhead," he says, amusement in his voice despite its soft tone. "Are you still with us?"

"Sorry," I mumble, smiling apologetically for the sake of the others at the table. "School is kicking my ass. I've been up late these past few nights doing homework."

"Are you coming to the game tonight?" Dylan asks, sounding a mixture of hopeful and hesitant. "You could take a break from studying. Get some fresh air."

"I don't know, I'm kind of falling behind..." I trail off, noting the unimpressed look on Zoe's face, her eyebrow lifted in judgment. Sighing, I give a half-hearted smile. "But I'll try to make it."

She smiles brightly, pleased. "The captain of the football team should definitely have his girlfriend there to support him. School work can wait. Plus, if you're not there, who am I supposed to sit with?"

Literally anyone else, is the biting response on the tip of my tongue, due to my lack of sleep and irritable state, but I simply smile, as though I'm delighted at the prospect of sitting together. Her presence has long changed from being a comfort, the way it was on my first day back. I've felt strange around her ever since she blatantly lied to my face about talking with Mason at the party.

James finds my eyes then, shooting me a large grin. "You don't wanna miss it. After all, I'll be playing." He winks, and an amused smile pulls at my lips.

Dylan eyes me, before glaring in his friend's direction. "Yeah, we'll see how much longer that lasts. You're about one more skipped practice away from being kicked off the team."

He shrugs, wicked grin intact. "I've been a little busy."

"Screwing all the cheerleaders," Dylan mutters under his breath, looking away.

"Gross," I comment, setting down the spoon and losing my appetite as my nose crinkles in disgust.

James smirks at me, leaning back and folding his arms behind his head. "Don't worry, I'll always make time for you, sweetheart."

I'm about to tell him to leave me out of his dirty schedule, before Dylan presses his palm to the surface of the table aggressively, causing our trays to jump a little. He gives James a dirty look, his brown eyes narrowed and his jaw tight, reminding me of his rigid posture as he confronted Mason at the fair.

"Can you stop being a pervert?" he snarls, and James' eyebrows raise, though his eyes remain heavy-lidded and unaffected. "She's my girlfriend, for God's sake. Fuck off."

My eyes widen at his outburst, and I lock gazes with Zoe, though her face is unreadable. A thick fog of tension has enveloped the table, mostly due to the anger radiating from Dylan's body, but James still seems immune. I don't really need defending, and I'm not a fan of being labeled as his girlfriend, but I swallow down those sentiments, trying to find the right thing to say.

"It's alright, Dylan," I say nervously, and his eyes flicker to mine, still filled with rage. I give him a smile, trying to calm him down a little. "He's only joking."

"It's not funny to me," he spits out, standing from the table. He gives James another vicious glare before looking back at me, eyes softening slightly. "I'll see you at the game, yeah?" He pauses, waiting for my confirmation.

I nod quickly, not wanting to worsen the situation. "Sure."

Turning on his heel, he vacates the cafeteria as if the room is on fire, and the three of us that remain at the table keep quiet. Rolling my lips in, I peek at James to see there are no traces of remorse anywhere on his expression. I look at Zoe again, and her face is still stuck in a strange, undecipherable state, before her eyebrow arches and she reverts to her usual self.

"Well, that was dramatic," she says breezily, uncapping her water bottle and taking a sip.

"Maybe you should apologize," I suggest, looking pointedly at the boy across from me.

He smiles, lifting a shoulder. "It's kind of fun to piss him off."

The lunch bell rings after that, and I head to my next class with a frown. The dynamic of our whole friend group seems to be fundamentally flawed, a fact I become more aware of everyday. Zoe and I are passive aggressive at the best of times, and Dylan seems to be harboring some unaddressed anger toward his best friend. It doesn't feel healthy.

Even hours later, on the way to the infamous football game, I can't seem to shake the icky feeling I get from the idea of spending a whole evening with them. I have to wonder if I've always felt this way, even before my accident, or if nearly dying and forgetting everything I've known has just given me a new perspective. I assume it's the latter, since I don't know how I would've ever stayed so close with them. But, knowing what Zoe told me about Whitney, I think I was even worse than they are.

The air is cool as we arrive back at the school, cramped in James' car. The boys have been silent; I don't think I've seen them speak since the confrontation at lunch, and the awkwardness in the atmosphere is hard to think through.  Zoe seems unaffected, touching up her lip gloss in her compact mirror from the place next to me in the backseat. James pulls into a parking space, and we all file out in silence.

"James and I have to go get ready," Dylan explains, turning to me, his brown eyes remarkably calmer than they were in the cafeteria. "We'll see you guys after the game."

