Apparently in Owen's house there's a cleaning night every Saturday. Every single person in the house that night gets a job and completes it before going to bed.

Not only that, but they blast their music on speakers all around the house that practically blow my ear drums out.

"Clarin, Owen, Brinley, and Joey, you guys are on kitchen," Mrs. Michaels says. "We warned you guys," she directs her words at Ian's friends, "not to come over on Saturdays because everyone in the house helps on chore day."

"We'd be happy to help," Parker's cheerful voice calls.

"Lovely," she continues. "Parker, Drake, and Phill on dusting. Jake, Ben, and Ian on window washing. Get it done, stat!"

"Yes, Mrs. Michaels," everyone says in sync.

Owen, Clarin and I head out to the kitchen; me by the help of Owen's guiding hand. How I am supposed to clean something completely with my blindness beats me, but I'll try my best.

"You don't have to do anything, B," Joey says. "We don't force labor on the crippled."

"I'm not crippled!" I protest.

"Fine," he groans. "Disabled."

"Oh, shut up," I roll my non-functioning eyes. "I bet I can still clean better than you."

"Is that a challenge?"

"It's a challenge if I ever heard one," Owen mutters.

"Alright," Joey says slowly. "I challenge you to a wash-off."

"Um, Joey, I actually challenged you. Don't go taking the credit, thanks," I smile and batt my eyelashes sweetly.

"Oh-hoh," Joey says, sounding taken aback. "The sass is real."

"Alright, I'll judge then," Owen says.

"No, you're biased!" Joey exclaims.

"Wow, you're so nervous," I chuckle.

"No," Joey scoffs. "It's just unfair. Whatever. I don't even care. I'll still win. Proceed."

"Okaaay," Owen says. "The person that can clean the most dishes, also the most spotless dishes, in a three minute limit wins."

"What does the winner get?" I ask, crossing my arms. Yes, the pride of beating Joey's butt in a challenge is nice... But everyone knows an actual prize is far more appreciated.

"They don't have to do anything else to help," Clarin offers. "And the loser has to give the winner five dollars."

"That works," I shrug.

"Joey, you go first," Owen says. "Assume your position. Pour the water. Get ready."

The faucet starts and I hear Joey swear under his breath. "Holy crap, that's hot." I laugh to myself, earning a flick in the ear. "This isn't funny."

"And.... Go," Owen says, and the ticking of the timer begins.

Joey breathes deeply as the sound of scrubbing commences. He sounds like he's running a marathon, not cleaning the dishes. However hard he breathes doesn't bother me. I'm not intimidated by his sub-par cleaning skills.

"Chill out, Darth Vader," Owen laughs, and Joey only grunts in response.

"Thirty seconds," Clarin calls out.

"Dang crap it!" Joey exclaims just as a loud bang reaches my ears, making me jump a mile. He must've dropped something heavy. I smirk to myself. Sucks to suck.

"Done!" Clarin says and Joey lets out a frustrated sigh. "Brinley, you're up."

I feel my way to the sink and unplug the nasty water, letting it drain. My fingers trail across Joey's newly washed dishes. There are maybe ten. I can easily beat that. The hot water begins filling the sink up and I dump some soap inside. When it reaches halfway I turn the water off.

"I need a better jamming song to go with this," I say, turning around. The blasting stereo surround sound throughout the house is playing Hey Jude by the Beatles. As much as I love the Beatles, this isn't the kind of song I want to compete with.

"I didn't get to choose my song!" Joey exclaims.

"Boo hoo," I roll my eyes.

"I'm blaming it on that if I lose," Joey huffs.

"When you lose," I correct.

"What song would you like to request?" Owen asks.

"Mm," I tap my chin. "Surprise me."

Owen's footsteps leave the kitchen, and I pick at my fingernails confidently. The song changes and I immediately smile widely. Smells Like Teen Spirit by Nirvana begins playing and I nod my approval as I hear Owen's arrival.

"Ready then?" Owen asks.

"Wait... What are we doing right now? Why's the music so loud? What the heck?" I ask, plugging my ears with my fingers.

"You just... You... What?" Joey asks. When did Joey get here?

"Oh, it's the short term memory loss," Owen says.

"What?" I ask, straining to hear him over the music.

"Don't worry about it. You're about to have a competition with Joey to try and wash the most dishes. If you win, you get money, so try your best," Owen explains.

"Okay," I blink a few times, surprised at the randomness. I feel around the hard, granite counter until the sink is evident.

"You ready?"

"Uh, sure..." I say, nodding my head to the beat of the song.

"Go!"

I pick up random pots and pans and scrub them with all my might, feeling around for dirty spots. I rinse them one by one and stack them in a pile beside Joey's. Once I get going and I'm in the zone all the way, there's no stopping me.

Maybe before the accident I was a pro-cleaning lady and I just don't remember. It's so natural to me, which sure comes in handy now.

The song really is helping me out. I sing along from my lifetime memorization of the lyrics that apparently held through all my memory loss problems.

"Thirty seconds," Clarin says.

"This sucks," Joey complains. "She's a girl, doesn't she have natural cleaning skills?"

I turn around and waste some of my time flicking water in the direction of Joey's voice. I know I've hit my target when he groans in annoyance. "That's so sexist, you jerk!"

"Ah!" He yells out when I splash him again. "Alright, alright!"

I get one last pan in before the time is up and I have to step back to let Owen and Clarin inspect our skills.

It doesn't take very long for them to come to a conclusion.

"Brinley wins," Clarin sings.

"By far," Owen adds with a snort.

"I blame it on the music," Joey grumbles.

"Shut up and give me some mula!" I say, putting out a hand.

