The drive to the doctor's office is long and silent. Nobody talks. Not me, not my mom, not Clarin. This is it. This is the day.

None of us know what is going to come, what this day will hold. To be honest, I don't want to think about it.

I can't help my mind from wandering to what happened last night between Owen and I. We got into a huge fight. We were yelling at each other. We were arguing. I was angry. He was mad. It was not the kind of night I'd like to remember.

We have to wait in the waiting room for about twenty minutes. Owen shows up ten minutes before we can enter. He sits next to me. He doesn't say a word about last night, about what information we're about to find out, about anything. He just stays beside me. For that, I am grateful.

At some point he takes my hand in his. It is more comforting than any words anyone could possibly give me.

And then the nurse calls my name. My heart beats quickly.

Owen doesn't let go of my hand as we walk and I don't want him to. I think my grip might be too hard. I don't really care right now. I'm trying to take deep breaths and calm myself. It isn't working.

We enter the same small hospital room I've gone in every time I've been here. Doctor Webb sits in his chair writing a few things down at the desk. He places down his pen when he hears us enter.

"Ah, Brinley, nice to see you again," he says, and he holds out a hand for me to shake.

I do, with my free one.

"We will be starting in a different room today," Webb explains.

"What do you mean a different room?" I ask too quickly. Any new information here will put me on edge.

"We need to take an MRI of your brain to track and log its activity. It's the only way to figure out if he trauma is easing itself away and if the blockade of your memories will ever fade away," he explains shortly.

"Okay," I say, voice small and tight.

Owen has to let go of my hand once we reach the new room. He can't go inside with me. I feel my hands shake like they always do when I'm nervous. Doctor Webb escorts me inside.

"Here," he says, standing in front of the large machine. "You can lay down here." I do, reluctantly. "Now remember, you've got to stay still. It'll only take a few minutes. You alright with that?"

I nod my head, even though I really am not. I'm terrified of the hospital. I'm terrified of doctors.

The machine starts buzzing around me. It stressed me out. I don't move, as much as I want to. What I really want to do is rip myself out of this contraption and run away.

I really do run away from every problem I have, don't I?

The bright lights around me make me feel like I'm going to come out of here blind. Wouldn't that be great? Clueless and blind. My life would be a complete crap salad. Maybe it already is. The blindness could just add some croutons on top.

What kind of similes am I seriously using in my head?

This anxiety is making me go all sorts of crazy.

I have to force away the will to move. I want to get out of this thing. I don't know how to control my claustrophobia. I feel it in my chest, tightness. I feel it in my entire body, aching to expand. To move.

I think of Owen. Maybe that will calm me down. His green eyes. His dark hair that naturally looks great without any effort. His calm demeanor around me. His kind smiles. His laugh, oh gosh. His laugh. The way he always-

"Brinley, it's over, you can come out now," Doctor Webb explains to me.

I crawl up to my feet and am overly grateful for getting out of that evil thing. I'm also grateful for Owen's attractiveness to distract me.

Speaking of attractive, he's right outside the window. He's leaning forward on the windowsill, hands around elbows. He catches my eye and offers a small smile.

Doctor Webb opens the door. We both exit the MRI room. My mom and Clarin stand from their seats and wait for instructions.

"You are free to go wait in the room while we go through the photos an figure some thing out. It will be a few minutes," Webb says.

We all nod, not saying a word, and walk back towards the room as Webb walks in the opposite direction.

I sit in a chair beside Owen and Clarin. My mom is across from us. I feel my hands shaking. My body feels weak. I'm about to find out something life-changing. Will I ever remember my past? Will I ever really know myself?

I close my eyes and drop my head in my arms. Will this turn out well? Will I leave this room happy?

I don't know.

I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't-

Owen grabs my hand. My heart stops. I try to control the tremors going on up and down my arms, but they won't stop. Owen doesn't seem to care. I let out a shaky breath.

Owen leans in close to me and whispers in my ear, "You'll be fine. Whatever those pictures hold, you'll be okay. I'll be okay. We'll be okay."

I try to assure myself that it will, that everything is alright. But, the thing is, it wouldn't be. I would spend my life in the dark. Everyone would look at me like I'm a stranger. Which I am. I would be pitied and walked around the rest of my life.

The wait of ten minutes feels like hours. By the time Webb walks in, I can't feel my legs.

He holds a bundle of papers in his hands, looking around at all of us. He smiles slightly and begins.

"We have come to a conclusion," Webb says. "It was fairly easy to realize what has been going on in your brain." I hold my breath. "Your mind, since the accident, has been prone to block out all past memory, yes? So we placed the recent pictures beside those we took when you first came in. We have found, very clearly in fact, that the only thing changing in your mind is emotional toll. Your blockade between memories is still there. It seems as if the trauma has left them permanently locked away. I'm very sorry, but there is nothing we can do."

There it is.

I knew it.

My mom starts crying. Clarin stares at me, mouth hanging open. I don't even want to look at Owen. Already, I feel the others' reactions weighing me down.

I feel empty. Hollow.

"Again, I am very sorry. This is hard to process, to take in. There is nothing more we can do. This is the kind of thing that either fixes or doesn't," Webb says. "You see, the brain is a fragile thing. Once it's messed with, it takes one path or the other. Brinley here has a stubborn brain that won't allow it to move back to normal."

It should be now that I start crying or yelling that he's wrong or running away. But I don't. I sit here. I look at nothing. I feel nothing.

This is exactly what I was afraid of. This is what I knew would ruin my life. So why am I not expressing what I've been feeling all along? Why am I not protesting?

Because I knew this is how it would be all along?

Owen squeezes my hand. I don't move my focus. I don't want to move a muscle, afraid that if I do, I'll fall down. My breaths are short and shallow, and my head feels like it's filled with fog. I can't make out any single clear thought.

"Let's go home," Clarin says quietly. "I don't want to be here anymore. Mom, please, let's go-"

"Brinley," Owen's voice whispers in my ear. "It's okay. We're okay. We need to go now. Please, we have to leave."

It's as if his words never reach me. I never really process them. I stare at the wall across from me, unable to move.

"Let's go," Clarin says again. "Brinley? Owen, is she alright?"

My body sags under the weight of what I've been told. I can't feel anything. I'm numb, inside and out.

"Here, I can..."

I don't resist as Owen takes me into his arms, carrying me out of the room. I wrap my arms around his neck, rest my head on his shoulder, and close my eyes. I try to drown out everything. I try to focus on the swaying as he walks down the stairs, out to the car.

On the drive home, nobody speaks. The only sound heard are my mom's frequent sniffles. I try to ignore them. I try to act like I know she'll treat me the same as always. But I know that's not true.

Once at home, I don't feel like hearing the comforting words. They won't help. Nothing can help me. Nothing will help this empty feeling. I get out of the car and walk straight through the door, up the stairs, and into my bedroom. I lock the door and then slide down against the wall, putting my head in my hands.

Someone knocks on the door.

"Brinley, please open it. Please come out of there," Clarin says.

I don't respond. I don't want to hear a word anyone else says.

"Brinley, I don't-" she starts again, but stops when her voice cracks.

Please, leave me alone.

"Hey, let's just give her some time. I think that's fair." It's Owen's voice. Not for the first time today, I'm grateful for him.