He pauses, studying me for a moment, before shrugging out of his Letterman jacket, passing it to me gently. I reach out for it, my fingers clasping the material slowly, a frown of confusion on my face. He gives me a rueful smile. "It's kind of tradition for the girlfriends of the players to wear them," he explains, shrugging sheepishly.

"Oh." I blink, thrown off by the use of the word 'girlfriend' again. Three times in one day feels like far too many. "I don't know if I should..."

Dylan shrugs, looking at me imploringly. "It's just a jacket, Allie. Besides, you might get cold. It's chilly tonight," he persuades, and I bite the inside of my cheek.

After a while of debating with myself, I accept the jacket, slipping my arms through the large sleeves, and feeling my cheeks burn slightly.

A wistful smile stays on his face as he observes me in the jacket, before reaching out and lifting my dark hair out of the collar, letting it fan across my shoulders. "I've missed seeing you wear it," he admits, and my stomach twists with guilt.

"Dylan," I begin, my voice slow and quiet. "Can we talk? After the game?"

He loses the smile, his face becoming guarded as he nods jerkily, his eyes solemn. "Yeah," he forces out. "I'll see you later."

"Good luck," I call out weakly as he turns away, James in tow, my heart racing a little. I need to break up with him, and I need to do it tonight. I can't let this go on anymore.

Zoe smirks at me, her hand latching around my wrist. "Come on, let's go stake our claim."

She tugs me along behind her, trailing through the parking lot and onto the football field, where some students are already milling about. Zoe leads me up the bleachers, to a spot near the middle, sitting down after wiping off the seat, looking mildly disgusted.

I sit down next to her, looking out at the field below us, the whole thing feeling vaguely familiar. I've most likely sat in this exact spot many times, observing this same view, and the thought makes me feel sad. Like the old Allie is still here, but I can't reach out to her, I can't read her mind, or know the way she felt about things. Instead, I'm stuck with a past that doesn't feel like it's mine. That I don't even want.

As we wait for the game to start, I notice a very familiar figure making their way up the aisle of the bleachers, meeting my eyes as they pass. Mason Byrne's ice cold gaze is steady on me for a breath, and my face feels hot as I recall his words at the party, the intensity of his gaze.

A lot of people don't have your best interests at heart.   

He's become even more elusive since that night. I've hardly spotted him in the hallways, and the seat beside me in English has been empty. It's infuriating. He can't expect me to trust him when he's pulling this disappearing act. But I find it interesting that he chose to attend the game tonight.

Mason looks away, appearing as though he's trying to ignore me, and I watch over my shoulder as he takes a seat a few rows up from us.

I hear Zoe scoff from beside me, aware of what's captured my attention. "You're like obsessed with him," she remarks, shaking her head with disdain.

I narrow my eyes. "Why does he bother you so much?"

She laughs, rolling her eyes. "I'm not bothered," she says simply. But when she speaks next, her voice feels venomous. "He's a snake. That's all you need to know."

✘✘✘

Two and a half hours later, Dylan is down for the count.

He tumbled with a player from the other team during the third quarter, and it seemed the Pender Falls Lions couldn't function as well without their beloved captain, resulting in a crushing loss.

The four of us make our way to the Sanchez house, Dylan next to me in the backseat this time, his face contorted in pain as he clutches his throbbing knee, his free hand clutching mine. The whole thing feels a tad overdramatic, like he may be milking the situation a little too much, but I play along anyway, trying to be supportive, knowing it's only a matter of time before I rip out his heart and stomp all over it. Zoe seems to think it's serious, what with the way she held her breath, her fingers balling into fists as Dylan collapsed to the ground, rolling around in pain.

James pulls into the drive, sighing as he exits, and between the two of us, we help Dylan to his feet. He keeps an arm around each of our shoulders as we maneuver him to the front door. It's a struggle to keep him upright, my body feeling weak beneath his weight. Zoe scurries ahead of us, opening the door, and we awkwardly make our way through the doorway.

"Well, we made it through the door," James remarks, taking a deep breath, clearly exhausted. "Now for the stairs."

I can't suppress the groan that escapes my lips as my eyes land on the stairway at the end of the hall.

"Oh, come on," Dylan laments, muttering under his breath, "I'm not that heavy."

"Have you ever carried yourself?" James asks.

"Yes," Dylan responds haughtily. "I do it everyday."

Rolling my eyes, I move with them to the bottom of the stairs.

"I'll go get some ice," Zoe calls, before disappearing to another part of the house.

