Bella’s POV

One Week Later

“Louis”, I try to get his attention. I haven’t been able to leave the house in over a week. None of the guys would let me leave the house so I’ve been hanging out with Harry, Louis, and Mark. Also, none of my memories have come back yet, but we’re all still hoping that it will come some time soon.

Louis looks up to me from his phone. I imagine he's texting his girlfriend, Eleanor. He's told me a lot about her, said that we used to be good friends. I don't even know what she looks like now though, “What’s up, Bells?”

“When do I get to see my parents again?” It’s an innocent question really. They are my parents and they should’ve been within the first few people I saw in the hospital room. But when Louis’ face turned a little whiter, I knew I was obviously missing something. Then again, I’ve been missing a lot of stuff throughout this past week.

“Talk to me Louis”, I say after he just stares at me for a minute.

“Maybe… you should ask Mark or Harry. Or both. They should be the ones tell you”, his words are soft and I can’t help but notice he doesn’t make direct eye contact with me as he talks. I sit and search his face for any clues about what he could be talking about.

“You’re really just not gonna tell me?” he looks back down at his phone to avoid all eye contact possible as he shakes his head no. With a huge, over-exaggerated sigh, I get up to find the other guys. Hopefully they’ll be more helpful than Louis was.

I walk downstairs and see the rest of the guys watching TV together in the huge family room. Perfect, they can all tell me together. As soon as I walk in they all look at me expectingly except Niall who is in the middle of playing Fifa.

“Where are Mom and Dad?”, I say looking mostly at Mark since he’s my own brother. He should definitely know where to find them. And if he doesn’t, then we’re going to have a really big problem.

Mark looks to Harry with worried eyes. I’ve known Mark all my life, I know exactly what he’s thinking without him even telling me. That’s something I haven’t forgotten and I hope to never forget. It becomes very useful sometimes.

“Well?”, I say again when no one answers, “Will someone please tell me?” Niall turns off Fifa and looks from me to my brother to Harry.

They know. Each of them know, but they just won’t tell me which is a bad thing. They’ll probably try to use the excuse that they “can’t tell me because of doctor’s orders”, but really none of them even want to tell me. Which hurts. I can handle it. Whatever it is I can handle the truth. But I need the entire truth first.

Louis comes down the stairs softly and walks over to stand next to me. The awkward silence is still filling the room loudly. I drill my eyes into Harry’s. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from the past week, it’s that Harry can’t lie to me. It’s like I’m his weakness. He’d do almost anything if I’d ask him, which can become hilarious at times. Like when I asked him why his house was surrounded by paparazzi and cameras flashing. He really couldn’t even try to lie. Well he tried, but he it was so bad we ended up crying laughing at his weak attempt.

I raise my eyebrows in suspense. Finally, Harry cracks, “Fine.” is all he says. Great, that tells me absolutely nothing.

“Okay, go ahead.”

All the guys look at each other. Something’s wrong. Why won’t anyone just tell me?

Mark stands up and takes my hand to lead me out of the family room. I have butterflies in my stomach. The bad type that you get when something is wrong or when you’re nervous about something. I don't like those butterflies.

We walk together into the smaller front living room. It has a big window of the front of the house. The boys’ security team has cleared out all the paparazzi cars so the driveway is empty besides Louis’ car and Mark’s rental car. Together Mark and I sit down on the couch. He won’t look me straight in the eye. And that makes me even more nervous. I hate not remembering. I hate it so much.

“So, you don’t remember a single thing?”, he asks quietly, “Nothing about Dad? Or Mom?”

I shake my head timidly. I thought that's been made pretty clear throughout the past week?

He bites his lip trying not to cry, “Dad… he died, Bella.”

Tears stream down his face as I feel my heart drop. He’s wrong. No he didn’t. I would remember if he did. You don’t just forget stuff like that. I couldn’t have forgotten.

“Bells, please say something”, tears finally slip down Mark’s face to match my own.

“No”, I whisper. This isn’t true, “No you’re lying!” I’m yelling now, “You’re lying! He isn’t dead! He’s still alive in California! He just couldn’t come visit! But he’s not dead! Mark! Why would you say that!?”

I feel sick again. No. No. No. No. No. No. No! He’s lying to my face. My own brother is taking advantage of my lack of memory and lying to me, his baby sister.

My dad is not dead. He just isn’t.

All my yelling and loud sobs brought the rest of the boys into the front room where I am. Harry comes over to me while all the other guys stand cowardly in the doorway. Mark is next to me crying silently. Harry rubs my back saying something softly. I can’t hear him though. I don’t want his comfort. I want my parents. My dad isn’t dead! How could he be dead? He can’t….

I shrug Harry away from me and stand up. My tears are blurring my vision and my sobs become uncontrollable. I walk into the kitchen. Footsteps are following me. I want to be alone. I need to be alone. I walk faster towards the stairs. The footsteps speed up a little and call my name, but I’m running up the stairs ignoring them completely.

I lock myself into the room Harry and I have been sharing and fall to the floor.

I hate this. I hate not seeing my Dad. I hate the lies they’re telling me about this. I hate not remembering.

Fists are pounding at the door, but I can barely hear them. I’m using all my concentration to
focus on remembering. All I want is my last memory. What’s my last memory?

***

Notes

Oh man, this is a bummer to write.

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