Joey groans again, and then the unmistakable feel of money enters my hands.

"That'll teach you to try and compete with me," I shrug. "Cripple or not, I'll beat your butt."

"I should've learned from all the previous times you've beat me in the past," Joey sighs.

<•>•<•>

"Clarin, can you come downstairs for a minute, honey?" Mrs. Michaels asks from downstairs. "You're going to help with vacuuming tonight."

"But I want to play Would You Rather with Brinley," Clarin complains over the still-loud music.

"Sorry, babe. You can play that later, I'm not doing this all myself," Mrs. Michaels replies over Brandon Flowers' singing.

"Fine," Clarin sighs. "See you in a while, Brinley."

And then she's gone and the door shuts. Even with it closed, the volume of the music is ear splitting. Yes, it's a party house, but there's no way I'll be falling asleep in this.

All the boys are outside fixing up the lawn that's apparently looking like crap. Trees need tripping, bushes need buzzing, plants need watering. Me, Clarin, and Mrs. Michaels are the only ones inside right now, which is a relief from the shouting and kidding around those overgrown five year olds usually do.

I've come to realize very quickly that being blind is not a fun time. I'm bored out of my mind and can't exactly do anything but sit here and talk to people... But now there's nobody to even talk to!

The door creaks open and my head whips over to it, my hands absentmindedly playing with the string on my pajama pants. I don't hear any footsteps over the pounding beat of Red Hot Chili Peppers, but the door closes.

"Who is it?" I ask, tapping my feet to the beat.

There's no answer and I wonder if I didn't talk loud enough for them to hear me.

"Who is it?" I ask again, a little louder.

There's no reply again, and I furrow my eyebrows in confusion. Maybe they left, I don't know. I turn my head back to its normal position and twirl the stings around my fingers.

Suddenly I'm shoved out of my bed, giving me the biggest heart attack of my life. My face smacks into the ground, taking me off guard. I groan, but don't even have time to regroup myself because I'm kicked in the side.

I wince, grabbing my ribs in pain. Tears form in my eyes due to the throbbing over my body. This is it, isn't it? This is where it ends. I can't believe it.

I'm kicked again, this time I let out a sharp yelp. I try to scramble to my feet, but whoever it is shoves me down again. They're planning to kill me, is all I can think. I have to get away, now.

I crawl away, hitting my back against a desk thy I forgot was there. Adrenaline is rushing through me as I force myself faster. Where's the door? Where is it?

The person yanks me back by my hair, forcing a loud scream from me. I fall flat on my back, where I am being dragged the opposite direction. My hands struggle to clamp onto something, anything to stop me. Finally my fingers meet the cold leg of the bed. I clasp onto it with all my might, breathing hard and squeezing my eyes shut.

I scream as loud as I can, hoping to the deepest part of my soul that someone will hear me over the sounds of the music and vacuums. When something hard crashes into my head, I give it up, grimacing.

My hands start to slip, curse their sweatiness. Whoever has their hands on me is not giving up dragging me away to my death. I can't let go, I have to hold on. This is my only chance.

My legs are dropped hold of, and suddenly, my fingers are being pried one by one from the bed post. I cry out in frustration as my hands are forced to release their grip.

I quickly push myself to my feet, preparing to take on whoever this is. I have to be brave. I've got to prove I'm a force to be reckoned with. Maybe they'll realize I'm too stubborn to die and they'll leave me alone. It's a long shot, but I'll do anything at this point.

I whip my hands around in all directions, trying to hit them. I can't seem to find them, which worries me. Not being able to see is literally the worst thing in this situation. An impact comes from behind me, knocking my knees from beneath me.

I'm on the floor again. My arm is tugged, making me let out a yell. I wish this floor was carpet, not hardwood. It's so easy to slide across.

Suddenly I remember that there's a lamp right by the side of my bed. I reach my arm out to the left as far as it will go, knowing that it'll come to contact with is at any second. When it does, I quickly throw it backwards, knocking the person off their feet.

Taking this opportunity to my advantage, I kick my feet at them as hard as I possibly can, and they let out a deep grunt, only meaning one thing. This has to be a guy. Of course it does. And he grabs my ankles after three kicks and yanks it, forcing me down once again.

"Let go!" I scream, trying to struggle my way out of their grasp as they pick me up of the ground and literally carry me away. "Let me go!"

I slam my fists into their head as hard as I can, but it doesn't seem to even effect him. My legs kick in every direction, but he doesn't drop me. My voice wails at the loudest it can, but the music easily covers it up.

This is hopeless.

The unmistakable sound of the curtain over the windows drawing hits my ears and I begin to panic. No way. No freaking way.

Only one person would try to throw me out a window. "Ian?"

My only response is a smack across the face. I wince in pain as the white hot pain erupts across my cheek.

When the window slides open, I start screaming bloody murder again. I pray somebody will hear me out in the yard. I'm shifted a bit in Ian's arms, and tears fill my eyes as I try my best to be released. This can't be happening right now.

"Please," I say, tears streaming down my face.

But instead, I hear the window being slid open more, and I start screaming as loud as I possibly can again. Ian smacks me again to make me stop, but it's too late.

"Brinley?!" Owen's voice calls frantically from the yard.

"Help me!" Are the last words I utter before I'm no longer in Ian's grasp. Instead, I'm flying through the air. You know how people say that their lives flash before their eyes? It's true. Somehow, some way, I see a younger version of myself and every memory that I had forgotten at some point. Every piece of my life hits me hard, all in less than a second. I remember every single thing as clear as if they had never been forgotten as I plummet down to the ground.

I only just realize the magnitude of what occurred in my mind before the impact comes hard and momentary. And that is all.