It takes a lot of effort, but we finally succeed in getting Dylan up the stairs and to his bedroom, and he gratefully falls onto his bed. The school nurse said he should be back to normal in a couple of days, and I really hope that's true, since there's no way I'm going to be able to put up with his glorified pity party any longer than that.

After he's successfully set up among his pillows, James and I exit the room. Casting a glance over my shoulder, I take James by the elbow, ushering him away from the open door and out of earshot. He looks at me in confusion, eyebrows furrowing.

"Can you and Zoe stay downstairs for a while?" I murmur. "I need to talk to Dylan alone."

He studies me momentarily, before his look of bemusement is replaced by a smirk and narrowed eyes. "Ah, I see how it is," he comments. "You're turned on my injured dudes? Maybe I'll have to twist an ankle."

My face pulls into a scowl as I fold my arms, glaring at him. "You're disgusting," I remark, causing him to grin wickedly. "Just go downstairs. Please."

He holds his hands up in surrender, backing away. "Whatever you say, doll."

Sighing, I drag a hand over my face as he retreats down the stairs. Nerves twist in my stomach as I gaze at the door of Dylan's bedroom. Every part of me wants to just leave, to go down stairs, to walk home and just avoid everyone for the next little while, but I know I can't.

Taking another deep breath, I reenter the room, plastering a sympathetic smile on my face as Dylan looks up from the bed. He returns my smile, looking a bit embarrassed.

"Sorry for making you and James carry me around," he apologizes as I take a seat on the edge of the bed.

"Don't worry about it," I advise. "How's your knee?"

He watches me for a few moments, an indecipherable look in his eyes, before he sighs. "You don't have to beat around the bush," he says. "I know why you're here."

My eyes widen in surprise momentarily, before I drop my gaze, my fingers tangling together with guilt. He's more perceptive than I thought.

It's quiet for a long time, and when he speaks again, his voice sounds tortured. "Please don't do this," he begs, and I meet his eyes again to see they've pooled with tears.

The sight nearly crumbles my resolve.

"Dylan," I mumble, looking away.

He pushes himself up from the pillows, edging closer to me, his expression desperate. "Your doctor told you going back to your regular routine would help you regain your memory, right?" he asks, his words urgent, and I nod reluctantly. "Well, this isn't routine. This isn't how we are."

My frown deepens as I shake my head. "What are you saying?"

His brown eyes light up with something dangerous, intense on mine. "All of this distance... it's not right. Please, just let me show you the way we're supposed to be."

He reaches forward to cup my cheek, his stare falling to my lips, but I flinch away, backing up. "We're not supposed to be anything," I tell him, feeling irritated.

Dylan's eyes meet mine, his features contorting in defeat. I shake my head, and his face falls even further.

"I can't do this anymore," I whisper, "I'm sorry. I need space."

"Don't," he murmurs, looking down at his comforter.

The air in the room is still for a moment, before I break the spell, feeling the desperate urge to leave. I stand from the bed, setting the Letterman jacket on his bed and making to leave, before I feel his hand latch onto my wrist tightly, causing me to freeze. Glancing down at him, I see he's laced his fingers through his hair now, his gaze on the floor as he leans on his elbow. He doesn't say anything for a few moments, his grip tightening, and my heart thunders, trying to leap out of my chest.

"Two years," he says finally, his voice low and dark. "We've been together for two years. Don't throw that down the drain."

My heart sinks, plummeting into my stomach, and I feel my face crumple beneath the weight of my guilt. But as soon as the next words come to me, I know I have to say them, no matter how much it'll hurt him. I need to sever our ties. "I don't remember that," I murmur, blinking back tears.

It takes a moment for the sting to hit him, but when it does, he releases me slowly, not even bothering to look up. His rigid posture is frightening.

"I'm sorry, Dylan," I say, my voice as sincere as I can manage, and then I leave, closing the door behind me.

I manage to escape the Sanchez house without detection, my mind cloudy and swirling with confusing thoughts as I walk home, my arms wrapped tightly around my torso. I'm desperate to put all of the drama behind me, and focus on something else for a little while, but the moment I set foot into my own house, it becomes clear it won't be that simple.

Audrey is sitting at the kitchen counter, her head in her hands, a pile of tissues strewn about the surface.

My footsteps slow, eyes widening. "Audrey?" I question, reaching out to touch her shoulder timidly. "Are you okay?"

She looks at me with watery eyes and tear-stained cheeks, shaking her head as her face crumples. "No," she chokes out.

My heart sinks, feeling a sense of dread. "What happened?"

Audrey meets my eyes again, making no efforts to hide her inner turmoil. "Parker is gone."